Body Image and Cancer

I'm going to go off the grid a little bit today and talk about something non-writing related. Since this blog is aimed at young adult writers (and just young adults in general), I feel that talking about this issue and bringing some light to it could help others who feel the same way and somewhat feel isolated because of their feelings.

*Disclaimer: If you have a weak stomach and don't like to look at "graphic" images, I suggest you leave this post now.*

In a world where body image is the main concern of our society, where exactly do young adults (or any age for that matter) cancer survivors fit into the mix? We're not exactly the cookie-cutter image of good health and beauty. We have scars, implants, bald heads, no eyebrows or eyelashes and the list goes on.

Nobody says they want to look like the "ideal cancer patient." Nobody wants to look weak and frail or so blown up from steroids that they can't recognize themselves in the mirror anymore. Beauty falls on the celebrities or your hottest friend who just dropped 50lbs (that she certainly didn't need to lose in the first place). Women want to have long, luscious hair that reaches their butts. We all want abs of steel and will sweat out countless hours in the gym every day just to make some attempt to get them.

I know when I was first diagnosed, the fear of losing my hair was one of the scariest thoughts that ran through my head. Now looking back I'd like to slap myself. Oh silly me. My looks were the very first thing that popped into my head - not my impending health with a very real chance of dying. Nope, my long, beautiful brown hair was my first concern.

After my first surgery I had a giant scar running down my stomach. One of my first reactions when the bandage was removed was "I'll never wear a bikini again." Seriously, that was all I cared about, not the fact that the surgeons had just removed some of my cancer - I was worried about what kind of bathing suit would cover up my scar.

This scar had consumed my mind. All I wanted was some Bio-Oil or some magical cream to cover up the hideous cut that ran across the stomach I had worked so hard to get (after losing 50+ lbs).

My second surgery was the exact same thing, except this time, I was worried about how ugly the scar would look since the doctors would be cutting into the same place they had cut the first time. How much uglier could my stomach get?

The cancer wasn't my first worry which it should have been, but of course, being a 20-something year old, my health wasn't my first issue. I had plenty of years left to worry about my health. I was young, fit and had a whole life ahead of me. I needed to look half-decent, right? Oh silly me again.

Once the bandage came off from my second surgery, I couldn't help but feel utter disgust for myself. Whatever the doctors had done to my previously gross stomach, they turned it into a hack-job this time. My belly button was no longer a belly button, only a slit in my stomach (hello naval reconstruction!) and my scar was longer than before. The staples they used to close me up were messy and I just wasn't a happy camper. I started Googling stomach reconstruction in Canada.

The thought of my selfishness at the time makes me want to slap myself. Here I was, laying in a hospital bed with the people who loved me the most surrounding me and all I cared about was how my vanity would be affected. I hadn't even thought about the aggressive treatments that were around my corner in the months/year to follow. I hadn't thought about how I might potentially die. I mean, I was 20-something, I was invincible, right? Wrong. I wasn't. I had cancer and the truth was, death could quite possible be right around the corner for me but in this beauty and body image consumed world, I fell short of being the "ideal cancer patient" that was supposed to "help others." I was self-absorbed.

After a while, things started changing. I started chemotherapy and before I knew it, my long locks were cut to the floor and I was sporting a pixie cut. I had never had short hair and to be honest, it was kind of a relief to not have such heavy hair dragging on my head. But at that time, I would have given anything to have it back.

The short pixie cut soon became handfuls of hair on my pillow, in the sink, even in my mouth?! Enough was enough. Trying to look like a "normal" girl my age just wasn't possible for me. It was time to look like a cancer patient. I knew the inevitable was upon me.

So I shaved my head. It was one of the most awkward times of my life. Never had I remotely come close to having no hair. My beauty standards were officially out the window.
It wasn't long before my eyelashes and eyebrows had no hope of their own. They were soon to follow which meant I would have to use a ton of eyeliner and eyebrow pencil to make myself look like I had somewhat of a normal face. Fake eyelashes just weren't a possibility for me. They should have a cancer beauty school where they teach you to do these things, sigh.

After a while, I got used to the bald-headed me and started to go out in public (when I wasn't in the hospital) without my wig. I started to embrace the fact that this was me and this was the way I looked now, so I might as well rock it. And rock it I did. I had a pretty sweet bald head and if people stared, I would either be extremely ballsy and stare back with a type of hey-whatchu-looking-at face or I'd simply ignore them. I knew what they were thinking - "Does she have cancer? Oh poor girl." Boo hoo, poor me right? Society felt terrible for me. I felt terrible for society that I didn't fit the standards of what "normal" was. I wasn't your cookie-cutter 20-something year old. My hair was no longer down to my butt and I didn't have the perfect body. I felt bad for how people think they have to look a certain way in order to feel beautiful. For the first time, I felt beautiful as a cancer patient and I continued to barely ever wear a wig.

They don't tell you when you get your port or lines put in how to "style" them. "How am I supposed to hide these tubes coming out of my chest?" They don't teach you how to cover your scars or how to explain to people why you have these devices planted inside you. Ports and lines are the fashion of the cancer world (along with your awesome bald head, of course). I remember comparing with tons of cancer patients I met along the way what kind of line we had. But they all had one thing in common, they wanted to cover up their scars. Instead of being proud that they didn't have to get their veins poked and prodded with needles anymore and this device was ultimately saving their lives, they were worried about how to hide it. Yet again, society's standards wins.

I didn't know "chemo nails" were a thing until I discovered them on my own. My fingernails and toenails would split, crack, make lines on their own, everything...it was a mess. I talked to one of my cancer pals about it and she said she would cover them up with nail polish. Easy solution. Conforming to society again.

All in all, I learned that society is what is ugly. No matter what you look like - if you're black, white, 400lbs, 50lbs, cancer patient, etc. it doesn't matter. Everyone is beautiful in their own skin. Never conform to someone else's standards of what they think you should look like. That is what is wrong with the world today. We feel like we need to conform to the standards of how we should look.

I challenge you to look in the mirror and be happy with how you look, not just today, but every day. If you are healthy, that's all that matters. And remember, you are ALWAYS beautiful no matter what.