This World Cancer Day, I’ve been wondering if this wretched disease has taught me anything…

Hollywood actor Stanley Tucci was asked in a recent radio interview what he thought was the best way to deal with cancer. He was diagnosed with oral cancer in 2018 and has been unsparing in his description of the impact of his treatment. ‘Avoid getting it,’ he replied, a little acerbically I thought.

Positivity

In contrast, I’ve noticed that there is a growing tendency among some commentators to promote every ounce of positivity they can from their experience of living with cancer. One recently wrote a blog cheerily entitled ‘five things cancer has taught me’. When I read it, I felt a sharp stab of rage. Yeah, cancer the teacher. It’s taught me how to adapt to the curtailment of a vibrant life. Or how to submit to the pain, discomfort and indignity of treatment. Very enlightening! It has instructed me on how to bear with good grace the pain and exhaustion etched on the faces of loved ones who care for me. You’ll learn, thanks to cancer, how to withstand the three-monthly knuckle-ride that is your scan results day. Bet you didn’t know you had it in you! Hard taskmaster, cancer. But a teacher? Really?

And yet.

In his work, The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis – a man who had experienced great pain himself – says: “What is good in any painful experience is, for the sufferer, his submission to the will of God, and, for the spectators, the compassion aroused and the acts of mercy to which it leads.”

To the modern, secular ear, that ‘justification’ for a spiritual function of pain will be hard to compute.

I want my pain whether it’s mental or physical, to be fixed and the disease that causes the pain to be cured. I’m unpersuaded by the idea of the nobility of pain and suffering.

And while, like Lewis, I have seen ‘great beauty of spirit in some who were great sufferers’ I wonder at the failure of palliation they might have experienced and whether that beauty comes at too high a price.

I might accept the idea that pain alerts us to the presence of injury or disease: that appeals to my pragmatism. But why is it that pain is not necessarily felt by those whose body conceals a late-stage cancer? For many people living with cancer, it is the treatment that causes more visceral pain and suffering than the disease itself.

But there is something that chimes for me in Lewis’s view that pain leads to the ‘submission to the will of God’ – at least when I reframe the concept for my agnostic mind.  I am learning that ‘being with’ (rather than resisting) my cancer with as much openness, humility, compassion and courage as I can muster is bringing enrichment and intensity to my life that I’ve not previously experienced.

I’m damned if I’ll attribute to cancer that beautiful role of teacher. But I will say that I am learning a great deal from my experience.

Here are my five lessons learned to date (and I know there are more to come) …

Learning to dance with death

Like most humans I am both hardwired to fear death while also repressing thoughts of death. Incurable cancer makes it difficult to escape contemplation of the inevitable outcome of the disease. But to live life to the full, I have learned to become familiar with death, to encounter the possibility with calmness and curiosity.

Travelling light

From the moment my head was shaved in anticipation of losing my hair during chemo, I embarked upon a process of stripping from my life everything that didn’t serve me in some positive, practical or soothing way. And the greatest load I have carried has often been either emotional or relational. I have learned to pinpoint and to challenge the beliefs that have triggered guilt and shame, for me, the heaviest emotions. And I have let go of the (very few) relationships that have drained me. My time has always been precious, but living with cancer ensures I never forget just how precious.

Bending like a willow  

All of life is uncertain though we like to pretend otherwise. I have indulged in the most elaborate planning and preparation, ostensibly to assert as much control over events as I can. But cancer has eluded my efforts. The only attitude I believe I can adopt towards the uncertainty of a tricky and unpredictable disease is openness and the ability to bend with all the grace and resilience of my favourite tree the willow. Bending is not defeat; it is adaptation.

Accepting the gift of care

During my treatment, I have sometimes felt as if I have been stripped of a layer, leaving me exposed, vulnerable and weak. At those times, I have been held with great tenderness and compassion. I have sometimes resented this, since in experiencing care, I have been forced to face my physical and mental vulnerability. I have learned that giving and receiving care is foundational to being human. Expressing gratitude for the care I have received involves acceptance of my vulnerability, but it is also the most precious thing I can give to my carer.

A good bowel movement is one of the great joys in life

Much of my life is devoted to food: thinking about it, reading recipes, buying ingredients, preparing, cooking and serving. Cancer treatment temporarily killed my appetite and disrupted a happy and healthy digestive system. Its gradual return has helped me recognise how deeply satisfying are the most ordinary effects of metabolising. I rejoice at the variety of tastes and textures of food, the delicious pangs of hunger, the life affirming drive of appetite and the purgative power of a good bowel movement.