Illness isn’t a competition
I spent the past weekend with my husband’s family, mourning the loss of an amazing aunt.
Aunt B had been fighting breast cancer for the majority of the time I’ve been around the family. She was diagnosed for the first time shortly after I popped in.
After remission, it popped back up again.
Like many of us who wind up living with illnesses, Aunt B was full of life — making jokes right until the very last day I saw her.
In the invisible illness world, there are an awful lot of comparisons:
“If my illness was visible like that of someone in a wheelchair, things would be better.”
“If people cared as much about autoimmune diseases like they do cancer, maybe I wouldn’t get jerk looks with my handicapped placard.”
“If I had a physical illness instead of a mental one, people wouldn’t be so dismissive.”
These statements are both right and wrong.
Are people less understanding of diseases they can’t see? Sure. That doesn’t mean they’re kind about those they can see, though.
Are people more understanding of those with cancer than those with, say, RA? Sometimes. Sometimes, though, cancer is still seen as something you bring on yourself.
Are many physical illnesses looked at as more legitimate than mental ones? Sometimes, depending on the physical illness. If it’s fibromyalgia, you still run into the same stigmas as mental health issues.
Aunt B and I were both sick.
We were on similar medications at certain points in time and completely different medications other times. Chemotherapy drugs in lower doses are often used for autoimmune diseases as well.
We both dealt with how you manage working while being ill — even being workaholics in some sense.
We both had to figure out how to navigate letting others into our vulnerable illness-related space.
Aunt B fought hard for a really long time until she decided that the quality of the days she had left was more important than the quantity. That’s not an easy decision to make for anyone, but dealing with stage IV breast cancer made it even more difficult.
I will never envy the journey I saw her go through. Despite having an illness that we knew would take her in the end, B was always supportive of what I was dealing with. She asked questions to learn more.
When we were around each other, we were supportive family — not two patients battling for the rank of top sick dog, but two people dancing to different but similar beats.
The fact that I get to keep dancing doesn’t make me any better or worse, just lucky.
