Part 9: Life Insurance, Chemo 2
I wanted to continue to work. I didn’t want to recede from life into a bubble of cancer treatments. However, I was also unable to predict my future state. I couldn’t decide if, from a business perspective, it was better for me to stop working so they could replace me with a fully functioning alternative. My boss deferred to how I wanted to play it and allowed me to return to work to the best of my ability. He didn’t have to do that, and it was a deep act of humanity to give me this grace.
When you have cancer, humanity has a chance to show itself. People see you at your absolute worst: no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, white medical compression stockings. Maybe scared. Maybe sad. Maybe tired. Completely and utterly vulnerable — there’s no maybe about that one, at least not for me. And they could make you feel like a freak. But they don’t. They make you feel comfortable and accepted. They help you. In my case, I had colleagues tell me I looked elegant in my headgear, and some days I actually believed them. I had colleagues tell me that I was a role model. That they were proud of me. That they were rooting for me. That I was doing a good job. Going to work was humanity at its best.
One day I saw something in an email chain that was not meant for me. It said, “Hey guys, I thought we agreed this didn’t need to cross Kristin’s desk.” Those words were a small glimpse into the work village that had mobilised around me. I already knew the key people who were picking up my work, but this email made me understand that many others had filled gaps I’d never even know about. I wondered how I could ever say thanks for something that was invisible to me?
Going to work could also be funny. At our secret Santa event, one of the team hadn’t managed to wrap his gift. Instead, he put it in the only thing he could find, which was a company branded bag. We work for Zurich Insurance, so he joked “Does anyone want this great secret Santa gift, it’s life insurance — anyone?” We all laughed. In that same moment I felt one of the team make eyes at me, as if he was saying “you know you want to go there, Kristin.” So I leaned in his direction and whispered “I’ll take the life insurance!” His edgy sense of humor paired well with mine and our little in-joke reassured me that he didn’t feel the need to tiptoe around me.
There was another funny exchange when I tried to explain to a colleague why I wouldn’t be wearing a wig. I said it felt like I had a raccoon on my head, and he said “yeah, I guess it could also make you feel kind of like a high class prostitute.” Really! Well alright then. If you say so. Maybe. I thanked him for adding to my growing list of reasons why I was never able to embrace wig-wearing, and for bringing humour and lightness to my cancer journey. His words were a demonstration of inclusion. This caring colleague was not avoiding That Bald Woman With Cancer. He talked to me like a human, full of connection and humour.
Around the same time, some colleagues and I were discussing cold water exposure, and one of them boldly suggested that we all go for a dip in the lake together. I didn’t know if it would actually happen — sometimes words are braver than actions — but within a couple of days the five of us dipped together in lake Zurich in the middle of winter. Nobody said out loud that they were there to support me, and maybe they were there for lots of reasons — but I chose to believe that my colleagues got into zero degrees water to support me. It was awesome and I felt accepted and alive.
The company I work for plays a big role in how I feel about continuing to work through my cancer treatment. I never signed up to be an ovarian cancer activist, but now I have a lifetime membership because for the rest of my life I will either be in remission or dealing with a recurrence. I can’t help but take my new activist role to work with me.
I work for Zurich Global Ventures. Part of our business model is to offer proactive (think prevention) solutions that empower customers to be better prepared for the future. It’s the whole idea that customers would rather prevent something than get the insurance payout when it happens. For example, we all want to prevent a cyber-attack, rather than claim the insurance when it happens.
In this exact same way, I would have preferred to prevent my ovarian cancer, rather than claiming the insurance to treat it. If I apply that same thinking to ovarian cancer, this is what it could look like:
- First, identify the data that predicts risk of ovarian cancer. For example, a recent study in the UK found that shopping habits had an 80% success rate in detecting high risk of ovarian cancer. They stated: “Our study found a noticeable increase in purchases of pain and indigestion medications among women with ovarian cancer, up to eight months before diagnosis. This suggests that long before women have recognised their symptoms as alarming enough to go to the GP, they may be treating them at home.”
- Then, alert the at-risk consumers. I could have been notified that my data pointed to a high risk for ovarian cancer, and offered insurance for early diagnostic interventions and preventative care. As a further nudge to take action, the price of my insurance could be linked to how quickly I visit my GP and gynaecologist, with an earlier visit qualifying for a reduced price.
This would be good for the customer and good for the insurer. The insurer would increase sales — just ask me if I would I have bought insurance to prevent where I am today? Oh hell yes! In turn, the prevention and earlier diagnosis would decrease claims and improve health outcomes, which means you live longer and can pay insurance premiums for longer. It’s a win-win.
Businesses nowadays are customer obsessed and doing a great job of meeting customer expectations. I’m a customer and those are my expectations for ovarian cancer!
