Fighting the Visible Monsters during Cancer Treatment
One of the hardest lessons I learned during my fight with cancer is the fact that being a cancer patient does not protect you from those that would do you harm. That despite the horror of your diagnosis, there are some that will use that to their advantage to try and kick you while you’re down.
In light of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I’ve decided to share a story that even now I feel uneasy speaking the truth about. Experiencing years of abuse, even when you’re far from the perpetrator, can still leave lingering hesitation of exposing their lies. Because abusers thrive on lies. The lies and manipulations they create to shield the reality of their actions is what some have dubbed gaslighting. It does not help a victim’s scenario when their abuser is a well known member of a small shared community that is well liked and admired by many. However, I have been encouraged by many other wonderful cancer survivors that it’s time to share how I juggled these abusive tactics while fighting for my life against cancer. Because I’m sure I’m not the only one who has experienced this.
My son’s father is a perpetrator of abuse that I suffered for years during our relationship which led to my decision to leave him when my son was an infant. Living in the same small town, I never felt like I fully escaped this abuse despite my best efforts to distance myself from him. He was a consistent absent figure in my son’s life, rarely keeping his scheduled visitation or paying child support. When I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, he decided to take it upon himself to use that moment to take me to court for custody. This baffled (and outraged) many of those that were close to us. Why did he decide to do this now? When he’s never shown a solid interest in raising his son? When I first told him about my diagnosis, I thought perhaps he would be there for us. That maybe, just maybe, this was the time that he’d pull it together. He held my hand and listened to every detail of the tumor they found on that fateful CT scan. He looked me in the eyes and promised he would help me.
Three weeks later, I came home from my first chemotherapy treatment to find a harshly addressed letter in my mailbox. This letter described every detail of the beginning stages of my diagnosis in a passive aggressive font as a threat to my capability as a mother. It was signed by my son’s father and the slimiest lawyer in town.
This blindsided me. I thought that now, in the reality of my physical horror crashing down on me, would be the moment he’d finally learn to be there for the mother of his child. Or at the very least, not try to kick me into the ground while I was already crashing down. But I long ago realized, when I left him in a panicked rush when my son was barely six months old, that our relationship was always one of abuse. I should have seen this coming. I should not have expected decency from someone who’s only ever sought to seek power and control over me.
This was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn during my fight with cancer. People will not necessarily become decent just because the situation calls for it.
So in the midst of receiving some of the most intense chemotherapy treatments that exist, I found myself not only fighting for my life but fighting for custody of my son. Financially and emotionally, this was an absolute nightmare. Altogether, my court battle with him cost me and my son almost five thousand dollars. My GoFundMe account that was generated for me by my family, friends, and community members was cut in half as I had to use most of the money raised to just cover the initial cost of my lawyer to get us through the first few court dates so I could protect my son. Instead of asking for help when I felt I needed it, I downplayed my sickness on my personal blog and to those around me. The times I had to be sent to the hospital for infections as a result of neutropenia, I lived in fear that he would find out and use it against me. My entire treatment, I was fighting two monsters instead of just one.
Not many people have to get up on a stand in a courtroom full of strangers and be interrogated about some of the most painful moments of your life. But that is what I had to do. His lawyer grilled me on the size of my tumor, the details of my cancer diagnosis, the length and extent of my chemotherapy, and how this all “affected” my physical capability as a mother. As I sat on that stand, barely 10 days after finishing my fifth round of chemotherapy and hoping in the back of my mind that my wig was on straight, I could not literally believe how wrong every aspect of this was.
How the conversation around my illness was going to determine my capability of a mother. Cancer patients are constantly being underestimated. Just because we are sick does not mean we are not capable. I know many cancer fighters that are still working full time jobs, living their lives, and shouldering their responsibilities in addition to the burden of cancer. There are so many things wrong with these assumptions that strike at the heart of everything disability rights stands for.
Luckily for me and my son, our judge (a breast cancer survivor herself) agreed with this sentiment. We (for lack of better word because there’s no true winner in these situations) won the court battle and I was able to keep custody of my son despite his father’s best efforts to use my sickness to undermine my ability as a parent.
I share this story in light of Domestic Violence Awareness Month but also as a sad reminder of what humanity can really look like. Just because we may stand in the face of cancer, of something more horrible than anything we’ve ever imagined, does not mean the visible monsters in our lives take a backseat. And that’s the hardest lesson of all to learn.
