Cancer bits from Beauty and the Beast

It’s weird going out in public with an ear-to-ear 8 inch wound on your neck. There’s a tiny break in the middle of the gash, and apparently that’s for esthetic purposes; otherwise, I look like the survivor of a slasher attack. Healing wounds are usually covered, like my breast cancer wound 18 years ago. This one is on full display- I’m not about to wear turtleneck sweaters in June- and it opens other old wounds like masking identity and low self-esteem.

First, I went to the local butcher, a friendly and accommodating place to visit. The youngster – probably sixteen- caught sight of my neck midway through his, “Can I help you?” and he never looked at me again. He selected the sausages, he wrapped them, and he dropped them on the counter with nary a sideways glance, even with me prompting him with the occasional observation,”Those look good,” and “You have really neat writing” when he snaked the word “sausages” across the smooth brown paper top. But he never looked at me again; he was too nervous. I understood, but I also know that I have to adjust to having a very visible scar on my neck that speaks volumes to the people around me. They know more about me than I know about them. My wound is visible. Even more visible than my hard nipples through a tee shirt. Truthfully, that’s nothing; it’s more like my hard nipples without a tee shirt to hide behind.

Next, I walked into Mike’s NOFRILLS and passed people walking out with their packaged groceries. I glanced at them all, smiling warmly. Every single person saw the gash and looked away. Except one beautiful Indian woman, bookmarked by children and pushing a heavy cart of food, looked straight at it and did not look away. I was momentarily transfixed as she unapologetically observed my wound; and her look felt loving to me, and I felt accepted.

To continue this journey of going out in public naked, I decided to visit a few shopkeepers that I support in the community. The kind of people you sort of know. Take Brenda at the pet shop; Oliver and I visited her 5 times a week for 15 minutes for 10 years. You get to know people, and I could ask what they thought. I took Brenda off guard because I’d seen her two weeks ago without the gash, and now my neck is slashed from end to end. “It’s honestly not that noticeable” started a very passionate dialogue about the scariness of cancer, and why was I so calm?? and why couldn’t the health care system work faster to cure myself and my daughter of the beast devouring our insides?? to which I replied, “Why not me? and the health care system is helping hundreds of people besides me; I am not an island.” And she was comforted, and so was I.

At the pot store, the teeny tiny girl said, “Dude, you’re rocking it. That’s like my dream tattoo!” I was encouraged. Even if she was higher than a kite.

At the paint store, a young girl I’d never met offered to help. She was lovely and did not miss a beat over the gash. I asked about the best outdoor shed paint colours, and what product worked best outside. She acted like there was no gash or like I was wearing a dog collar for style purposes. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” she prepared to move on.

“Yes,” I said, “can you tell me if my neck wound is obvious?”

“Only in the most beautiful way,” she said. “It tells me you have a story, and it makes me curious to know what it is.” She didn’t miss a beat.

And I walked home, feeling just slightly less beastly. And a lot more like me.

KIm