Appearance ≠ Health (so be nice to humans!)

sidenote: I originally wrote this piece a couple of months back, while recovering from my first mastectomy. Then I got crummy news about my cancer, and this post seemed totally irrelevant so I never published it. I've been saving it for the right time. Which is now because the writer-y part of my brain is kaput, and I am overwhelmingly TIRED. 

"Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about."

Yes, I did just open this post with an authorless quote that sounds like it was swiped from the Pinterest board of a delusionally optimistic sorority girl.

And yet. Read it again. Because it's actually kind of important.

When people see me in a bandana trying to wrangle a Hershey bar out of my toddler's death grip, they already know my battle. It's visibly obvious I've been through chemo. Either that or my fashion sense is tragically rubbish. But most people (I hope) assume the former.

This does have its benefits. Strangers are ever so nice to you when they can see you have cancer.

Case in point: the girl who shooed away my dollar bills while serving me gelato.

Also, the couple who let me and my sister temporarily take their front-place spot at The Shins concert. 

Also, the lady who immediately ran to my aid after I dropped a carton of eggs in the checkout line at Wegmans. 

Also, that other lady who ran to my aid after I dropped a glass terrarium at Michael's a week later (Yes, this is my life. These things happen to me.)

I'd like to say people choose kindness regardless of the recipient's headwear. The truth is, though, I noticed a significant increase in kind actions on my behalf after I started chemo.

Which I so appreciate. It reminds me of how accommodating people were when I was very obviously pregnant. Perfect strangers treat you like royalty when you're visibly expecting—pulling out chairs and helping you bag groceries at Aldi. (how's that for nice?!)

This is all good and lovely, people helping chemo patients and chubby pregnant ladies. But what about the women who are in their first trimester of pregnancy? You'd never know it by looking at them, but they're the ones with their heads in the toilet while the rest of us 3rd trimesters stuff our faces with pizza pockets. It seems so unfair.

Which brings me to Paul. To the unsuspecting stranger, he appears perfectly "normal" (if you ignore the beige support stockings and typically unmatching getup.) He doesn't look sick. He doesn't look like he has terminal cancer. Outwardly, he appears fine, so people treat him as such.

"As such" means: impatiently. Rude, even. This makes my head & heart hurt. I may sound like a defensive mother whose child is being bullied on the playground, but when people get ruffled because my husband is not walking quickly enough for them in the airport terminal, well, I just want to punch their throats.

He may look like your average spry 32-year-old, but he can barely make it up a flight of stairs without getting winded.

He may look totally healthy, but sometimes he coughs so hard he throws up.

Cancer isn't the only "invisible disability", of course. There's also MS, Epilepsy, Cystic Fibrosis, depression, people with chronic pain, and on and on and on.

The takeaway here is simple: Be kind, be kind, be kind. It's so easy, and it goes such a long way. 

Love, 

Liz