'I'm dying of cancer. I didn't expect all of the 'competitive suffering'.'

This story discusses an opioid overdose and could be distressing for some readers. 

No one owns the monopoly on grief or suffering, someone else out there is sure to be having a worse day than you.

I fear that I am indulging in an activity that I promised myself I would never do. 

I suspect this little article thing I am attempting to write will descend into a self-indulgent self-pitying piece about cancer. Considering I have been diagnosed with terminal breast cancer, I suppose it is inevitable that I end up straying into that lane.

Here is the thing about having cancer, it is a little bit like being pregnant. You know, you announce your pregnancy, and suddenly you are inundated with everyone’s war story and will be exposed to what I think is one of womankind’s more bizarre behaviours, 'The Sport of Competitive Suffering'.

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Conversations around pregnancy and labour can descend into a strange kind of braggadocio. You know, who had the longer labour, who required more stitches, who had the worst morning sickness. It appears that some women see their ability to survive labour as a pinnacle of achievement.

Shall we start with some background for context? Here follows a summary of my story. 

To start with, let’s acknowledge my life has not followed the path I envisaged as a child when I dreamed of being a fairy princess who could fly. Instead, I am now an almost 50-year-old woman who can barely walk most days. 

By the time I was 30, I was the sole parent to two amazing children who were, without a doubt, the centre of my universe and the reason I had to breathe.

In 2014, my then 16-year-old son had an accident at his casual job and, as a result, suffered chronic pain. Like many sufferers of chronic pain, he became addicted to opioids and eventually died from an opioid overdose. The same year, I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer, and underwent almost 12 months of treatment, that included surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. The treatment was difficult, and ultimately unsuccessful.

In 2017, I found out that the cancer had spread to my brain. I had what was the first of four brain surgeries I have had over the last five years. 

In describing the cancer, I have left out one of the key descriptors that is required if one is to engage in competitive cancer suffering. 

In describing the cancer one is afflicted with, is it mandatory to claim possession over the cancer. Thus, it becomes ‘my cancer’ – terminology I abhor. I am also not fond of the cancer journey analogies. For me this journey has only one destination. I do not wish to claim any ownership over this vile disease. It is also mandatory to advise that I was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. 

Gentle quiet cancers do not make good stories. If you are ever unfortunate enough to be diagnosed with cancer you will suddenly find out that everyone is an expert because their grandmother had cancer, and you will engage in multiple conversations about the merits of various specialists and chemotherapy regimens and discussions reading the relative aggressiveness of your cancer. 

I can also tell you that you will be very well supported by the health system. In my experience, my medical team have been overwhelmingly kind compassionate and supportive, and worked with me to achieve my goals.

My main goal is to survive for as long as possible and spend what time I can with my 18-year-old daughter. 

Chemotherapy is not an enjoyable experience, but I find it bearable if I can remind myself that I am not the only person suffering. 

It is always good to note that other people have challenges in life; this helps me put my own suffering into perspective. I started a new treatment regime two days before Christmas 2022. As I sat in the hospital watching poison being released into my veins, I was reminded how lucky I am as the talented Ms K Kardashian was releasing a snivelling YouTube clip explaining how difficult it was to co-parent with Kanye. This is a challenge I am sure, as I too co-parent with a dead- beat, who is years behind on child support payments. 

I tell you what I find hard is how to parent a child when you know you will be leaving that child on their own. As Kim opined her co-parenting difficulties, I was also grateful that Prince Harry and his fellow victim could explain to us, how he was seeking security for his family. 

I also wish to provide security for my child; however, the financial implications of cancer are making that difficult. I would like to provide her the security of knowing the mortgage will be paid off and she won’t lose her home as well as her mother. Unfortunately, there is no nice Spotify contract on the table for me. I am available to talk, Spotify, it will be more fun than 'Archetypes' if you are interested. I have ideas that could work.

Perhaps more insidious than competitive suffering is the game of competitive grief. I experienced this phenomenon in 2016, when I used my long service leave and took my then 11-year-old daughter on a holiday to the USA and Europe. 

In Europe we spent 11 days walking part of the Camino de Santiago, a walking pilgrimage predominantly through Spain, that traces the footsteps of pilgrims throughout the ages who sought to follow in the footsteps of St James. 

The Camino was made famous in the movie The Way, starring Martin Sheen. It follows the story of a father who walks the Camino in honour of his son who died attempting the pilgrimage. It is a beautiful and touching movie, but I fear has spoiled the Camino experience. The Camino is now full of people seeking to have their own enlightening experience. In fact, on the first night of the Camino some hostels devote time to giving pilgrim’s opportunity to share why they are doing the Camino and what they hope to get out of it, and out come the stories, one lady lost her mother, another her father, someone else a close friend. Yes, the evening descended into a prime example of competitive suffering. Is it worse to lose a parent, sibling, spouse or child? I don’t think it matters, grief is grief. For me, the pain of losing a child is visceral. Seven years later I still feel it physically in the pit of my stomach and the ache in my chest. I do not need to minimise someone else’s pain to validate my own. 

I did not find myself walking the Camino, but there was a certain kind of peace to the experience. On the pilgrimage, we passed many chapels, churches, and monasteries. I lit candles in honour of my son in many a chapel. I also discovered what I think might be the most awesome tourist attraction in Spain.

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A public wine fountain, yes, a drinking fountain that dispensed red wine. Amazing! One thing I would like to share about talking to people grieving a child, don’t say something like, I don’t know how you get through the day, I would never be able to get out of bed if it was me. It is ultimately a message that passes judgement on the way a person grieves.

As I come to terms with the idea that this cancer is likely to claim my life before the year is through, I find myself considering how my daughter will cope with my passing. Unfortunately, she will need to navigate a mortgage and living expenses on her own. 

However, I have learned that cancer is not all bad news. It has shown me how fortunate I am in my family and friends, who have rallied around to support us. It is my expectation that these wonderful people will continue to support my daughter once I am gone. She, of course, will need to let them in. Not something she is always good at. In the meantime, I will continue to seek ways to supplement our income, should be fun. 

Now if you are interested in donating to cancer research, I highly recommend Love your Sister. This charity is unique in that it does not engage in competitive suffering or competitive cancer, it is devoted to the vanquishing of all cancer, a very worthy cause.

At the time of publication, Kate is currently very unwell and in palliative care. Despite this, she continues with her optimism, kindness, and innate ability to enjoy life.

Image: Supplied.