It is a rainy Saturday evening. Thunder crashes nearby and heavy rain patters against the window. The constant white noise of the storm is relaxing and I find myself fighting the urge to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea. Instead, these are the last few minutes of calm before the start of my twelve-hour night shift. In these final few minutes of peace, I am thinking about the lack of stability after cancer.
Cancer steals many things from those who fight it. Many cancer resources focus on the physical experience of acute cancer, the surgeries, the chemo, the radiation. These experiences are easy to talk about because they are so concrete. The process is similarly horrific and predictable for almost everyone who experiences it.
Like a thief, during that fight, cancer steals every bit of a person’s physical reserve making even simple tasks herculean efforts. Even after the battle is won this lack of reserve makes it difficult or nearly impossible to entirely return to a pre-cancer way of living. Months later whenever I make the mistake of treating my post-cancer body like my pre-cancer body, I immediately receive an unpleasant reality check.
These physical limitations are frustrating and demoralizing. Even so, I personally find the less tangible emotional thefts much more difficult to cope with.
Before my cancer diagnosis I had a great deal of stability and like most people didn’t even know it. After years of 80 to 100 hour work weeks and constant sacrifice as a physician, I reached financial independence just a year before my diagnosis. Those years of work drew heavily on my body’s reserve and physical abilities. I took for granted that I would always have the ability to draw upon my own strength.
Having seemingly limitless reserve, unlimited ability to work, and regular reliable income I enjoyed a stable life. If I was faced with a period of financial instability, it was brief. If a work contract ended, I simply recruited another. I never needed to consider what a job might do to my body. Self care never factored into my work equation at all. I just assumed that my body could tolerate 12 hours without food, water, or bathroom breaks day after day after day, month after month, year after year.
Pre-cancer I scheduled my work weeks without concern for conflicting responsibilities. I traveled across the country for work every month never needing to worry if I was near home for my own medical needs. For most of my life my personal medical appointments consisted of a once yearly trip to the gynecologist for preventative care. Never could I have dreamed that there would come a time before the age of 40 where I would have multiple medical appointments per week for months at a time.
Before cancer I was confident in my abilities and my own self worth. If a particular job paid me unfairly or treated me poorly, I simply found another contract where I was paid and treated as I deserved. My opportunities were limitless. I was financially stable. I could afford everything I wanted and had plenty left over for charity and to help my family. I had no limitations. Looking back my healthy body, boundless physical reserve, unlimited freedom of movement, and never ending earning potential gave me a level of stability I could only dream about now.
Now post cancer I live my life on shifting sands. No longer able to draw upon physical reserve I am forced to choose my work carefully. I can no longer physically tolerate dehydration or skipping meals. I must plan my work days cautiously.
Between the COVID pandemic and my multiple medical appointments, I am forced to take work close to home. Unfettered travel is no longer an option. This has forced me into staying at local jobs where I am paid unfairly and well under market value for my skill set. I often feel trapped and taken advantage of. This further damages my already fragile post cancer self esteem and feelings of self worth.
It took me seven months after my diagnosis to claw my way back to 65-70% of my previous monthly earnings with two part time jobs. One of those, my pre-cancer full time job, used to pay me a fair market hourly rate. I was scheduled reliably and paid within a week of my services as is standard in my line of work.
After my diagnosis they not only cut my number of shifts but also my reimbursement. I am offered work intermittently and am now paid a portion of my returns. Returns are not only unpredictable in amount but also in timing. Even the months I work full time I can no longer pay the bills. This ongoing unpredictability leaves me unstable. It causes me constant distress.
In my pre-cancer life I would have walked away months ago. Now, limited by my self care needs and feeling insecure, I continue to stay. I know I deserve better but being unable to travel and desperate to maintain at least some income I tolerate the unfairness…for now. Still, I am weary of my situation and long for stability and reliability.
The job I am working tonight has been my tiny financial life raft in the storm. Shift availability is unpredictable but I am appreciated and paid fairly. It was a hard blow when I learned last week this job was downsizing. My life raft is sinking. I will soon again be in financial freefall.
This lack of stability has been one of the very hardest parts of my cancer recovery. Every time I get my feet under me the ground shifts again. First a cut in shifts, then a pay cut, then downsizing in the only job that is treating me fairly. How can I hope to find peace if I never know month to month if I can pay the bills? How can I free myself of this unreliable local job if I don’t yet have the physical fortitude for travel?
I snap back to reality. It is almost the start of my shift. I shrug and turn away from the window and the rainy evening beyond. At least I have this job for two more months. Maybe that will be enough time to find something else. For now I must push away these thoughts because the clock says it’s 7pm and that means it’s go time.
