r/breastcancer • u/GittaFirstOfHerName • 5h ago
Venting I'm venting and fair warning: it's long and there's a lot of cursing
I work with people who like to think of themselves as enlightened, sympathetic, accommodating human beings. But they're not. They're lovely in their own way and I like them well enough, but they do not give one single iota of shit in any real way about what others are going through, and they are ableist in ways that are shameful.
Point of clarification: I have real friends at work, friends who are wonderful and whom I love and who have tried to be helpful through my cancer. I'm not talking about them.
I was working from home today except that I had a 1.5-hour meeting in the office, right in the middle of the heat of the afternoon. It was 95F when I went in. There is construction on site so parking is a nightmare. At this point in my cancer reality, I (62F) am two years past my lumpectomy and radiation and am on exemestane after anastrozole absolutely fucking wrecked me. I tolerate exemestane better than I did anastrozole (no brain fog, pain isn't as bad), but the drug depletes my body of energy -- as in, I have zero in the tank after walking more than 30 feet. I am not sleepy; I am a car that is out of gas.
So I parked a distance away from the building because there was nothing close, hobbled the best I could while having to stop every 30 feet to rest -- I lean on a cane, which also helps with balance -- all over asphalt in the scorching sun. I make it inside the building 15 minutes before the meeting and slip into the room, hoping that no one will be there. Except someone is there. Our team leader. And she's one of the lovely, clueless, ableist people I work with. This meeting doesn't have to be in person, as most of us work from home and do so really, really well. But she likes the "synergy." And she has baked things to share. And the moment I arrive, she asks if I'm okay. ("Yes, thanks, I'm battling cancer right now" -- but I don't actually say that.) I tell her I'm fine but that I need to sit and "gather myself."
And she wants to converse. I do not have the energy to converse. I barely have the energy to refrain from telling her to fuck off, that this fucking meeting -- as genuinely useful as it is -- could have been handled easily by email OR ON FUCKING ZOOM (sorry for shouting), and she keeps talking and I finally have to say to her, "Sally, I'm sorry, I do not have enough in the tank to recover from the walk in from the parking lot and conversation. Please give me a few minutes. I'll be myself in just a few minutes."
And then she has the nerve to say, "Oh, my, well, you could have stayed home, you know."
No, I did not fucking know that. And this meeting -- a strategy meeting -- was genuinely important and I weirdly like to feel as though I'm a vital part of this place where I've worked for 20 fucking years and in which I have been considered -- prior to becoming Cancer Girl -- to be a vital part of the team.
Three in-person meetings last week that could have been held via Zoom or handled by email. (Most of us work from home. Also, in fairness to Sally, she did not schedule last week's meetings.) One of those meetings was a breakfast meeting for which they ordered a single urn of coffee for 100 people and then management chided us for grousing about the lack of promised coffee. Fuck that, too.
But here's the cherry on top.
At the meeting with the coffee shortage, a supervisor -- not my supervisor, but a supervisor, and one of the I'm-your-friend variety -- asked, "What did you do to your leg?"
"Nothing," I said.
"But you have a cane. Is it a fashion accessory?" He asked that with a little wry smile, as though he'd shared some great bon mot rather than persisted in asking really inappropriate questions.
"It helps with energy and balance."
"Energy and balance?"
"Yes. Energy and balance."
"Why?"
"Side effects from my adjuvant cancer drug."
"Oh. You still have cancer?"
(Me screaming, internally. "YES, I'M STILL BATTLING CANCER, YOU ABSOLUTELY CLUELESS FUCK WHOSE UNDERLINGS I PITY WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING THAT ISN'T BEING OBLITERATED AT THIS MOMENT BY EXEMESTANE!!!")
"Yes," I said. "I still have cancer."
"But you look fine," he said, and then added with a laugh and a WINK, "except for the cane."
Ha ha ha! Joke's on me! Ha ha ha! Cancer is so funny!
I have another meeting tomorrow (actually later today, since it's in the week hours that I post this. Thanks for the insomnia, exemestane! I love it as much as I love the incontinence!
Incontinence or not, they'd better have fucking coffee at the next meeting.