Has Cancer Made You Shallow?

 

Miriam Engelberg, breast cancer, graphic memoir

This year marks the 20th anniversary of the publication of Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person: A Memoir in Comics, 2006, by Miriam Engelberg.

Suzanne Shea cued me in to this gem of a cancer memoir. It recounts the cancer journey of Miriam from symptoms to diagnosis of breast cancer to chemo to metastatic recurrence. What makes this memoir different is that the journey is told in cartoons. It’s a graphic memoir that brings humor into the presentation, and humor with cancer helps us keep our emotions from hardening.

Be a Bird Feeder

Inspiration

Inspiration is a bird feeder. Every day we have to fill it up for it to be helpful.

Having cancer is a drag much of the time. We’re tired from the treatments, tired from trying to guess what is going to happen next, and we may not feel great, so we stay home in our sweltering, sweaty pot of woes so that we don’t bother anyone with our troubles.

We can all use a spark of something to liven up our day. It helps to get outside of the house for a time to remind us that the world still exists and to give us something to look forward to, even if we just walk around the block.

Healing Begins With Listening

 What can we learn from this book? If you’re seeing a primary doctor for the first time, and they don’t let you tell your story about what’s wrong, find a new doctor. The patient-doctor connection needs to be a relationship, not a transaction.

In her preface, Dr. Rita Charon lays out what her book, Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness (2006), is about: “narrative medicine [is] defined as medicine practiced with the narrative competence to recognize, absorb, interpret, and be moved by the stories of illness.” She goes on to say that it provides “health care professionals with practical wisdom in comprehending what patients endure in illness and what they themselves undergo in the care of the sick.”

When Do We Become Cancer Survivors?

 

Survivor, surviving, or treading water. Which am I? Am I a cancer survivor or still a cancer patient? They are completely different orientations with different mindsets. The treatments and therapies designed to kill my cancer are over, but it’s Schrödinger’s Box — we don’t know if all of my cancer is dead or alive until we look inside my “box.” My doctors won’t look until my PSA does something wonky. It’s a calculated unknown. Dormant cancer cells can be nudged awake by matters like metabolic changes, and what was “dead” is now “alive.” 

Some people think of themselves as survivors every day they’re alive. This is a prudent way to live. If we are never going to know for sure that all of our cancer is gone, why not focus on living as well as we can, instead of twisting ourselves into worry pretzels over everything that might go wrong?

The Stories of Patients

 medical narratives

The 25 essays in Bodies of Truth are by people who live with a chronic illness or disability. It was published by the University of Nebraska Press in 2019. Because most of the writers are patients, it’s a good companion to Where It Hurts, a collection of essays written by doctors, nurses, and other health care workers that was published by Intima Journal in 2026.

Patients Shouldn't Have To Ask

 

Let me preface my post by saying that all of my doctors are compassionate, knowledgeable, and caring people. 

I scheduled an appointment with my urologist, the first one with him since my cancer treatments ended, the anti-hormone drug was completely out of my system, and the temporary side effects of radiation were gone. This will be a reality check about what changes in my body I may have to live with. My urologist asks – “What questions do you have?”

I think there is a better approach, and I think it’s important because my questions are limited to what I know to ask about. I’d rather be entertained by his fishing expedition even if I don’t know why he’s asking about certain things. I figure they’re diagnostic.

Cancer Doctors Have Emotions

 

Laura Vater, oncologist

This is an aspect of cancer care that I’ve been waiting for — the emotions of a doctor caring for cancer patients.

I discovered the writing of Dr. Laura Vater because her essay “Goodbye Stethoscope” was also in the 2025 issue of The Examined Life Journal published by the Carver College of Medicine in Iowa. I was drawn in by its honesty and compassion.

Chew the Gum

 

It’s the pain, don’t cha know

Anne Lamott tells the story of having her tonsils taken out as an adult. After two weeks, her prescription for painkillers ran out. She called the doctor’s office to get a new prescription, and the nurse said No. The nurse told her to chew gum vigorously, which is the last thing that Lamott wanted to do with a painful throat. 

Reservations for Nine

 bladder and colorectal cancer

George Beauregard is a doctor who writes about his bladder cancer and his son Patrick’s colon cancer in Reservations for Nine (2025). It’s a heartbreaking account that shares the harsh realities and tragedies of cancer, and he recounts his family’s struggles and courage while twice confronting the unthinkable. From his experiences with cancer as a patient, a parent, and as a doctor, he shares what he has learned.

My thanks to Cassandra Isley for telling me about this book. I knew little about colon cancer before reading it.

Journaling Into the Heart of Your Cancer

 

Anna Quindlen

Going through cancer treatments is traumatic. If you have cancer, there are days when you bare-knuckle your way through with clenched teeth and a determined “Don’t get in my way” stare. What helps us cope is keeping a journal, writing down what is going on, what our doctors are saying, what we are thinking, and how we are physically and emotionally doing with all of this.