Just a couple of weeks back I was fortunate enough to have the LGBT foundation get in touch asking if we’d be interested in hearing from a friend of theirs, David, who was diagnosed with cancer last September. David wished to share with us his story about being a gay man and facing cancer – fortunately, David's recent chemotherapy treatment has been successful!
David’s story makes for an extremely heartfelt and eye-opening read, from a perspective perhaps shared too little on the Community. Here it is…
My nephew – he’s 12 – and I, are in Brighton Museum and Art Gallery. We find ourselves in front of a large TV screen. There’s a film about the partial decriminalisation of homosexuality which took place in 1967. He’s curious and open minded (a credit to his parents, I say), and he watches intently. As it comes to an end, I am moved, and attempt to wipe a tear without being noticed. He gently squeezes my arm and, rummaging for something appropriate, says a little clumsily, ‘Well done Uncle David’. He smiles. And I smile. And we laugh. (‘I wasn’t born until 1970’, I say). And I feel grateful - for him, for the chemo, for my future, for now.
I came out 30 years ago because being in the closet was making me miserable. I hated the lies I told; they had long ceased to protect me and had become an act of self-harm. Yet try as I might to imagine the future, I was terrified. The need to speak the truth, my truth, sat at odds with the deep shame I felt, which had been impressed upon me from birth by the media, my peers, politicians, and the church. To them, I was a deviant, a threat to the fabric of moral society, a potential cypher for the scourge of the time - AIDS. I worried that I would be forever on the margins, unfulfilled, alone. And I feared for my life. Yet, like millions of LGBT people, I wanted to challenge discrimination and stigma, subvert norms, and have fun. I wanted to forge an identity, to take my place, to be counted.
I didn’t fully realise it at the time but being gay is replete with challenges. For LGBT people, coming out doesn’t just happen once; it is repeated throughout our lives. Every day there are assumptions to challenge, prejudices to overcome, positive messages to reinforce. Perhaps most importantly, being LGBT doesn’t protect us from the challenges everybody else faces. We are told that up to half of us will have cancer at some point in our lives, yet I never really believed it would be me. I was resilient. I had fought hard all my life - for equality, for human rights, for respect. And we are strong, my LGBT friends and I.
'Having cancer was an affront to what I had achieved, to my identity as a gay man, to my masculinity.'
The news left me dumb founded. Having cancer was an affront to what I had achieved, to my identity as a gay man, to my masculinity. I was almost felled by it, weakened by night sweats and uncertainty, and the fear in the doctors’ eyes as they huddled around my hospital bed and towered above me. I felt diminished, physically and psychologically. And once again, I felt shame; it was a dark place, dank and musty, but quite familiar. Being there drew attention to everything that I wasn’t, to every failure, to my mortality, and to life’s purpose which suddenly eluded me. Every relationship changed, not least the relationship I had with myself. I felt disconnected from my body, distanced from my sexuality. Exhausted and nauseous, my mouth filled with ulcers from the chemo, my scalp flaky, I withdrew into myself.
But there were positives, undoubtedly. My experience of ill health - like my decision to come out several decades earlier – strengthened me and my relationships, even with those with whom I thought the bonds could never be stronger. My family and my friends – many of whom are LGBT - carried me on their shoulders. When loneliness threatened to consume me, Macmillan paid for train fares to see my nephews and friends. A counsellor helped me manage the maelstrom within me and imagine the future. I came to realise that recovery depends upon a mixture of practical and emotional support as well as finding the courage to accept that life is finite, and that death cannot be eschewed indefinitely.
'...face the fear, find peace amidst the crises, and most importantly, cherish the ones you love.'
The prognosis is good. There’s never been a better time to have cancer, evidently. Immunotherapies – of which my veins have now sucked in more than their fair share – are changing the game. I am reassured that the likelihood of recurrence is slight. But life will never be the same again. Just as coming out as a gay man redefined who I was and brought me strength and unimagined opportunities, as well as many losses, having cancer has done the same. I do not know when I will die – it could be decades or years or months, maybe – but when I do, I will be grateful for the lessons that life taught me, as a gay man, as someone with cancer: face the fear, find peace amidst the crises, and most importantly, cherish the ones you love.
Affected by cancer and part of the LGBT community? Why not share your experiences in the comments section below. You might also like to join our The LGBT Lounge and talk to others affected by cancer.
