Last Shot: Telling Your Friends You Have Cancer
[Editor's Note: Long-time concert photographer Andrew Youssef found out two years ago that he had stage IV colon cancer. In that time, he has continued to shoot tons of music events, on top of other freelance work and working a day job at a hospital, of all places. As he continues to fight for his life, this series allows him to tell his story in his own words.]
Lindsey Best Andrew Youssef
It has been two years and three months since I was initially diagnosed. The shock of hearing my gastroenterologist telling me I had cancer crippled me as much as the disease itself. The doctor dropping the bomb on me with both of my parents in the room was hard enough. The next difficult task would be to tell all my friends about my diagnosis.
Another unique aspect of collapsing at the hospital I work at was that all of my coworkers and colleagues would constantly check on me and ask me how I was doing. It was traumatic to have to repeat how I had a tumor obstructing my colon, and I needed surgery right away. Over and over again. My CT scan gave a detailed report of how I had a large tumor in my colon and that it had spread diffusely into my liver.
I soon got the wise idea of handing my fellow pharmacists and nurses the actual CT scan report so they would fully understand the scope of my diagnosis and prognosis. My parents were great enough to disclose my situation to my immediate family members and relatives. All that was left for me to do was inform my close friends.
How do you tell your friends you have cancer? I wasn't about to post a message on Facebook: "Hey, everyone! I've got Stage IV colon cancer. Gonna be out of it for a little while."
I texted my friend Melissa and asked if she was driving before I told her. It was probably chicken to text and e-mail friends about my diagnosis, but I thought I was checking out soon, so it didn't matter.
I e-mailed my editors at OC Weekly and Stereogum to say that it was a pleasure working for them and that I wouldn't be able to fulfill my upcoming assignments. I even posted a notice on my website, Amateur Chemist, that I would be going on an "indefinite hiatus." Soon word spread amongst my friends and colleagues, but I still tried to contain the information about my diagnosis as much as possible.
It took nearly two years for me to be comfortable admitting that I have cancer. This column has helped me to finally inform all friends and acquaintances of my situation. Fortunately, the amount of positive feedback I've received from these weekly musings and from those close to me make me regret that I didn't do this earlier. I've also received a host of e-mails from people I know who have beat cancer, with no idea that some had battled it in the first place.
While I fully understand the shame and guilt of telling friends and loved ones you have cancer, it has been liberating to come to terms with my diagnosis. It has helped in the healing process, both physically and mentally. Out of all the possible types to get, colon cancer may be one of the more embarrassing to admit. But as I have learned with inconveniences like the horrible acne rash from my chemotherapy medications, you learn to let go of things like vanity and humility. I am thankful that I'm still alive to this day fighting the disease.
- Last Shot: A Concert Photographer's Battle With Cancer
- Last Shot: Helplessness Blues at a Fleet Foxes Concert
- Last Shot: Chemical Warfare Takes Its Toll
- Last Shot: Photographing Coachella with Cancer is Like Running an Ultramarathon
- Last Shot: Time Is Running Out
- Last Shot: Chemotherapy Leaves Me Seeing "Stars" With Hum
- Last Shot: Battling Cancer to Shoot the Red Hot Chili Peppers
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