Dinner with the Ulman Cancer Fund

Today I was invited to go to a dinner with some folks from the Ulman Cancer Fund, a cancer fund specifically for young adults (15-39). I didn't really know it at the time, but the dinner was mainly to get sorority members involved in fundraising and service for the Ulman Cancer Fund, so I kind of stuck out like a sore thumb as one of the 6 guys in the room; and 3 of them were there as members of the organization. I'm used to standing out, though, and that's basically the topic of my post tonight.

For starters, the dinner tonight was not geared toward me, but it was supposed to relate to me. We heard at least three stories of young adult cancer survivors, only one of which was delivered by the actual person (she happened to be the same person who introduced Obama when he was on campus recently). Whenever I hear these stories, I kind of feel like a phony, though. Treatment for Carmichael is very simple compared to all of these other cancers; I just take a pill every day or so. So even at this basic level, I already feel that I don't fit in.

Then Brock, the main speaker, went on to talk about all of the problems that young adult cancer patients face that other demographics don't, such as having difficulty paying for college or having to worry about infertility. The former I've never had a problem with (and my advisor, Bobby, really looks out for me in that regard), and the latter is not something I'm concerned with. If anything, it makes any decisions I might have had to make easier: if Ted and I actually want to have a biologically related baby at some point, I suspect we'd have him be the father. In some sense, I think that cancer support is heterosexist, but I can't really complain about it too much since I don't really need the support and when you start taking intersections of minority groups like that you quickly get down to a tiny group of people. For example, I'm guessing I'm the only young adult gay man who uses Linux with CML at the University of Maryland.

At the meeting tonight, I couldn't help but be drawn back to the days when I was involved with the gay community at UMD. I thought activism was so important, and that I needed to be a part of it. It took a few years, but I realized that I've got way more important stuff going on in my life than these issues. That's not to say that activism isn't important, both for gay rights and for cancer support, but it's to say that my talents are better suited elsewhere.

I think that this last point really highlights some irony in my life. I really feel like I've had a much easier time dealing with Carmichael because of everything I went through as a teenager when I dealt with being gay. There are actually a lot of parallels. When I received my initial diagnosis, it felt like my world had ended, but I have to admit that I felt the same way when I first uttered the words, "I'm gay," in the shower when I was 14. Then there was the problem of telling everyone I know and love that my life has changed; when I was young, it was a long and painful process to tell everyone, but I really learned from that and was able to deal with it quickly as an adult.

Really the toughest part is coming to terms with your new identity. I was an ordinary guy as a kid, and then all of a sudden I realized I was a gay man, and that was not an easy transition to understand my life in relationship to that new identity. After adjusting to my new identity that first time, it became very easy to adjust to changes to my identity in the future. So naturally, I adjusted to being a cancer patient very quickly, and life returned to normal very quickly. Sure, there are some issues still, but there are still issues with being gay, too, so life is pretty normal these days.

In the end, there are a few new interesting issues at the intersection of these two aspects of my identity. The first is that the Red Cross does not allow gay men to donate blood, which most likely delayed my diagnosis. That really irritates me, but I'm not sure how to effect a change in their policy or even that it would actually be a positive change from a purely statistical standpoint. The second is that my attitude toward gay marriage has changed somewhat. I no longer feel that it can wait and that it will happen eventually; I want to get married, and although I plan to live a long and happy life, being faced with my own mortality makes me want to get married sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, it could be legalized in D.C. very soon, so I may get my chance. Maybe I should be saving up money...