Two days after the news of Lance Armstrong’s fall from grace, I’m still not sure what my reaction should be. Disappointment? Disgust? Outrage?
Probably all three.
Not because he cheated his way to the top of the competitive cycling world, all the while steadfastly denying the doping allegations that dogged him – first in whispers, then in shouts – for years. Bad enough as this was, the real moral offense lies elsewhere: in leading everyone to believe in his amazing recovery from cancer, in accomplishing victories that inspired so many of his fellow survivors, when apparently all along his feats were artificially enhanced.
Were those Tour de France performances the real Lance Armstrong, the guy who battled back from testicular cancer that had spread to his abdomen, lungs, lymph nodes and brain, the guy who at one point was given only a 40 percent chance of survival? Or was his incredible comeback helped along by performance-enhancing drugs?
We’ll never know for sure. And in all honesty, I feel sort of betrayed by one of my own, because Armstrong and I belong to the same tribe: young adults who were diagnosed with cancer (in fact Armstrong’s diagnosis came a year after I completed treatment for lymphoma), beat the disease and returned to normal life.
The difference is that I didn’t cheat to do it while pretending to the rest of the world that my recovery was entirely the product of my own motivation and endurance. If anything, my life – like that of all too many other cancer survivors – has never gone back to what it used to be.
Truth be told, Armstrong has been a bit polarizing among some within the cancer community – not because of the long-standing doubts about whether he was doping but because he set the recovery bar so high.
This isn’t meant to diminish his accomplishments. Even without winning seven Tour de France races in a row, Armstrong would have been inspiring for his post-cancer career as a world-class cyclist – not to mention the founding of Livestrong, his charitable foundation that has done so much to offer help, hope and community to people with cancer.
Many survivors don’t fare as well as Armstrong, however. That cancer and the treatments for it are often accompanied by long-lasting and even permanent effects is one of the dirty little secrets of CancerWorld. It has only been within the last decade or so that the health community has begun recognizing this and trying to address it.
How people recover seems to be, at least to some extent, an individual outcome. Armstrong may have been better equipped than most, due to his training, physical and mental conditioning and perhaps even a genetic edge, as some research has suggested. Other survivors might not; does it mean they’re doing it wrong or not trying hard enough if they fall short of Armstrong’s level?
Perhaps the real issue has nothing to do with alleged doping and everything to do with the hero narrative. Armstrong gave us a shining example of overcoming adversity that turned out to be flawed. Maybe the correct response here isn’t outrage but forgiveness for placing the unreasonably high expectation on him of being everyone’s perfect cancer survivor superhero.
Why can’t the heroes be the survivors quietly showing up every day, working, going to school, raising families and being part of their community? Why can’t it be heroic enough to simply persevere through chemo brain, fatigue, nerve damage and the rest of the long-term cancer baggage?
For what it’s worth, it comes as somewhat of a relief that Lance Armstrong may be fading as the image to aspire to. Maybe now we can go back to more realistic expectations that embrace the still-rich human potential of life after cancer while remaining honest about the limitations.