How a Positive Cancer Diagnosis Can Have a Negative Impact on Your Career
Will revealing that I'm a cancer survivor jeopardize future employment opportunities?
What is the etiquette when you get a cancer diagnosis? Do you Instagram your MRI results to the blogosphere or e-blast your contact list with a universal, "And BTW, I have cancer" announcement? I'm still trying to work it all out, but there are certainly enough sad and anxious emoticons to punctuate the point.
Sharing the News
Coming to grips with our own mortality as well as the threat of potentially debilitating health complications are part and parcel of every life-threatening illness, but until you're up against that wall yourself, the fear is only speculative. The reality is a different and much noisier animal altogether. Drowning out the near-constant pitched battle in my head between worst-case scenarios and hope for total remission has been a real challenge. Admittedly, some days are better than others.
As those who've walked this road before me can attest, an initial diagnosis can play out any number of ways. My first instinct was to keep the news on a strictly need-to-know basis: family because they're my safety net, and the people I work for, because once testing and treatments began, they'd have to cover my assignments. I knew there'd be lots of questions, but I didn't really want to broaden my outreach any further until there was a more complete picture in place. Even now, post-surgery, I still don't have all the answers.
Once you're locked into the cancer patient HR pigeonhole, the limits of its walls are often all anyone sees.
I quickly learned that becoming a citizen of "cancer world" lifts the lid off a near-endless rabbit hole of cancer and cancer-adjacent information. Once I started Googling the specifics of my condition, "the algorithms that be" inundated my social media feed with ads and articles — some junk, some relevant — on everything from alternative treatment options and possible comorbidities, to calls for clinical drug trial participants and promising advances in oncological science straight from the International Space Station, to estate planning and charitable legacy donation options.
One thing I found, and I'm not alone, is that as much as a cancer diagnosis opens doors to an amazing number of resources as well as a robust peer support network (should you choose to avail yourself of those things), it also puts you in a very specific box. In the shorthand, SEO-obsessed employment culture in which job seekers must operate, once you're locked into the cancer patient HR pigeonhole, the limits of its walls are often all anyone sees.
Professional Persona
I'm reminded of an incident that occurred several many years ago in which I'd been interviewed by a national magazine for an article on women who'd chosen not to marry. At the time, I balked at revealing my age because being pretty darn close to my professional "sell-by date," it might have had an impact on further career opportunities. While the reporter was sympathetic, the editor was adamant: unless they could slap the "42-year-old woman" label on me, they'd eighty-six my segment of the story. In the end, I caved.
I wonder if letting the carcinoma kitty out of the bag is committing career hara-kiri. Time alone will tell.
Has my career (such as it's been) suffered because my age got outed? Possibly, but then again, there were so many other miscellaneous monkey wrenches in the mix I can't blame everything that never materialized job-wise on ageism. Still, as I have no desire to pursue the topic of cancer in my capacity as a health journalist, I wonder if letting the carcinoma kitty out of the bag is committing career hara-kiri. Time alone will tell.
The fact is, however, once cancer becomes a keyword in your hiring algorithm the chances of getting a decent gig diminish dramatically. Per a report titled "The Impact of Cancer on Employment" recently published in the Journal of Clinical Oncology, "A cancer diagnosis puts people at risk for poor employment outcomes, including job loss with its attendant financial toxicity and related consequences, such as bankruptcy, poor symptom control, impaired quality of life, treatment non-adherence and premature death." Charming.
While I have no plans to stop writing — ever, if I can help it — I've accepted the chances that applying for (much less landing) a high-profile job is no longer in the cards for me. But as much as I'm fine with that, I don't want my professional persona to be defined solely by my health status anymore than I do by my age. Yes, I'm a 66-year-old cancer patient, but I'm still the person I've always been — albeit shorter and grumpier with some new and not-so-lovely surgical scars.
Promising Prognosis
The good news is we caught my cancer early. It wasn't one of the aggressive, gnarly varieties and it was contained — although it had spread just enough to tip me from Stage 1-A to Stage 1-B. Had it been 10% less invasive, the surgery alone would have been considered curative. As it stands, there's a good probability I'll need at least some form of radiation therapy just to be safe, but the prognosis for my long-term survival is promising.
Will revealing I'm a cancer survivor further marginalize me as a job seeker and bury my résumé even deeper in the HR slush pile? Who knows? Right now, I'm focusing on kicking cancer's ass so it won't kick mine.
Once I've had a chance to recuperate a bit more on a physical level, I'll likely sit down and try to figure out what comes next personally and professionally. I'm guessing as long as I'm reasonably healthy and can manage to poke my head over the top of the pigeonhole every now and then, quantifying the impact cancer may or may not have on future employment opportunities won't be my highest priority.
