My name is Laura
and I watch the Real Housewives more regularly than I'd like to admit. I’m a
vicarious visitor to Orange County and New York, used to spend a lot of time in
New Jersey, and occasionally duck into Atlanta and Beverly Hills, just to see
what’s going on.
It is a bit of an addiction, the Housewives
series. I was a latecomer to its explosively entertaining parties. I’d never
been big on binge watching television and, honestly, it wasn’t until I began
treatment for a breast cancer recurrence that I had the capacity and desire to
collapse onto the couch and seek mindless diversion.
It didn’t take
me long to find the Bravo network, and it was almost impossible not to develop an
affinity for their alternate version of female reality. Perpetual reruns of
previous episodes got me quickly up to speed on the characters and their almost
comically surreal and wacky hi-jinks. I also didn’t have the energy to find the
remote and change the channel.
For those who
aren't familiar with the “Real Housewives,” each episode follows a group of wealthy,
status-driven women as they go about their everyday lives. The typical cast
member is drop-dead gorgeous (thanks to a team of highly trained specialists),
lives in a sprawling McMansion, and thrives on drama, much of it self-induced.
Because the air
time devoted to such a limited segment of the population generates successful
ratings, perhaps other special populations should be considered. Given that one
out of every eight women will develop breast cancer in her lifetime, a “Real
Housewives of BC” franchise seems long overdue.
The selection criteria would have to be adjusted, however. The real
housewives of BC lead lives that are less than glamorous, and they cannot be defined by household
spending or societal class. They come in all shapes and sizes and span the spectrum of age. Some of them are even men.
The real
housewives of BC juggle grueling treatment schedules with the unceasing demands
of daily life. Their calendars are crammed, not with shopping trips and
restaurant runs, but with doctors' appointments, diagnostic tests, chemotherapy
infusions, and radiation sessions.
The real housewives
of BC endure pain, nausea, fatigue, mouth sores, low blood counts, and a host
of other unpleasant side effects. They forfeit social engagements and curtail
non-essential time commitments, conserving energy for the ones that really
matter, which are usually either family- or work-related.
The real
housewives of BC don't dress to impress—they sacrifice style for comfort. Their
wardrobe is designed not to reveal, but to conceal a variety of imperfections
including, but not limited to, surgical sutures, ports placed to facilitate
chemo infusions, missing or lopsided breasts, bald heads, and skin ravaged by
radiation.
The real
housewives of BC experiment with bold jewelry and hip headscarves, painting on
faces that make them look like they're not trying to cheat death. They swallow
their pride and adapt to unflattering fashion necessities like compression garments
to manage lymphedema and silicone pads to fill empty bra cups. They add a
steely self-confidence as defensive armor against the slings and arrows of
insensitive bystanders.
The real
housewives of BC wrangle with insurance companies, stave off collection
agencies, and craft living wills. They strike up conversations with strangers
in waiting rooms, swap treatment stories, trade tips for managing symptoms, and
find solace in solidarity.
The real housewives of BC are, as my former surgeon put it, unwilling
volunteers in the study of breast cancer. They pore over pathology reports, recite survival statistics from
memory, and weep when they read the obituaries of fellow warriors.
The real housewives
of BC are acutely aware that the end of treatment does not guarantee survival.
They live in the shadow of cancer, mired in murky uncertainty, and hold their
breath through every follow-up scan, wondering and worrying about how long their
health and luck will hold out.
A “Real
Housewives of BC” franchise might not provide the same kind of escapism as the
rest of the series, but it would certainly offer some much needed perspective.
Life is messy, complicated, and far more fragile than most people realize.
And in its
darkness is where we learn to appreciate the beauty of its light.