“Can you come up with a name for an email newsletter about being a young adult cancer survivor?”
It was a last-ditch effort. I had spent weeks putting off releasing the link to subscribe to this newsletter, with my main excuse being the lack of a title. Hours had been poured into my second brain (the thesaurus app on my phone) to try to find the words to describe what I’m trying to accomplish here. Chemo brain gets me stuck on the smallest of details for embarrassing amounts of time.
So, I did what any young person trying to accomplish any simple task would do, I consulted the internet. Enter, ChatGPT.
I had never used an AI intentionally before. My first encounter with AI was a video of the early prototypes of the Boston Dynamics dogs, and those scared the everloving shit out of young me (and they still do- I’m convinced if I saw one in the street I’d remember how to run again). I am haunted by the idea of my job and industry being made obsolete by a little robot in my laptop that knows more than I ever will.
I sat down at my makeshift workspace in the living room, also known as “the groove my ass has made in the couch due to a year of immobility”, and made an account on ChatGPT. My first question remained simple.
Apparently, it can, but there are no guarantees that what it comes up with will be good.
Thriving Forward
I was met with a name that sounded like a blog title published in the early 2000s of a recently divorced woman looking to start over. Thriving is a strong word, that I do not know if I will ever relate to again. Thriving feels out of reach, and honestly, I’d be perfectly content with just surviving. With a chuckle, I moved on. Two and three felt off and weren’t too noteworthy. Number four caught my eye, not because it was a contender, but because it was the first of many alliterative titles.
Overcoming Obstacles
I imagined myself leaping over hurdles labeled “chronic fatigue”, “perma-nausea” and “crippling (literally) trauma”, stumbling and falling flat on my face after each jump since I can barely walk as it is. Five was annoyingly plain. Six, on the other hand…
Young and Cancer Free
I let out an audible snort as my brain sang “young and cancerrrrr free” to the tune of Young and Wild and Free by Snoop Dogg & Wiz Khalifa. Absolutely not an option.
Second Chance Society
Is this truly my second chance? Do I get a third if I need it? Can I phone a friend to borrow a chance?
Eight and nine were unremarkable, but ten rubbed me the wrong way.
Road to Recovery
I don’t feel like I’m on the road to recovery at all. I’m recovering, but the “better” I get, the less I feel that there’s a final destination called “recovered”. Cancer destroyed my life beyond repair. I know that sounds dramatic, but there’s really no coming back from this- there’s only learning to exist with it. I can strive to get my health back, but it will never be what it was before, and I’ve come to terms with that.
Unsatisfied and unimpressed with the supposedly magical, all-knowing AI, I tried again, with a more specific question, encouraging it to be witty and clever this time around.
“That’ll do it”, I thought to myself. I didn’t want to sound like a cancer charity advertisement, I wanted to make people laugh or think or feel something other than sorry for me. I am so ridiculously tired of people feeling sorry for me
The highlights were as follows.
Cancer Kicker Chronicles
Besides the uncomfortable alliteration, this one made me laugh- kicker? Really? If I try to kick anything with my reconstructed leg, I lose my balance (and dignity) really fast.
Re-mission Possible
I had to read this one a few times to make sure the AI was serious. Okay, fine, this one was witty and clever (and truthfully, kind of funny)… but at what cost? A play on Mission Impossible? Remission Impossible would have been a more suitable title, considering my oncologist refuses to use the word remission to describe any time period of being cancer free. This disease looms over your life forever, and I’ve learned it’s best to come to terms with that early. There’s really no “safe zone” after a certain number of years.
Cancer, You’re Fired!
Dear god. This feels like something my mom would print onto a shirt with her Cricut to make me (live) laugh (love). Besides, I’m not sure I want to Trump cancer. Hard no.
Life Beyond the Lump
“ChatGPT, my sweet friend, we have been through so much together tonight, I feel it is only fair that I explain to your large robotic brain that not all cancer starts with a lump”, I thought to myself, assuming the AI could also read my mind. My cancer sure didn’t present itself, instead, I was blessed with a sneaky tumor hidden to the naked eye that ate itself into my bone like a cat eating its way into the kibble bag when breakfast is two minutes late. “Life Beyond the Bone Destroying Crater” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it
The Cancer Crusher
An image came to mind of my tumour being placed slowly and gingerly into a hydraulic press by carefully gloved hands. The machine descends upon it in this vision, slowly crushing it, obliterating it from its nasty, unkind existence. Perhaps the visual of a cancer crusher was a bit too gruesome.
Maybe I was pigeonholing myself. Maybe I needed to broaden my horizons a little- cancer is a pretty narrow topic. So, I tried “chronic illness” as a topic. I give the all-knowing AI another chance, even if it didn’t deserve it.
There’s a lot to work with here, and not in a good way. My attention was drawn to number nine.
The Daily Dose of Disability
“Ah yes, time to take my disability dose!”, I think to myself, imagining my line of pill bottles on my dresser gaining a new member. “We have the antidepressants, the anti-nausea.. oh, and what’s this? A new member? The pill that keeps me disabled and turns me into an *inspiration* to all!”
I was losing steam. This seemed futile. “People are writing their cover letters with this shit?” I sighed to myself in disbelief. I’m not as afraid of AI taking over the writing industry as I was before, so at least I got something out of this. At least I know people won’t be subscribing to a robot’s newsletter (unless you consider me a robot- I do have a leg with “bones” made of 18 inches of German titanium, and I keep pestering my surgeon to put a motor in).
One more chance can’t hurt, right? I ask for “short” names this time around, hoping that at least if they suck, I won’t have to spend much time reading them through.
Another list of titles appears on my screen, letter by letter, but they’re still multiple words long… just with the spaces removed. Well played, ChatGPT. I guess those are technically short names.
Besides the lack of spaces, there was a few notable options that made me do a double take.
ResilienceRX
Resilient is a complicated word for me. I don’t like being told I’m resilient as if it’s an inspirational choice I’ve made to showcase how much trauma a human being can hold before they burst. My resilience was inevitable. My resilience was non-consensual. My resilience was born into this world out of necessity. I never wanted to be resilient, brave, or tough. I wanted to be soft, comfortable, and normal.
NewNormalNow
I took a pause. No way. There’s absolutely no way that the AI has recommended I name my cancer newsletter dangerously close to the anti-mask/anti-vax slogan, “No New Normal”. We aren’t anti-science here, folks, and we definitely don’t want to be mistaken for that.
With that, I closed my laptop, my living room dark, my brain tired, and went to bed without a second thought.
Weeks went by with no effort to get things moving again. I shared my AI adventure with my partner and family, who all laughed harder than expected at the outcomes, recommending that I write about the experience in the future, but unfortunately, not recommending any useful names for the newsletter. I was back at square one until a conversation with a fellow cancer friend was brought up during afternoon cocktails and cat therapy in my apartment.
We had just reminisced on a conversation we had about oversharing our cancer journeys on the internet, laughing about how our followers got “exclusive access” to our suffering, coining the term “suffering influencer”, which promptly made its way into my Instagram bio. It just felt right. I’m baring it all to over a thousand strangers daily, popping on with updates like an influencer- except I’m not getting any fun PR packages, there’s nothing I’m encouraging you to buy, and I sure as hell am not getting paid. The conversation then drifted to my hilarious encounter with ChatGPT, as we read through my chat history for a well-needed giggle.
“Why don’t you just call the substack ‘Suffering Influencer?’”, my partner suggested between sips of his Mai Thai.
We laughed, and over the next few days, it stuck. I couldn’t think of anything more fitting. I’m here to show you my suffering. I’m here to let you into parts of life that are usually kept in the dark, cancer-related or not. I’m here to teach you to laugh in the face of trauma, to show you that life’s worst outcomes can still be okay, and to let you know that sometimes, things are just allowed to suck without any bright side.
I want to influence those who suffer (and don’t we all?) to make the most of it, even when there isn’t a silver lining. I want you to find solace in complaining, get comfortable with letting people help you and get familiar with coping. You certainly don’t need to share everything with everyone- privacy is powerful sometimes- but sometimes, sharing your misfortunes opens a world of opportunity for community, support from those who you least expect it from, and more.
The name of this newsletter was not the brainchild of a shiny new artificial intelligence. It was never meant to be that. This newsletter is named what it is because of a conversation I had with a friend I had met in the online cancer community, who turned into a real life friend. A stranger who visited me during chemotherapy, who’s given me the most thoughtful care packages, and who listened to me and shared parts of her own cancer journey with me. This name exists because I was vulnerable and honest on the internet, making human connections that helped me through treatment and beyond, and that is more valuable and meaningful than anything a robot could create.
ai has many limitations, including actual lived experience, compassion [fr fr], and knowing what it *truly* is to suffer. you’re my favourite non-robot robot writer and suffering influencer. it’s on the internet so it must be true! 🥇 thank you for sharing your truths [a constant exploration] and for being real [and i know being real can hurt, immensely]. 🖤❤️🩹🫂loving you!