Since being diagnosed with cancer in April, I’ve become oddly obsessed with pop-culture portrayals of the disease. My mother stared at me with horror when a few days after my first oncology appointment I suggested we watch The Fault in Our Stars. (I’d read the book and wanted to see whether Shailene Woodley did a good job!). Certainly there are moments in the movies and TV shows I’ve filled my life with that strike a chord. I related all too well to a cancer-stricken Kristina Braverman when she curled up on the bathroom floor on Parenthood. And when I was in pain in the hospital, my mom pulled a full Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment to make sure I got my meds, damn it. I can even see a bit of Walter White in myself (season-one Walter White, don’t worry). But even with those bits and pieces of familiarity, none of these things attempted to tell my story, the story of a twentysomething aspiring journalist with a blood cancer who’s trying to make it in a big city while balancing friends, family, and career. I should have known to look to ABC Family, a bastion of young-adult melodrama, for such a show.
Open on a young reporter reaching out to publicists and artists to obtain interviews in the regular fashion (no shenanigans necessary) as her editor encourages everyone in the office to uphold the integrity of journalism. On the way home the reporter notices a lump on her neck. She asks her roommate if it looks or feels weird while they sit down to watch Dancing With the Stars, and after much examination they both decide that it’s probably nothing.
—Let’s just get the movie/TV magic issues out of the way. After spending five days in the hospital on chemotherapy, April looks no worse for the wear (besides her perfectly round, now hairless and shiny head). My mother has proof in a terrifying scrapbook somewhere of what five days in the hospital looks like.
