When it comes to accessibility and affordability of mental healthcare services, we’ve come a long way, but we still have so far to go. Cancer patients deserve better.
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I was flooded with information. I was handed a piece of paper by my surgeon that listed about a dozen clinicians that I needed to meet with over the next few weeks just to start my cancer journey. And not a single one of them was a mental health professional.
Mental health in general is covered by insurance but often times, only partially. A fraction of the bill is typically covered, leaving many patients to forego mental health treatment altogether in lieu of directing more funds to what most hospitals and medical professionals would deem life-saving-treatments. Yes, things like surgery, chemo, radiation, and other forms of cancer treatment are critical to survival – no doubt. They certainly saved my life. But prioritizing mental healthcare – especially in the early days/weeks/months/years of a diagnosis – should be recognized by all members of a patient’s medical team.
With more and more young people being diagnosed with cancer, there is a greater and greater need to meet the evolving needs of our AYA demographic. I was diagnosed with a rare cancer at 32 years old. It just so happened to be the same cancer my paternal aunt was diagnosed with just five years prior at the age of 64.
Despite sharing a rare cancer diagnosis (and a host of other wild and wacky familial traits that we’ll save for another essay), our experiences couldn’t have been more different.
She was never told by her oncology team to “think about fertility preservation”. Being retired, she didn’t have to learn how to navigate or even talk about her cancer experience with her boss or colleagues. Her conversation with her medical team about sexual health was guaranteed different than mine with my team. Her meds were targeted to treat her as someone who was already in menopause. My meds were targeted to treat me as someone who wasn’t (but the side effect of my meds actually put me into medically induced menopause – how fun). Her friends and my friends took the news of a cancer diagnosis differently – both were traumatic and unwelcome conversations, of course. But the questions from our friends were reflective of our stages in life. My aunt and I will always share a trauma bond over this diagnosis. But we will never share the same experience.
We’re at a point in time where the world is starting to talk about cancer in young people differently, too. This past summer, my inbox was flooded with articles like “cancer incidents are on the rise in people under 40” and “mortality rates decreasing significantly in early onset cancer diagnoses”. Leading to some long overdue changes in early screening recommendations and some research advancements.
But as with all forms of progress, there is still much to be done in the world of AYA survivor communities around resources, needs, and experiences that are unique to these groups. Chief among them – access to quality mental health care for cancer patients AND survivors/thrivers/previvors.
There are far too many barriers to entry for mental health services for those of us facing a diagnosis. We need that to change. I want to live in a world where that piece of paper that was handed to me with a dozen medical professionals listed includes – and prioritizes – a mental health professional as part of the overall care team for all cancer patients.