A hard pill to swallow
Upon being confirmed to have cancer, you realise that so much of it is physical. Which is a hard pill to swallow, because you’d battled so much of it in private before reaching the point of diagnosis. Maybe you’d batted off your symptoms, blaming them on your young age or other easily explainable factors, be it a winter virus or the menopause. Maybe you’d battled to be taken seriously by doctors, who wouldn’t scan you until you’d come back time and time again. Or maybe you suffered in silence, so sure that your problem would amount to nothing, until it became obvious to everyone that it wouldn’t.
So, this sharp juxtaposition forms an even harder pill to swallow, but one of many that you’ll have no choice to. It’s made even more painful when you discover that there are people out there who act like they not only sympathise with this plight – but are going through it too. The key word being ‘act’ – as neither now nor ever did they really have cancer too. This kind of forgery is an abstract, invisible concept, but one that leaves a physical, emotional, and very real path of disruption and mistrust in its wake.
Although faking a diagnosis is rare, it happens, and one example re-establishing base in everyone’s mind at present is that of Belle Gibson. Gibson is a former wellness influencer, so prolific that she broke the boundaries of just one means of business reach. From 2012, she enjoyed a significant presence that developed from an Australian Instagram account into a booming global empire, The Whole Pantry. This took Gibson to the US and beyond, with her book held physically on shelves and in eager hands across these countries, and app soon associated with big-name brands and the phone habits of keen consumers.
On the face of it, this sounds admirable. Back before Instagram’s power exploded, let alone influencer culture, it sounds impressive for a woman in her early twenties, particularly one who didn’t come from a family with industry connections, to have built such a kingdom. But, of course, Gibson gained her keys to hers from a trail of lies – most prolifically, that all of this was born from an undesirable prognosis of terminal brain cancer. She went onto commit a series of further unethical practices, including falsely claiming to have donated to charities and ill children.
Back in viewers’ consciences
You may well be familiar with Netflix’s retelling of this sorry saga. Apple Cider Vinegar hit the screens last month, reopening the decade-old dialogue of derision that soon came to swirl around Gibson when she was caught by journalists in her native Australia.
My fellow Inspire the Mind writer Courtney Worrell has already recapped this so eloquently. But what I’m interested in after joining the show’s legions of viewers is how this feels for genuine young cancer survivors.
As I recently wrote for Inspire the Mind, I too, was diagnosed with blood cancer at 15. Although I got through treatment and have lived in remission since, I’m still passionate about the effects of such an experience, which transcend the physicality it’s so immediately associated with. I’m interested in the psychological impacts that sometimes only emerge years down the line, so took the opportunity to speak to those in this field to gauge their reactions to the situation Gibson engineered for herself.
Shawna Tarant is PhD researcher in Health Psychology at Leeds Beckett University, focusing on decision-making around the fertility of young cancer patients. I agree this is another gruelling yet overlooked element of the process genuine cancer patients have to face.
She told me: "Within the cancer community, patients and survivors often seek hope and rely on others' experiences for guidance and support. This betrayal of trust highlights the need for caution when engaging with online cancer communities. While they can be valuable and supportive, it’s also essential to seek information from healthcare professionals who are directly involved in patient care."
Shawna is right. I remember trying to absorb as much often-limited information as I could when I heard my diagnosis. This came just a year before Gibson began her public lies – and while I didn’t stumble across these as I began to adapt to a post-treatment reality, I so easily could have, as many other young patients around the world did. When you’re feeling so vulnerable and isolated, it’s easy to believe the reassuring words of others, whether you choose to take them as gospel or simply for some comfort.
At this age, it’s unlikely that your existing friends, or maybe even family, have also experienced cancer, so it’s tempting to trial online communities and support networks. Of course, these are almost always genuine and helpful, but Gibson’s case doubles as a stark alert that much can be masked behind the screens.
Doesn’t represent our realities
I also wanted to explore how teenage cancer survivors like me feel about Gibson’s claims.
Beckii, who is in remission from ovarian cancer, said: “It’s sad to see how desperate people are for fame and attention. The Fault in our Stars romanticised cancer and made it seem like a dramatic love story when the reality is so far from the truth. The fact is, cancer is an awful group of diseases that rob people of their ability to be themselves. It tears families apart, separates loved ones, and in some cases, takes your life altogether. Why you would want to pretend to be sick with such a disease type, is beyond me. Your claim to fame has nothing on my story. You didn’t live it. It’s an insult to all survivors and those who lost their lives to even attempt to claim that you did.”
An element of poor mental health must propel individuals like Gibson to initiate and then maintain such sweeping lies, not backing out either in an admission of guilt, or panic, but instead investing more fully in the deceit once it starts to gain momentum. And the occurrence of Munchausen syndrome, a ‘psychological condition where someone pretends to be ill or deliberately produces symptoms of illness in themselves’ according to the NHS, is well-documented.
So, maybe in some cases, society could extend some degree of empathy for individuals whose relationship with reality is distorted. But for many young cancer survivors, those who practice in the industry, and even just innocent and interested observers to the cancer community, Gibson’s story – in every sense of the word – is met with outrage.
The wellness industry, often with pure intentions, has grown exponentially in the past decade. It can bring good, and not every member should be tarred with the same brush, of course. Although few figures in it will ever be as extreme in any mode as Gibson, we should continue to heed the warnings of her case.
The adage used to be: ‘don’t believe everything you read in the paper’, but now it too has grown, to include everything you see on your apps, hear through your podcasts and watch via your video streaming, too.
