Isabel Ordaz (Madrid, 67 years old) was diagnosed with colon cancer in the spring of 2018. This actress and poet, with a good handful of unforgettable roles in fiction (All men are equal, There is no one living here) and seven published poetry collections, she turned to literature to cope with an extreme and unhappy journey. “The rest of my life came to a standstill, but I wrote compulsively because I had a vital need to continue narrating,” explains the woman who, after having been a civil servant for her own health for years, can celebrate having successfully become self-employed. Life elsewhere (Roca Editorial), now in bookstores, is a lyrical testimony of that time.
She complains that doctors always imagine the worst-case scenario. Isn’t there a certain logic to the fact that the worst-case scenario for an actress is the one that forces her to step down?
You are right, but the worst scenario is pain. Her Majesty pain is a great tyrant, a great character. One of the things that helped me cope with this transition was to get out of myself, to get out of this sick and grieving ‘I’. I have been ‘them’ for many years, I easily give myself to being others. In this case, through writing: Isabel, who fell ill at a certain time, tells us about her journey.
In a society obsessed with the appearance of success, did you feel that having cancer was a reason for failure?
You feel like you have failed, that you are no longer on the highway and you have been thrown to the side of the road. You know you are on the sidelines because success, youth and strength are now the priority. Identity-wise, you are not who you used to be. In this society, we are largely based on a profession and, when you cannot carry it out, something happens to your identity. Your life is reduced to interiors and whispers.
During the time that this journey lasted, what was your relationship with hope?
It hurt me. Hope is the future, it is projecting yourself forward in time and I needed to have no expectations, to live only in the present.
Was looking pretty during your convalescence important to you?
Of course. I didn’t want to look sick when I looked in the mirror, so I tried to take great care of myself. At some point you end up becoming simpler and more practical with your aesthetics, but you do it to tell yourself that you’re not finished, that you’re still pretty. It’s like a scream. I was lucky not to lose my hair, I looked good. My pain and my illness were inside.
Did fame put an extra burden on you during your illness? Did you hear: “Look, ‘La Hierbas’?”
I’m not ‘La Hierbas’. I understand that’s the popular name, but I can’t stand being constantly criticized for that because I’ve played thousands of other characters. People tend to be very respectful because you’re not the kind of person you’re in for parties either. There’s a loving factor: they have the need to show you gratitude because they like your work.
How did you find poetry in a place as hostile as a hospital oncology clinic?
I live a lot in poetry. It is a part of my life, it has not revealed itself suddenly, but cancer and verse do not get along well. You are too shocked and poetry needs a latency, a distance, a self-absorption; it requires its own rules and laws, that is why I found that prose more descriptive and reflective. I was interested in the more metaphysical part of the disease. I sought to transcend matter, to transcend the flesh, which had wounded it.
Life elsewhere It is a lyrical work, but it allows itself to be very direct in its claim for public health.
I don’t understand politics if it isn’t social, if it doesn’t manage what is common. Politics exists because there is a polis, a public space that we all have to share and with two essential pillars: education and public health. We pay to take care of our elderly, the sick and the less fortunate. That is the foundation of the exercise of politics. We should all agree on this.
Tell us about that “excessive” Japanese kimono you wore to the hospital before the operation.
I was in desperate need of something fancy, some “whims of “boudoir”. And being an actress, you have that extra thing about being looked at and wanting to be flirtatious. It was a loose, very long kimono, which was getting bigger and bigger because I lost a lot of weight by eating only saline. It was too much for me, but the nurses talked about the kimono and that made me very happy. I also took some slippers with pompoms, but they would come off when I walked down the corridors… a disaster (laughs).
Since then, you have returned to the theatre with great success. Do you pick up where you left off or do you notice that you are no longer the same?
You are and you are not. First of all, your body, which is your temple, has changed. It has been interfered with, restructured in that very severe intervention. All therapies change genetics and biology. I came back in panic, but with absolute determination. I didn’t know if I would be able to, but it was like flying again. Being able to possess your body again to create fiction is very nice.
In the age of digital hyperexposure, you have preferred to restrict your partner to the initials ‘HP’ in the book. Why?
Precisely to make us reflect on the era of hyperexposure (laughs). I advocate absolute privacy for the person and, in addition, initials are very magnetic and mysterious.
You say that writing the book during your illness was therapeutic. Is it difficult for you to revisit those moments now?
It’s moving. There is a profile of readers who are in that transition and tell me they would love to read it; others wait for another time because they don’t feel strong enough to do so. There is a certain sadness in remembering, but I don’t feel that it harms me. I am happy because, apart from the literary value, it can help others.
How does someone with such a hectic schedule for decades handle the downtime that comes with illness?
I remember that time seemed to stretch out for a long time, there were no distractions or expectations. I had to walk slowly, I dragged my shoes. I lived a tiny life, in small fragments. Another agenda opened up for me, the oncological one of hospitals and therapies, and I needed to be very organized with all of it. In this radical frontier, I did value friendship a lot, that was very revealing.
She is a great fan of studying. Have you enrolled in any subjects recently?
I’m still so busy with work that I haven’t been able to, but I’m looking forward to getting back to it. I’ve been enrolled in Language and Literature at the UNED for years. I don’t think I’ll have enough time to finish it, but when I can I take a couple of subjects. I like to study. When I’m not in the villages of Spain I spend my time studying, reading and writing.
