When I was told by a doctor that I had cancer just over a year ago now, I was not surprised. I was less worried about it, likely, than other members of my family. Concerned, yes. Worried, no. Let me explain, so you don’t think that I am completely devoid of feelings. Let me also explain why much of the emotion surrounding cancer strikes me as being counter-productive.
When I was a young man, looking ahead to an adult life, I came to the conclusion that, if things go well, I should expect to get 60 good years. Anything more would be bonus years. That was reinforced when my dad died of cancer at the age of 69, and my brother died of cancer at the age of 66. Both much too young, of course. But that’s reality. And as the poet Keats said, “Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced.”
My cancer, at the age of 68, was reality. I was fortunate, in that the lymphoma in me has a high cure rate. I promised the oncologist that I was not going to screw up his averages. I was treated with chemotherapy, and in September last year received a clean bill of health.
Was I lucky? Maybe. But maybe it was also determination; maybe it was the fact that for once in my life, I did exactly what I was told to do, did it when I was told to do it, made a point to understand what was being done without questioning why, and said to myself, and others, that this isn’t what was going to do me in.
Bravado? That too, maybe. But I believe in mind over matter, in the ability of people to make things happen by will and determination. What happens in the brain is the least-understood, but likely the most powerful bodily function. It thrives on activity and positivity. It feeds off the support of others.
Which is why the emotion surrounding cancer bothers me, particularly in the advertising we see from national agencies that raise funds for cancer research. It offends me. Give me facts, not emotions. Tell me your success stories instead of playing on my fears. The types of appeals perpetuate cancer as a mysterious topic, something we avoid talking about openly, almost a taboo, something that has convinced many people that it is a death sentence.
That shows itself in how people react when confronted with the disease, in themselves or others. When I met people who knew I had cancer, I could tell by their reaction if this is something they had dealt with before. Those who had experience with cancer were quick and open to ask about my health and my treatment. Those who had not, by and large, avoided the subject, even shied away from contact with me. They really didn’t want to know if I was okay, or a dead man walking. It was not part of their experience, their reality, and they chose to avoid it.
Yet when we see someone we know who has had a heart attack, we don’t hesitate to ask, “Hey, how’s the old ticker? Did they get it fixed up?” Nobody asked me, “Hey, how’s the old lymph glands? Are they getting rid of that cancer for you?” I wish someone had; we could have had a good talk, and maybe a laugh about it.
Cancer is a disease. I don’t believe it will never be cured, because the environmental factors that cause much of it – chemicals in the air, water and food – constantly change. The causes never stand still, and the cure is always a few steps behind.
I am grateful for the swift diagnosis and the efficient, successful treatment and care I received. But along with that, I benefitted from positive thinking and positive support based on facts and openness.
The reality is that cancer is not different than heart disease, gall stones, asthma, varicose veins… you name it. It is a disease, part of life, something that happens. Forty per cent of us in Canada will have it at some point in our lives. Many will not come out of it as well as I did – I know that.
But dealing with it objectively, in our bodies and in our minds, is still the best course of action.
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