Cancer

We have common enemies today. It's called childhood poverty. It's called cancer. It's called AIDS. It's called Parkinson's. It's called Muscular Dystrophy.
Jerry Doyle

First of all, for those of you who know me and read this, this isn't a revelation that I have it. And for those of you who read this often, this is a theme I've visited before.

Cancer has been the red specter floating through my life for years now. When I was a sophomore in high school, my father's mother died from lung cancer. She was the first person that I'd ever lost. She was also the person who took care of me when I was a baby. I stayed with her until I went to kindergarten. She taught me to do needlework, to woodburn, to love books, and so many other things. I'll never forget seeing her gasping for breath. She'd had half a lung removed in an effort to get the cancer.

I lost my mother's father and my mother's mother to it. I lost a beloved cat to it. Now, the shadow is back. Another pet, a dog we've had for 10 years, has it.

I hate cancer. I hate the stealthiness of it. It's a vicious, backstabbing sort of disease. How horrible that your own body can betray you. How nightmarish that cancer can stroke you with its bony, putrified finger and the future can shrink from years and retirement to day-by-day. I wish with all my soul that I had been given the wisdom and the intelligence to be a part of the fight against it. I see it as a physical presence, a living, sentient thing. I want to take up a sword and hack at it.

One of my biggest fears is that I'll develop it. I don't want to die that way. I had rather whatever happens be quick, a snap of the fingers and a transition from this world to the next. I don't think I'm strong enough to die by inches. I remember watching my grandparents, and they were all so strong. They had time to make their peace with the disease, to say goodbye, and to take care of the things that were most important to them.

They thought I might have cancer once. I had surgery, and once they checked what they removed, they found that it wasn't. Ever since, when I go to the doctor or have a twinge in my side, I think about it. I remember driving home from tests that showed the original problem and the Chris Rice "Time Means So Much" being on the radio. I had to pull to the side of the road. The meaning of the song seemed crafted for that one moment in my life.

Now, as we try to take care of our sick pet, all these issues are coming back again. It may seem trivial to some, but for us, it's another battle with the monster.