"C" IS FOR CANCER

 "Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings."  ~Victor Hugo

Cancer defined is uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells in the body and often just like snowfall in the night, it arrives silently and undetected until symptoms occur.  A close friend who lived for years in Boulder, Colorado described snow as 'sneaky' and so is cancer.  

The very word cancer for me and I suspect for others elicits enormous fear because of personal experiences with how cancer has stolen people I have loved and in sharing Ernie's initial diagnosis, often I endured listening to gruesome tales of suffering and death that well meaning friends felt compelled to share with me.  "I had an uncle once who" or "my mother" or "my father" and on and on until I dreaded sharing the news at all.  I'm certain not one person meant to dive to the depths of negativity.  They were only reacting to the news by traveling immediately to their personal experiences with cancer - the big "C".  

Cancer is a huge umbrella covering so many types and forms as these abnormal cells can invade any part of body, so comparing skin cancer to brain cancer is like comparing apples to oranges.  I found the immediate missing link when I shared Ernie's diagnosis was hope.  Yet, over the years I have not only experienced hope again and again, but I have seen specific evidence in cancer patients I have met.

Since we live in Houston, Ernie and I spent a day at MD Anderson Cancer center one day for blood work and a consultation.  This cancer hospital, which is world renown, resembles a small city.  Seated in a waiting room with at least a hundred other people that day, Ernie commented that we would be there for hours, but at exactly his appointed time, he was ushered in for the blood draw.  Seated across from us while we were waiting was a beautiful young woman whose smile radiated and touched everyone.  Her eyes, a striking deep blue, glittered above a wide smile.  She wore no cap on her bald head.  She just kept smiling and smiling.  I will  never forget her.  Another cancer patient at the radiation center who has treatment before my husband bursts through the door every morning with such enthusiasm and joy it's contagious.  She takes a seat at the puzzle table with others who are working on it and instantly engages them in a lively conversation.  She wears no hat or cap and has no hair, but her joy infuses everyone in the room. The message that both of these women shouted without saying a word changed 'victim' to 'surviving human being'.  I am convinced that hope is the common denominator.  A neighbor of mine and a cancer survivor once said, "I am still me.  I am not my disease". 

My father once shared his observation after he was diagnosed.  He said he noticed that many people quit touching him as if what he had was contagious.  I made a point after that visit to kiss him on the lips or cheek every time I left him.  What I learned from his experience was how threatening cancer can be to others because I believe it reminds them of their own mortality and really has little to do with the individual who has the cancer.  I think there is also a similar connection with others who feel the need to share their grim stories of negativity when cancer is even mentioned.  They are voicing their own fear of mortality and cloaking it in a story about losing a loved one.  Today when someone begins to share another grim cancer story, I politely disengage as quickly as I can.


Experience has taught me and is teaching me to continually remember that this is Ernie's journey and it is uniquely his own and entirely different from any other journey past or present that anyone else is traveling.  As caregiver, I marvel at his hopefulness and must admit I've caught it too.  He is still my greatest teacher.