Reflecting on life’s challenges can be enlightening. For me, the notion of ‘once wasn’t enough’ brings memories of hiking the Swiss Alps or sailing Alaskan waters. But without warning, my thoughts shift to cancer, a diagnosis faced twice in my life.
First Encounter with Cancer
2004 marked my initial brush with thyroid cancer. A nodule detected by my internist led to a diagnosis of early-stage papillary carcinoma. I met a surgeon who tried comforting me, comparing my cancer to a cinnamon bun, trivializing the severity. I understood later. Papillary carcinoma warranted lesser alarm compared to other types. My thyroid removal and subsequent hormone replacement therapy followed.
A year later came radioactive iodine treatment. Isolation and seasickness ensued, hormonal changes exacerbated by the therapy. Nonetheless, doctors assured me that this cancer was manageable.
Dealing With a Second Diagnosis
After seventeen incident-free years, another cancer surfaced. This time, it was slow-growing yet treatable. Surgery was effective. I’ve survived a second ordeal but lost organs like my thyroid and uterus.
Vitality now hinges on medication. Fear, akin to terminal tinnitus, accompanies me. The specter of cancer lurks, akin to an anonymous threat. Cells multiply at dire speeds, hiding unseen.
Cancer and Metaphors
Richard Nixon’s 1971 ‘war on cancer’ was largely unnoticed by me then. Youth’s conceit shielded me. Only five years later did I see my grandfather fall to lung cancer. Yet ignorance persisted.
After my second diagnosis, my sister pushed for loving cancer out rather than battling it. No oncologist endorsed that sentiment. My oncologist said to hate cancer immensely compared to patient love. Is hatred more potent than love?
Can love safeguard against recurrence? Questions linger, threatening peace.
The Reality of Cancer
Susan Sontag’s work, Illness as Metaphor, proposed removing metaphorical stigma. Cancer is not moral failing but biological anomaly.
Rationalizing my risk, I question its alignment with my lifestyle. Ever since hearing Martha Graham’s words—’Your body is a temple’—I’ve pursued health holistically. Yet catastrophic cells demand a toll.
The Search for Balance
Nightmares of intrusion and loss haunt me, mirroring daytime fears. Writing offers expression, a dance between fury and acceptance.
Scientific American highlights cancer’s battleground language damage. Words as weapons obscure healing, stating patients as ‘warriors.’
What is cancer’s true nature? Transformation, growth, loss of unarticulated sorrow are potential descriptors.
Nixon’s era sought eradication yet progress remains elusive; cancer in the U.S. ranks high in mortality. War metaphors intrinsic, fear remains potent.
Post-surgery, my oncologist calmly warned of recurrence risks. Mortality looms with a mere 2% return chance.
Perhaps dual encounters with cancer refined focus—not just fighting fiercely but finding strength in each day.