Considering Cancer
The life-changing effects of one disease

 

I  was sitting in a hospital waiting room when a middle-aged couple stopped behind me. The husband whipped out his camera and starting taking pictures of his wife, who nervously smiled as he snapped. Then she pulled on the rope to ring the big, silver bell. Everyone clapped and cheered. That loud clang signaled her last radiation treatment, and everyone in the room understood her triumph.

This year, I have watched two people close to me undergo treatment for cancer. My dad has colon cancer. A friend has breast cancer. It’s been a year of learning what cancer does – how it overcomes a body, bit by bit, and how it affects so many people, not just the patient.

I wanted to write down some of the things I’ve learned, or maybe just noticed along the way. I know many of you will understand, and I’m sorry for that. These are life experiences I could do without, because the first thing I’ve learned is: cancer changes everything.

Cancer takes on a life of its own; it becomes an entity that everyone joins to fight against. It’s invisible and powerful, so even when you think things are going well, you sometimes find out they really aren’t – and the cancer is beating you.

Cancer causes pain. It can make your bones so weak that a cough breaks a rib. Or it can build tumors on your spine that make walking unbearable.

 

 

 

Cancer makes you aware of all there is to miss: weddings, births, vacations, books, rain storms, dinners with friends, long conversations, art, shopping, snow, hot sand, changes in technology, changes in the world, barbecues, feelings of pride, love, happiness – the list is endless.

Cancer makes you see – and love – the simplest pleasures. Last year, my dad had been in the hospital for over a month, and one day I was leaving the hospital on a crisp fall afternoon when the sun was shining. There was a refreshing chill in the air. I felt the coolness hit my cheeks, and I ached for my dad to feel that. He had been confined within walls for so long; he needed to feel that air, because it felt like life. (A few days later, a renegade therapist took him in a wheelchair to a park down the street. It was just a few minutes, but he felt the air.)

Cancer breaks your heart.

Cancer treatment makes you very sick. And the kicker is, you know you’re going to do this again…and again.

Cancer units in hospitals aren’t sad places. In one unit, we watched patients hold their IV poles while they walked the halls for exercise. One young patient – somewhere in his 20s – walked backwards to get the most of his workout.

Cancer nurses should be given a raise. They alleviate pain, check on eating habits, and dispense medications at specified intervals. They answer questions, or they get the answer from the doctor who was just in but didn’t give a clear answer. They smile, and speak kindly. They make it clear they care about this one patient, and you can count on them to help.

Cancer patients are treated differently in an ER. Since the staff there is so focused on quick remedies to save lives, cancer – especially if it is advanced – throws them a curve ball. Where oncologists specialize in prolonging lives and improving the quality of lives, the job of the ER physician is different. They want to make people better, even if it’s just temporarily, and move them to the next level of care. It’s not that easy with a cancer patient.

Cancer affects lots and lots of people, each with a story to tell: some of survivorship, some of loss. But each speaks of a despicable battle they never wanted to fight. But they fight anyway, because another thing I’ve learned this past year: cancer patients want to live.