Often when you hear a story about cancer, you read about someone who had no symptoms then launched headlong into a life-mangling battle with the disease. “I went in for what I thought was strep throat, and the next thing I knew, my hair was falling out and I was puking like a frat boy at a keg party.”
The stories we hear and read about the disease are almost always those of detection, diagnosis, and treatment; hopefully of survivorship, and sadly of death. It’s a heart-crushing scenario in any case. We rally around the patient and we use words like “fight” and “battle” and vow not to let cancer take control. These are valiant words and they give us all – patient and loved ones alike – a sense of empowerment to squash this invader who threatens someone very dear. You go ahead and try to conquer a very good person, alien cells, but you will be denied because this person is too good to suffer.
But what about a cancer story that is seemingly not a story at all? One of my best friends in the world was recently convinced that he had a tumor in his jaw and neck. He had many symptoms that indicated something was indeed wrong: a lump under the jawbone, soreness in his neck, and he had been a tobacco chewer since his youthful invincible years. There’s a frightening feeling that beckons to be addressed – one is keenly aware that this needs to be investigated right away, yet the crippling fear of truth is a powerful deterrent. The mind jumps to conclusions and runs directly toward being laid to rest while family and friends sob uncontrollably, residual victims of something that neither prayers nor medicine could halt.
With great bravery, my friend sought a doctor’s opinion. This was perhaps the most frightening time in his life. The doctor even surmised that based on the symptoms and history, there was a high probability it was indeed cancer. Tests were run, scans, waiting…..several anxiety-soaked days and sleepless nights passed. Bleak thoughts entered his head and arrangements were pondered should the news come back as expected.
The fateful day. The eagerly awaited and dreaded call from the doctor. The results were negative. No cancer. We met for coffee a couple days later, as we have done most days for the past three years or so, and he divulged his ordeal. Until now, he had kept it private so as not to cause any worry or distraction. Now the burden had been lifted and life was once again new.
My own life had been so impacted by cancer in negative ways that all I knew of the disease was how it changed lives with a positive diagnosis. My parents, two uncles, a cousin, more than a couple friends were all lost to cancer. Others who are close to me had been diagnosed with cancer, experienced its unfriendly demeanor, and lived to tell about it. But never before had it really occurred to me how cancer can wield such a powerful influence even when it is not found. My friend's life had been temporarily upended by the mere notion that he just might have the disease, and for me weighing the thought of losing another friend gave me chills.
So this cancer story mercifully never really happened. It was effectively little more than a bad dream after all was said and done, but it still changed a life and made for an ominous consideration of what could have transpired.
I suspect we'll meet for coffee for years to come, and the coffee will now taste a bit more robust.
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