Over the last two-and-a-half years I’ve had the privilege (!) to accompany people at various stages of the cancer journey. Some have gone back to work, others are between treatments, in the midst of that “whole catastrophe” (to borrow Zorba’s phrase), or walking that thin ice of remission. Death has claimed its cruel share, best medical care and will to live notwithstanding. Bitter-sweet memories are gifts to the living, just as gentle friendships among those who carry on. Against this background, I cringe whenever obituaries and fundraisers use such clichéd phrases as valiant struggles and lost battles. And yet, and yet … who am I to say.
Kate Granger’s article in Friday’s Guardian (UK) newspaper has already drawn 248 readers’ comments. More on Kate here.
“She lost her brave fight.” If anyone mutters those words after my death, wherever I am, I will curse them.
I would like to be remembered for the positive impact I have made on the world, for fun times and for my relationships with others, not as a loser. When I do die, I will have defied the prognosis for my type of cancer and achieved a great deal with my life. I do not want to feel a failure about something beyond my control. I refuse to believe my death will be because I didn’t battle hard enough.
And that’s the problem; in my view the language used around cancer seems to revolve around wartime rhetoric: battle, fight, warrior, beat. While I recognise that these violent words may help others on their journey with cancer, as someone who is never going to “win her battle” with this disease, I find them uncomfortable and frustrating to hear.
However, I do understand why this military language has penetrated the media, charities and everyday life. It is meant to evoke positivity at an unimaginably difficult time in someone’s life. But I think it can have the opposite effect and we need to challenge it and to break away from how we have been conditioned to think and speak about a disease that will affect one third of us at some point.
Even for those who survive or “conquer” the disease, it will remain with them for the rest of their lives; they may be left disfigured by treatment and have to live with the constant anxiety that their cancer may return. They may not wish to have the label of “survivor”, which must interfere with the return to normality.
I cannot see anything “brave” about how I live my life. Bravery implies a choice. Someone who lays down their life to save another human being is brave. I didn’t choose to be affected by cancer and I don’t believe being placed on the courage pedestal helps me to continue living. Just because I have cancer, it doesn’t mean I cannot make mistakes or be selfish, but it almost becomes an expectation that because you are a cancer patient that you somehow become the perfect person. These expectations can be tough to live with on a daily basis.
In my world, having cancer is not a fight at all. It is almost a symbiosis where I am forced to live with my disease day in, day out. Some days cancer has the upper hand, other days I do. I live with it and I let its physical and emotional effects wash over me. But I don’t fight it. After all, cancer has arisen from within my own body, from my own cells. To fight it would be “waging a war” on myself. I have used chemotherapy on two occasions to bring the cancer back under control and alter the natural history of the disease. I submitted myself to this treatment gently, and somewhat reluctantly, taking whatever each day had to throw at me. I certainly didn’t enter the process “with all guns blazing”.
Cancer Research UK uses the slogan “One day we will beat cancer”. This may sound defeatist but I don’t think we ever will. Cells need to divide in all of us to remain alive, to grow and repair our bodies; sometimes this process goes wrong and the result is cancer. We will become better at understanding these processes and how we can target them therapeutically, but I cannot imagine a human society free from cancer, no matter how much money we invest.
As a cancer patient who will die in the relatively near future, I believe rather that instead of reaching for the traditional battle language, [life] is about living as well as possible, coping, acceptance, gentle positivity, setting short-term, achievable goals, and drawing on support from those closest to you.
What are your thoughts?
(COMMENT may be posted anonymously.)
Oh, Kate (and Peter), I couldn’t agree more! Fighting takes too much of the good energy needed to accept treatments and use them to heal. It never felt like a Battle that I would Win or Lose and I’ve told my family none of those words of war and loss in my obituary, thank you. Words like ‘survivor,’ ‘remission,’ ‘fear of recurrence (FOR),’ all carry such weight and negativity. Let’s dump them. For me it’s been just another part of life, the wonderful journey from beginning to end, with all it’s joys and sorrows, sunshine and shadow, and the sweet friendships of fellow pilgrims.
“To journey and to be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim.” (Mark Nepo, “Being a Pilgrim”)
I agree with Kate Granger. I’m uncomfortable with the battle jargon, because it is all within me. Some of my cells started to grow in a way that is not healthy for me. I hope that surgery and treatments have prevented them from “taking over” and that my natural ability to keep cell growth in balance has been restored. Only time will tell. No winning, losing or war. Just a question of balance.
I hope we find ways to detect cancer earlier and more effectively, with less-invasive ways of controlling tumour growth. I don’t believe cancer will ever be eradicated like polio or smallpox, because it’s not a “catchable” virus or bacteria; it’s my own cells that have mutated.
Similarly, I cringe when I hear people talk of conquering a mountain. It was there before people came, and will be there after. Getting to the top is a personal achievement, but irrelevant in the mountain’s long life.
I googled Kate Granger. She’s a UK Doctor who was diagnosed with terminal, metastatic cancer in July 2011, age 29! I really enjoy some of her blog posts. She seems to have a great attitude and already has lived longer than originally expected. Her willingness to share her feelings, and thus rally support for herself and others, is great to see. What a generous spirit.
Here’s the link to Dr. Kate.
I totally agree with Kate and Peter. I have been saying this exact same thing for a few years and many who have or are on the cancer wheel have agreed with me. Life is a journey with many twists and turns cancer which is possible in 1/3 of the population is one of the twists/turns. I believe cancer is a journey I am on while living my life. How I live my life and the choices I have made is how I would like to be remembered.
In this personal account, Henning Mankell, author of the “Wallender” books set in Sweden, recounts “A bad night before my cancer test results.”
“I slept badly during the night of 23 March. I was worried about what was in store the next day. The following morning, I had x-rays and blood tests at the Sahlgrenska Hospital in Gothenburg. At about 11 o’clock I had an appointment with Dr Bengt Bergman at the lung clinic. It was the third time I had met him. I was to be informed whether or not the intense chemotherapy I had undergone had been effective. I shall return to that shortly.”
More at http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/apr/27/henning-mankell-cancer-test-results-wallander
I echo the thoughts and perceptions of your other readers, dear Peter. Kate is a brave being, not in her living with cancer, but in voicing the so not au courant view of this disease. I truly appreciated Henning Mankell’s summation. Yes, we shall all return shortly, one way or another.