BIG CANCER, BIG NAMES, AND THE REST OF US

All cancer is big cancer?

It’s big when you’re the one locked down on the radiation table.

It’s even bigger when you’re a star, a celebrity, a known quantity.

And that’s a good thing?

Yes, and here’s why: They raise awareness.

WebMD ran a post on Facebook today titled:

 

Celebrities With Head and Neck Cancers

It came with the usual statistics and warnings about smoking causing three out of four head and neck cancers, but the list of names had a few surprises.

I’m checking my own celebrity list to make sure who’s who.

Are there more famous and semi-famous people who’ve been tagged but dragging through quietly?

My magic Eight Ball says “Most Probably.”

Then there’s rest of us doing our time.

I did my time, stayed with the program, and here to talk about it, so listen up.

 

Cancer Waiting Room Heroes

I don’t know about celebrities, but the rest of us show up, dress down in a gown, and wait our turn for the treatment based on what day it is, Chemo Day, or, Radiation Day.

People come from far away on a regular basis.

Other people drive them in from far away.

These other people are the heroes of the waiting room.

They are there for a family member, a friend, a neighbor, taking time to help calm a nervous day.

Nervous day?

Once a cancer rumor tests out to be real, not a rumor, there’s a new feeling that needs to be countered.

People get nervous they might suddenly wake up dead.

Cancer = sudden death? Not the day after diagnosis.

Given that we’re all going to die, eventually, a cancer diagnosis is not like being strapped to the electric chair.

Radiation table, yes; Electric chair, no.

It’s a subtle difference.

 

A Hero In The Making

My waiting room hero was a middle-aged mom driving her neighbor in.

They were walking buddies.

We sat next to each other, her in jeans and a sweater, me in my gown.

I was wearing my pants since my neck was the target.

That’s how you know the type of cancer people have in the waiting room if you’re curious with nothing else to do but worry and speculate.

Gown with pants, upper body; gown with no pants, lower body.

I didn’t go to medical school, so I had to figure that one out on my own.

She was reading her book, I picked up a magazine, and a man in a gown with no pants sat in a dark corner watching news on the big screen television.

A few others waited in same room.

It was January, 2017, and the news was about the new president.

After the last person was escorted out of the waiting room for their treatment, leaving the three of us, the man in the corner got started with, “Finally, a real man in the office.”

Was he talking to me, or the driver beside me?

In my experience, an old white man crowing about anything near another old white man expects agreement.

We’re all the same in their eyes, and he was looking at me.

“We’ve needed a real man in the White House for the last eight years,” he said.

I knew he was looking at me because I did a subtle check with a lifted eyebrow.

You know the look.

“With a real man in office the nation can recover from the disaster it’s become.”

I checked again. Still looking at me, leaning in to it.

I nudged the woman next to me while we held books and magazines.

“Is he talking to you?”

“He’s not talking to me,” she said.

“Not to talking to me, either.”

“Oh, he’s talking to you,” she said.

“Then he’s confused.”

“You two are the only ones in the room,” she said.

What?

 

My Hero Left The Waiting Room

With that she stood, told the man in the dark corner that we’d had a man, a real man, a good man, an honorable man, in the White House for the past eight years, whether he was paying attention, or not.

I gave her a salute on her way out.

The man kept going, “I’m not surprised she ran away. That’s what these snowflake pansies do when things get hard. I didn’t expect anything less.”

When I say old man, I mean older than me, which is my default for showing respect.

But each sour word this one let out ticked my shit-o-meter up toward the redline.

“I don’t know why people like her even come in here. They should wait in their car,” he said.

I put my magazine down and asked, “Excuse me, are you talking to me?”

He ignored me. I asked again, “Are you talking to me? Is there anyone else in here?”

After another pause I said, “The lady brought her friend in here. Her friend has cancer. She’s here for cancer treatment.”

Old Man 1: I know what this is.

Old Man 2 (me): I don’t think you do. This is where people wait for cancer treatment. I’m here for cancer treatment, mister. I’ve got cancer and you’re not helping anything.

Old Man 1: Is that supposed to be news?

Old Man 2: What I’m not here to do is to listen to some skinny legged jerk in a dance gown shit-talk someone kind enough to help a friend in their time of need, like your friends do for you.

OM1: I don’t have any friends. I called a taxi.

OM2: No friends? No surprise, not with your attitude.

OM1: You don’t like free speech? I figured as much.

OM2: Here’s some freedom for you. You are free to shut up. Your wife would be embarrassed for you.

OM1: I’m not married.

OM2: Then your mother would be embarrassed.

OM1: My mother is dead.

OM2: Then your kids would be embarrassed for you.

OM1: I don’t have any kids.

OM2: At least you have a real man beside you in your time of need. You make a nice couple. One in a shiny business suit, the other in a party dress.

OM1: I’m not wearing a dress.

OM2: Whatever you say, but it’s a dress. Next comes the attractive make-up, the lipstick, and the high heels. Do they make high heels your size. That’s quite a pair of boats you’ve got there.

 

With exquisite timing, a med-tech came to escort me to treatment.

 

Me: I think the old man back there is upset.

Tech: We have audio and video of the waiting room. We heard and saw everything.

Me: Oh. Maybe I ought to go back and apologize.

Tech: The same man has driven people out of the waiting room every time he’s here. They all come and sit at the check-in desk. You’re okay.

 

Big Cancer, Bigger Heroes

From a recent boomerpdx post:

 

Here’s what I figure the Knight Cancer Institute is up to: timing.

They want to cut the number of patients getting over-medicated at for-profit cancer clinics.

They want to educate patients about targeted therapies and precision medicine.

If I had gone with three chemos and a chemo pump, based on my experience with one chemo, I would have had a poor outcome.

Would the cure be worse than the condition?

You might feel like death warmed over, you might look like death warmed over, but there’s a certain confidence you get on the way down the chemo-drain at a Knight clinic.

From doctor recruitment, to research, the clinical application, you know you’ll make it back.

You’ll regain your health and vitality and look back in happy gratitude for making the right decision on the second opinion.

With an extra $2 billion in the account, more people will find their way back from the nightmare of, “Yes, the results have some back. Please sit down.”

 

PS: Try and make a difference for people you care about, be ‘that guy.’

 

PSS: Be aware of the people who are afraid of ‘that guy’ because they think accepting any help means they’ll have to do something in return. They still need help, so figure it out.