In my three year acquaintance with cancer, I’ve come to
terms with some realizations. For one, I’ve learned this isn’t a fight. A fight
implies a winner and a loser. If I were to compare the experience to a military
action, I’d say this has been closer to securing endangered perimeters rather
than trying to wipe out the adversary. I’ve been through nine surgeries and
twice that many cystoscopies, where a tube is inserted up my urethrae and a
tiny camera takes stock of the enemy positions. The surgeries remove cancerous
cells, but these, so far, always come back. At best, I’m in a holding action.
Also, I’ve decided I really don’t like the term survivor. That makes it sound as if I’ve
been the victim of something, and that simply isn’t true. I’ve been the recalcitrant
and unhappy host to a guest that doesn’t want to leave, but I am most
definitely not a victim. I’ve encountered people who, learning of my cancer, have
nodded wisely (and a bit sadly), and told me, “I’m a survivor too…” When I
answered, “Really? I’m not,” they looked at me askance, as if I hadn’t yet
learned the vocabulary of cancer.
I don’t like defining my life in terms of the disease or,
for that matter, any single issue. I’ve met people who do that, men and women
who insist on wrapping their lives around a lone concern—work, health, family,
alcohol; golf or tennis or coin collections. They have tunnel vision and are
inestimably boring. Their conversation and scope of knowledge is sadly limited
and I never quite know what to say after the ten minutes they’ve taken to tell
me about their single-minded lives.
I have little faith in cancer research. Most people seem to
think there will be a silver bullet, a magic pill or treatment that will be a
cure-all. That’s not going to happen.
Cancer, basically,
is the uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells. It develops when the
body’s normal control mechanism stops working. Old cells don’t die as they
should, and new, abnormal cells, are formed.
The problem is there are about 200 hundred different types
of cells in the body, and within these cells are about 20 different types of
structures, called organelles. Each type of cell may require a different sort
of treatment when it ceases to act as it should.
Right now, surgery, radiation therapy and chemotherapy are how
we treat most cancers. These are aggressive methods, nuclear bomb attacks on
the system that often endanger healthy cells. Essentially, these are “kill them
all and let God sort it out” treatments.
Nor do I believe that, even if a cure were to be found, it
would be immediately made available. A proliferation of research means nothing
if the research is not shared with others. The pharmaceutical giants are not
likely to share the fruits of their studies; far too much money is at stake. If
and when cures are found for particular types of cancers—leukemia, say—you can
be sure they will be outrageously expensive. Look for a replay of the marketing
of Harvoni, the Hep C drug, which costs almost $100,000 for a 12-week course.
Most cancer patients won’t be able to pay such amounts, and
insurance companies probably won’t offer coverage.
Lastly, the battle against cancer is discouraging. I think it is
fought with the wrong weapons. A thousand labs across the world are working not
in concert but in competition. What we need is a Manhattan Project, and we’ll
never get one. Other, more pressing issues, command more attention than does a
cell-altering disease.
And yet there has been progress. Fewer people are succumbing,
and what was once an almost assured death sentence no longer is. That’s something
for which I can be thankful.
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