“Just go away, you sticky little bastards.“
I talk to my cancer, and that was this morning’s heartfelt greeting.
Yes. After years of hardcore warfare, my body the battle ground, I’m trying another approach.
Not a surrender, not a truce, but rather one in which I attempt to understand where the enemy (that would be cancer) is coming from. Not go high, go low.
It’s such a bizarre concept, my own cells run amuck. Unlike a virus, which can jump hosts, when I die, my cancer dies. Lose lose. Total annihilation.
Of course, it’s wrong to assume that this is not an end unto itself; The End. I mean, we all know this planet’s getting crowded. Of course, in this particular case, it sucks to be part of the solution.
I also think that part of the genius of DNA is the possibility for error. A consistent state of stasis is one big drag. Given the rate at which DNA replicates, errors of transcription offer fresh possibilities. Mutations allow life to evolve but they certainly can wreak havoc on an individual organism.
Which brings me back to my morning conversation. At this point I am at some sort of personal ground zero. Not emotionally (I am fine, really fine) but rather at a loss per how to address these errant cells of mine.
As captain of this ship, I can’t help but feel that a mutiny is under way. “If my body goes under, you go with it.” I tell these rogue cells. “Your ways are self serving and short sided. By gobbling up everything, you shall kill us all.”
Of course I see the parallels—what we humans are doing to the earth is not so very different than what my cancer is doing to me.
“What’s the point?” I say. “Why can’t we all live in harmony?”
These little bedside chats are my attempt to stay reasonable. But cancer is beyond reason. If I am to survive, I’m gonna have to fight–probably dirty.
“Hey cancer, nobody likes you.”
Cancer, well, cancer don’t care. And that’s the flipping problem.