A Cancer Rant

Fuck cancer.

I’m tired of that evil little monster lurking in the shadows, waiting to devour me and mine. I watched my brother die of brain and spinal cancer. He screamed that bats were flying at his head and begged for us to kill him. We just had to watch as it ate him from the inside out.

Cancer killed my aunts, my uncles; chewed at the edges of my family until each time we feel a twinge, we are terrified that it has come to devour us as well. A few years ago, it killed my nephew. Hollowed his bones, destroyed his lungs, and grew tumors in his joints. He died crying.

If cancer were a dragon, I could wear a suit of armor and hunt it down. Burn it, beat it and tear it into tiny bits. If it were alive, I could kill it but instead it’s a bomb wired into my genetic code. I can hear it inside; ticking, ticking and I know I’m going to die. Not softly, not quietly, but in terrible pain.

If that was it; I’d be OK. I wouldn’t relish death by torture but I could face it. What would be worse is if I am the only one who survives. What if I watch them all die? What if they all die screaming with only me to hold their hands?

Fuck you, cancer.

I don’t want talk cures anymore. I don’t want talk about radiation, chemotherapy, or holistic juice diets. I don’t believe in gene therapy or prayer. I don’t want to share my feelings with a counselor. I don’t to want have a child to see its swollen face contorted in endless vomiting.

Cancer is going to kill me. It may even make me beg for mercy in the end but, for now, I’m alive. I laugh, I dance, I paint the walls orange. It may even kill everyone I ever loved but I’ll make it work for every minute it steals from me.

Cancer, be warned; I will not go gentle into that good night. If you come for me, be prepared for a fight.

In parting, I say with all sweetness, "Fuck you, cancer."