Chicken and Beer

These two go together apparently, with a few restaurants, several recipes, and even a rap album all sharing the name.

So when will beer, and all alcohol, follow chicken in being banished from breast cancer celebrations, whoops, I mean fundraisers?*

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Before I say more, let me announce my own hypocrisy. I am no teetotaler. I love my wine. But I am also NOT a non-profit, or a health/cancer advocate, or anyone even remotely qualified to give any advice, least of all medical advice. In fact, I would never suggest anyone make any of the choices I made during cancer either medically or mentally/emotionally, etc.—in fact opposite choices are likely the best bet for most folks. I definitely do not encourage others in drinking alcohol—I like making my own dumbass choices and everyone else can make theirs. I am just an anti-social Cancer Curmudgeon. I enjoy pointing out the Dumb Shit Done, in my stupid opinion, in the world of cancer, in service of Pink and otherwise. Continue reading “Chicken and Beer”

Not Again

Insomnia is a bitch. And a cause of cancer, and I ranted about that ages ago.

So a result of falling asleep too early in front of the tube and being wide awake at midnight is stumbling on an article about a new report pointing out that some large amount of cancers are preventable if everyone would just behave. By behave, I mean: eat right, don’t have fun (er, I mean, smoke or drink), exercise.

YES I GET IT! So do lots of people, even many cancer patients. And I realize many more do NOT get it. A friend reminds me when I rant about this in person, that she watches some folks wonder why they can’t lose weight as they chow down on junk food. So, yes, I concede that while many seem to get the message about the benefits of healthy living, most people (Americans) don’t seem to get it. I do not understand how this ignorance continues, but that is my own failing, my own impatience and intolerance.

Anyway, this piece I had the misfortune of finding wonders why the benefits of healthy lifestyle are used in campaigns about heart disease, and other illnesses, but not cancer. I guess that is just another one of the funny things (not ha ha funny) about living in Cancerland. I am hyper-aware of every magazine cover touting how exercise and certain foods (flavor of the week foods, ha ha) help prevent cancer. So I am just flabbergasted when anyone, especially medical reports, claim that there is this big hole in the conversation around healthy choices and cancer.

I cannot even go into the whole problem I have with this constant focus on one half of the environmental factors in the discussion of causes of cancer. The phrase “environmental factors” refers to everything—diet, exercise, as well as pollution, crap in products and so on, or so I read once, somewhere. As usual, the onus is put on individual choices. I wish Chapter 13 of “Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History” by Florence Williams could be required reading, for like, everyone, ever.

Look, for the millionth time, I’m not knocking healthy choices. Since completing treatment, I have certainly made lifestyle changes for the better, although I indulge in the occasional glass of wine or sweet treat, because I wish to enjoy my life. I just get so sick of how reductive the conversation has become about those environmental factors. And I am tired of the subtle blame the focus on individual behavior invites.

I keep thinking I have this issue out of my system, but no. I wrote this just a few months ago, but, well, here I go repeating myself. I pondered why I and others get a bit sensitive about this issue, about why we perceive this topic as a bit of an attack or blame.

Did You?

Posted on February 15, 2014 by Cancer Curmudgeon

Did you smoke, and for how long?

Did you drink, how much, how often?

Did you have kids?

Did you use a tanning bed?

Did you even try to lose weight?

Did you take hormones or the Pill?

Did you eat enough blueberries?

Did you eat tomatoes?

Did you eat meat?

Did you buy organic?

Did you eat a lot of sugar?

Because if you have cancer, you did it to yourself. Continue reading “Not Again”

Not Good Enough

So Cancerland, Town of Breast, is experiencing another sort-of controversy in the form of the announcement that all women can (should?) have BRCA testing, regardless of family history. This all because of the discovery that there are indeed women who have the mutation even with no family history of cancer, which is a bummer. Opinions are running around the internet. Mine is: So what? This news is just not good enough for me to get excited.

When I first started blogging, I wrote some wildly unpopular opinions about my disenchantment with BRCA testing. My strong family history moved me to get the test, back in the days when only Myriad conducted it, and I was negative. At the time I was relieved and used the results as a tipping point in my decision to go with a lumpectomy rather than a prophylactic double mastectomy. Much later I learned that BRCA is only present in a small percentage of breast cancer cases, and that my own chance of having the mutation was only slightly higher than average. Then by participating in a study, I learned the way my results were presented—a simple “you’re negative for both mutations”—probably was not all that accurate, there were other things I could’ve been tested for (had been tested for but no one went over it with me?) that would give me info. I’ve chosen to not dig deep into that, because, it makes no difference now. I’m not going to go back and have more surgery. Can’t afford it for one, and, well, me and surgery don’t get along—it makes me puke, literally, too much.

So as I stand here on the other side of the horrible whirlwind of treatment and all those terrible decisions, I’m left, as I said, disenchanted and unimpressed. Because at the end of the day, I still had cancer and getting tested could not alter that fact. It might come back, and this test cannot alter that either.

Sometimes it seems to me that the discussions and announcements about tests for likelihoods, screening tools (mammography debate), and the “weak” preventative measures (women with no mutation-inspired “high risk” getting double mastectomies for an early stage breast cancer, and it makes no difference in likelihood of survival), are like that joke about looking for your car keys under the streetlight. You did not lose your keys there, but the lighting is better than the dark area in which the keys DID get lost. The big news in Cancerland always seems to revolve around how to better find cancer faster and earlier, and how to figure out who is most likely to eventually get it. But there seems to never be any “big” announcements about how to prevent it from happening in the first place, keep cancer from coming back, or how to better improve the survival once it does happen, especially for those whose cancer has metastasized.

Oh sure, there is a prevention offered to those who do have the mutation—one portion of the poison, slash, and burn treatment—the slash portion (and I think some poison is offered too, I wouldn’t know, I’m negative). Yes, only putting up with one portion, the slashing, is far better than putting up with all three, certainly a bit less dangerous and difficult on the body. But, I still feel it isn’t good enough. Sorry, that is just the way I feel. I don’t think it is crazy to want a waaaay better option to prevent cancer than the current option, if one is so (un)lucky to know that cancer is a damn near certainty due to a mutation. All this info we can know about ourselves and the option is still shit.

I don’t mean to belittle or blow off the years of hard work many folks put into testing, studying, and drawing conclusions about women and breast cancer. They are trying make a difference, trying to make a dent in the so-called battle against cancer. And I don’t mean to belittle those folks who embrace these announcements, who are encouraged with what truly is an incredible piece of the puzzle. Perhaps I am being selfish or self-centered, as I am only looking at these 2014 announcements through the lens of my own experience—but, well, that is all I got: my own point of view.

The Risky Body wrote about this BRCA announcement a few days ago and made a comment that pierced me. She suggested maybe those of us NOT BRCA positive have resentment because those who do have this mutation have info that can be viewed as an advantage. I admit, I do have this resentment. I was angry during that whole Jolie kerfuffle. All those media types praising her for being brave and proactive pissed me off. When my aunt was diagnosed at the relatively young age of 50 (isn’t the average age for female breast cancer patients 61 or 62? Did I read that somewhere?), I was all “proactive” and got a mammogram that told me I had no evidence of cancer. Five weeks later, I find out I have a big ol’ 5 x 6.6 cm tumor. I did the BRCA testing, thinking surely, with an aunt, a grandmother, and a grandmother’s sister all having had breast cancer, surely, I’d be positive and could be proactive. Again, nothing. As I reflect back today my breast cancer seems both random and inevitable. And I feel I was powerless to stop it, and am still powerless in the face of a potential return. The more I scramble to “do something”, the less I seem able to do.

If this post sounds bitter, it is. This is why I have not been posting much this summer. Writing is not the refuge it once was, bitterness just pours out of my fingers when I sit down to my keyboard. So I’ve chosen to not be bitter, and have been having fun this summer instead. I indulged myself by working hard, bingeing on old TV shows with a friend (catching up with the rest of the human race in understanding why “Breaking Bad” is the best show ever), (re)reading a trilogy now that the final book came out. I’ll probably go back to that for a bit, but yes, I do have other Curmudgeonly posts in the works. I’ve sat on them, for fear of just being too, well, bitter-sounding.

But I just had to chime in on this topic. Some would say I should’ve sat on this post too. But, one thing blogging has taught me is that there are likely a few women out there whose situation (BRCA status, mammography failure, etc.) is similar to mine. And maybe a few of those feel the same as I do about all this mess. Our similar feelings won’t change anything but at least we are not alone.

So I, or maybe we, will sit here and wait. I’m tired of hearing about how more mammograms and more aggressive surgery do not help one bit. I’m tired of hearing about new or more tests which will tell anyone bad news (you, Jane Q. Potential Cancer Patient will surely get cancer). I’m sick of these announcements being presented as “good” news. I want to hear someone tell me they can lessen my chance cancer will come a “get me” again. I want to hear that no other woman will go through what I did, age 38, scared out of my mind and utterly bewildered I got breast cancer younger than anyone else in my family. In spite of all the awareness and knowledge, I knew nothing, and still know so little and still feel powerless.

Being Disturbed Calls for Another Re-post

That recent article about rejecting the breast cancer warrior role (written by a doctor whose wife died of breast cancer) has provoked some interesting reactions in social media. I’m actually kind of annoyed by BOTH the supporting and protesting reactions. I’ll write a post soon explaining what I mean by that. In the meantime, I realize I still have the same strong convictions about this issue as I did well over a year ago. Here is what I wrote then. Hope to have a new post about it this weekend.

Take the Mythical Image of the Strong Warrior Breast Cancer Survivor And Bury HER Once & For All
Posted on March 28, 2013 by Cancer Curmudgeon

Author’s note:
If you are a breast cancer “survivor” who embraces that ideal image–the pink products, the racing for the cure, etc.– I am truly happy for you. I mean that sincerely, without my usual dose of sarcasm. And just as sincerely, I beg you to stop reading this post, you will probably find it offensive. As nearly always, there will be foul language, because that is how I speak.

This post is for the ones who got breast cancer, and went into it doubting, or maybe at first embracing, what I shall henceforth refer to as The Image. It is for those of us who at some point realized we could not live up to The Image. And for those patients lost and unsure, feeling set adrift, away from the pink anchor. This post is for them–you–us. -anotheronewiththecancer, AKA cancer curmudgeon

Why do I propose this burial? Because I think this mythical image is dangerous. I’m tired of hearing or reading about women who feel they cannot live up to The Image; becoming depressed, maybe suicidal, because of the way this pressure made them feel. I’ve encountered this sort of despair a few times recently, and enough is enough.

I’ve used this comparison before, I think. Let’s say a gun is pointed at your head. Maybe you get shot. There will be blood, there will be pain, and you might die. At the most basic level, cancer is just like that, a gun pointed at the head. You get cancer, you will bleed, you will have pain, and you might die. Most people, when having a gun pointed at the head, would shit themselves. Breast cancer patients however, are expected to run a race, smile, and fight, fight, fight! Like a good little girl. Whoops did I just say that? So when these women cannot live up to the expectations, not only do they feel awful because they have cancer, but they feel like they are letting EVERYONE down, especially those who’ve supported them, but also the world at large that expects certain behavior from the breast cancer she-ro.THIS IS WRONG.

I get it, there is a desire to fit in, to find support somewhere, and the smiling pink parades look inviting. Some women find solace in the support of a sisterhood. (BIG ALERT: I’m an only child and glad of it, so the notion of sisterhood baffles me.) We all want to belong. One of the many problems is, The Image pretends to invite everyone, but it does not; it is actually quite exclusive–I’ll stop short of using the d-word. Dissenters and doubters with breast cancer are ostracized. Don’t believe me? Read Barbara Ehrenreich’s Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America. The first chapter is Ehrenreich’s description of her breast cancer experience, called “Smile or Die: the Bright Side of Cancer”. Some of the incidents she described were all too familiar (hint: a breast cancer patient suggested Ehrenreich get professional help for her “bad attitude” I got similar advice while making what I think is a valid point on Huffington Post). In my humble opinion, it should be required reading for ALL newly diagnosed breast cancer patients.

And notice I only mentioned breast cancer patients. But even not all breast cancer patients are invited, I’ve learned by reading blogs. I’ve read some ugly stories about the ones with Stage IV getting shut out of the “support system.” But of course, they are the awful reminder that breast cancer is not totally beatable, as we’ve been led to believe. “They” can never fit into the The Image. *I use they in quotes not to reflect how I feel about those with mets, but to reflect how I believe The Image machine views those with mets.

Guess who else is not invited to the pink party? Patients with ANY OTHER KIND OF CANCER. I hate that. Why are they excluded? That is a can of worms to open on another day, another post. I will offer this thought to ponder: is it because we just expect them to die, and by that I also mean get out of our sight, as an embarrassment like the mets breast cancer patients, because they cannot beat cancer and fulfill that stupid warrior stereotype? Ask your nearest ovarian or pancreatic cancer patient, they can tell you what’s up, in language you may not want to hear.

I knew pretty much from the get-go that I would not live up to The Image. For those who’ve read some of my other posts, it is pretty clear I was never the cheerleader-joiner type. So of course I’d be the glowering dissenter in the corner. Honestly, I did try to be a good patient (not just a good breast cancer patient). I followed orders, took tests, showed up at appointed times, eventually joined a support group. As treatment progressed I learned some hard lessons about following doctor’s orders, like the need to challenge medical proclamations handed to me, because mistakes were made, but that is another post.

I think I rejected the Pinktober stuff even before I was diagnosed. As an alt-punk Gen-Xer, I hate it when I am being sold to, and tend to look for the lies beneath all shiny images, and I knew The Image, along with the pink crap, was being SOLD to me. These days, as a breast cancer patient, the Pink just infuriates me, rather than simply annoying me on an intellectual level.

When some acquaintances walked in a pink event in my name, I was gracious, I love the little pink rubber- duckie they gave me, and I will never forget their kindness. But I won’t EVER walk or run, I won’t buy pink crap. I don’t need to go into the reasons why walk/runs are not effective fundraisers, nor need I explain that cancer simply cannot be shopped away. Other bloggers have done that, and if you’re still reading this post, you already know this.

That said, this post is not me saying, “Oooo look at me, I’m so clever and strong to have rejected The Image without ever falling into the trap”. On the contrary, the marketing, the peer pressure, in cancer communities is so prevalent, it is amazing anyone ever questions anything. No, this is me defending the ones–us–who don’t want to, or cannot fit into this distorted ideal, The Image. I mean that with more conviction than nearly anything I’ve ever said in my life.

I’m not going to go into how The Image developed, there are some good books out there about that. I am aware the advocacy movement started as a way to support women’s health, bring breast cancer out from the whispering shadows, so women could demand better treatment. This is a good thing. But in a few decades, the pendulum swung completely to the other side, to the point that we shout about breast cancer from the rooftops, and there seems to be subtle pressure to be damn near proud of having it while sporting pink clothes and bald heads.

Of course I’m glad breast cancer is out of the shadows, but in keeping with the insane American ideal of “if a little of something is good, a lot of it is better”, now it has gone over to the ridiculous. We need to bring the pendulum back. We need to slow down, find the middle ground. No more ideals, no more she-roes, survivors, warriors, no more hollow “you’re so brave” compliments. I’m no she-ro. I am no warrior. I am not brave, I screamed and cried raged often enough I assure you. I am simply a woman who found out she had a life-threatening illness, made logical, somewhat informed decisions to eliminate that threat, and tried to deal with all the emotional crap that came with it. I made these choices because I wanted to live, not die. It is that simple. Don’t ascribe these words and their hollow meanings to me and my experience, it is not your right to do so.

So to those breast cancer patients, or survivors or whatever you call yourself, who are struggling because you don’t think you are “doing cancer right”, I doubt this silly post will ease your pain. I can’t remove the pressure of The Image from your back, and maybe no one can do that but you. You will need to be the one to take this mass delusional Image and chuck her out the window, where she belongs. The only way The Image will cease to exist is if enough of us ignore her.

I am sorry if I come off harsh. A lifetime of being unable to conform to much has made me a bit rough around the edges at times. The cool kids or the mainstream (in breast cancer, in life) tend to be intolerant of “the other”, and since I usually fall into that category, I cannot help but be a bit snide about being an “outsider” all the time. I tried not to criticize or judge, but at times I feel criticized and judged by the mainstream pink community and it is hard not to reciprocate. I am ashamed of that because I am truly trying to be a better person.

I do not have any proposals on how to solve what I think is a problem (and yes, it is a problem if someone goes through cancer treatment successfully, and then wants to commit suicide for being unable to live up to The Image–no matter how you spin it). As usual, I am the jackass in the corner pointing out what is wrong without much of a constructive suggestion. I don’t have a degree in Sociology or Anthropology, which is probably what is required to understand the nature of the cancer subculture. If I could lead an army of like-minded folks down the highway in October, destroying every hint of pink I saw, I would do it, but I doubt that will ever happen. All I can think of to do is reject it for myself, and offer a helping hand to anyone else who wants to do the same.

From Mopey to Dopey to Sleepy

Wow. It’s been over a month since I last posted, or even wrote. Last post, I wrote about how my ongoing recent health issues had sent me reeling back into my fresh-outta-treatment panic and blues. I’d started blogging in the wake of those initial post-treatment blues two years ago, to help rid myself of them. That had worked for a long while, and I was getting much better. But this regression motivated me to do the opposite. I just felt like any post I would write in the past month would just be infected with my mopey views.

So I chose to just try and do a little self-care. I took medications and started an exercise (stretching) routine to prevent muscle spasms and numbness. I figured out that the dizziness was caused by my old allergy medications suddenly failing to work. I had to get new ones, and adjust. So I was doped up for a little while and of course, some sleepy side effects ensued. I slowly started to feel better, to the point I actually had several consecutive days mid-July of total well-being, actual feeling normal (well, post-cancer normal wellness, anyway). I planned to get back to blogging, but first I wanted to take time to make up lost work time, lost fun time, lost beach time.

Then last week I got a wicked summer cold.

It is just endless—like my body insists on being sick. And I am sick of being sick!

All this time I have indeed been reading others’ blogs and trying to keep up at least a little bit, even if I didn’t have the mental energy to say much. I’ve been thinking and pondering. I always have opinions and thoughts, and hopefully, I’ll get my act together enough to return to blogging soon.

Until later, then.

The Line

I, and many others, have often spoken of the fears that haunt cancer patients upon completion of treatment. Every little ache, twinge, hangnails even, can induce great fear in a cancer patient: “Is this a sign? Is this cancer coming back?”

For the most part, I’ve been capable of knowing when something is just a normal issue, not a signal that cancer has come back. The first time I had a little 24-hour flu after cancer, for example. It was weird, to have such a normal episode of nausea and vomiting not related to chemo. (Unluckily for me, this episode happened right after having a large Thanksgiving dinner—geez, of all the lousy times to get sick…) I know when I’m having allergy problems rather than a cold; I know that even though I’d never had a UTI prior to last fall, I knew it was a simple thing. I felt pretty secure that none of these minor illnesses signaled the return of cancer.

In short, I’ve remained on this side of my imaginary line that divides normal illness or signs of aging versus abnormal symptoms that indicate I need an oncologist. That is not to say I am or ever will be “over cancer”, I know the risks, the likelihood of recurrence and that I am not “all better”—unlike those folks who like to tell about their friend of a friend who had a little cancer that one time and now she’s “all better”.

But I have lost sight of the line lately. Or maybe I keep jumping back and forth over it, or I’m straddling it.

When I had my suspicious mammogram last March, I found myself back in that place of cancer terror, the place I occupied upon diagnosis. I had a brief reprieve after the MRI proved the suspicious area to be scar tissue and not a tumor. I breathed easy, thinking I’d dodged a bullet this time. But every health blip I’ve had since then has sent me over the edge—especially since it all seems ongoing and whack-a-mole; each time a symptom is quashed, a new one pops up.  All remains unresolved.

Given my history of medical professionals misdiagnosing me (my first mammo was all clear when really I had a giant cancerous tumor; I was told I had shingles when really I had a staph infection), it is hard for me to trust my GP when she tells me stress has made my muscles contract to simple muscle spasms causing my limb/finger/toe numbness. How do I know it is not something more sinister? If not cancer, perhaps something just as serious and catastrophic?

How do I know or trust that that my issues are not something more serious? I’ve lost sight of the line—the line that says trust the doctor that it this problem is not serious versus advocate, push, ask for tests that prove my worst fears.

I’ve been living in that dark hole of fear and terror lately. I’ve not been communicating or writing much, I just cannot focus when my mind is busy contemplating the horrible possibilities. I don’t like being in this place. I thought I had my post-treatment blues, my walking-with-fear-of-cancer’s-return in hand. But I do not.

So back to the drawing board. Back to counseling. I’m angry at myself that I took one step forward and have now taken several steps back.

Because Sunday

Because Sunday

Last year National Cancer Survivors Day was over before I even knew it existed. I kind of shrugged it off. This year I was alerted to its approach via social media. And this year I’m decidedly not enthused about it.

I see the website, with tidbits like: “On Sunday, June 1, 2014, cancer survivors across the globe will unite to show the world what life after cancer looks like.” (Aside: that confuses me—is it “national”, which nation, but the around the globe quote seems it should be called international day????) Or, the tidbit mentioned on other blogs that the day is show life after cancer can be better?

Admittedly, I’m in a very bad mental space lately. Since March, I’ve had one health issue after another, starting with a suspicious mammogram that led to a relieving MRI that showed no evidence of recurrence-at least in my breasts. But after that it’s been other health issues, drugs with bad side effects, or maybe not—still trying to figure out what is going on with me. Meanwhile, I feel crappy, and I am torturing myself that all this indicates cancer is back somewhere else. I felt kind of “blah” the summer before I was diagnosed. And yes, I had that clear mammogram a mere 5 weeks before I was diagnosed with a big ass tumor that first time. So sorry, but I don’t have much patience in this process of trying to figure out my health problems without considering what I fear most.

So I’m not up to showing the world what life after cancer looks like—for me, it has been just riddled with fear, anxiety, and panic. Even if what is happening to me now is not recurrence, the fact I’m having such a difficult time tolerating or resolving new, other health issues just shows how much cancer has damaged my body—made me weaker and not as able to shake off what someone my age who has not had cancer might be able to do so easily. No, I don’t think the folks behind this event want me as a poster child for what life after cancer looks like. I wish I did look and feel like those smiling people in the survivor pictures, swimming, being active, oddly resembling ads for feminine hygiene products. Oh yes I went there.  I may feel terrible, but I can’t stop my sarcasm.

As for that word survivor, once more for those in the back row—I do not consider myself a cancer survivor until I die of something else. I do not use it because my friends with Stage IV are not “losers”, and they are too often shut out of the rah-rah survivor discourse. I’ve written about this, and other cancer labels and language many, many times, so I’m putting links below to some of the ones I remember—I’m sure I’ve written about it in other posts that I’m just not remembering.

One final, parting shot thought: I’ve been merely re-posting old pieces lately. Yes, I’ve been too tired and feeling too crappy to write much. But that is not all. I find that I still feel mostly the same about all these issues. My mind has not changed too much. I used to think if I just kept writing and talking, the conversation about cancer could change. I no longer think that. I merely hope that at some point, the world will see there is not one single, happy story of cancer, there is not one “THE way” to do cancer (I’m thinking about that TV news person who introduced the clip of the dancing mastectomy woman by proclaiming her dance as “THE way to do cancer, folks”). At some point, I hope society will understand that there are thousands (millions?) of cancer stories out there, and no two are alike. And none of them are wrong. Taken together, they are the real, whole story of cancer.

What Do I Call Myself?

The Other Other Language of Cancer

Why This Smart Ass Does Not Kick Ass

The Curmudgeon Formerly Known as Cancer Patient

Remedial Course

Read something in the blogosphere that made me remember writing this. Might have to repost now and again until at least the media gets it right–internet “experts” never will.

Somebody Needs to Buy These Media People a Dictionary

Posted on March 15, 2013 by 

So I’m watching GMA Friday morning and there is a brief segment about this co-host on Dancing With the Stars, Brooke Burke-Charvet. Now, I do not watch the Dancing show, know nothing of this woman, and have not bothered to look into her story on the internet, not interested enough. My complaint is the way the dark-haired female reporter, and her producers at GMA, presented the info. This Burke-Charvet woman has or had thyroid cancer, and is doing some promo thing on some health magazine about how her cancer scare means she no longer worries about looking young, and she wants people to live healthy, exercise (the usual crap), and get check-ups with doctors. Now, I do not know if it was Burke-Charvet who actually said people need to engage in preventative practices by getting annual check-ups, I will give her the benefit of the doubt. But certainly the GMA reporter said that the idea behind the campaign is for people to prevent health issues, like cancer, by going to their doctor. Apparently this Burke-Charvet has always lived healthy and had no symptoms, and it was on a routine visit to her doctor her thyroid cancer was detected.

In what universe is early detection equal to prevention?! Going to the doctor and learning she had cancer did NOT prevent cancer. She already had the cancer, therefore, it was NOT prevented. It was detected early, and that is great, but it was not prevented no matter how the media spins it.

This is the kind of thing the media does that drives me crazy. Throw around words like “prevent” so people feel in control or empowered. How many times will I have to write this? Some things are out of our control, if cancer had a motto it would be “shit happens”. This idea we can control every single thing that happens to us, cancer included, is just extreme hubris.

It is important for the media to get this language of cancer right. By suggesting to viewers that “prevention” is within our grasp just by getting regular medical check-ups is damn near negligent. I repeat, if a regular doctor’s visit (as in a visit not instigated by symptoms), reveals the presence of cancer, that is EARLY DETECTION, not PREVENTION.

The media needs to pull their collective act together. I am especially annoyed this segment was on GMA, a show featuring a news anchor with well documented bouts of cancer. She and her cast mates should know this difference all too well. Shame on you, GMA.