Subtitle: (and I probably don’t want to hear it)
Note 1: NSFW-picture of my bare, cancer-scarred breast below
Note 2: Controversial and offensive content—something about a woman writing about feminist issues makes everyone lose their shit. Please read all the way through including the note at the end if you wish to send anger or hate, which will simply be removed—it’s my blog, my rules
One thing that continually irks me in Cancerland is the expectation that cancer patients are supposed to emerge from treatment a better person—healthier, better attitude, new respect for life, yada, yada. This issue pops up every now and again. I get mad, start a post, lose interest, trash post. But it has started to pop up with a monthly regularity now in a newsletter from a local breast cancer support organization, because they’ve started some kind of cooking class series with a name that implies cancer turns patients into new and improved versions of themselves, and that involves learning to cook healthier, you know, because clearly everyone who has cancer was living on fast food and soda before. (Yes, being sarcastic. Again.)
Several weeks ago, Nancy’s Point posted this great piece, After A Cancer Diagnosis, You’re A Better Person, Right?, and there was a lovely discussion that ensued. I was so happy to read it, and kind of thought this issue out of my system. Nancy talks about the cancer as a gift concept and how she is uncomfortable with that. She also mentions how this is yet another expectation of the cancer patient—to “do” cancer right, as if cancer patients did not have enough to do.
But what else bothering me about this “better person” idea is that it gets too close to the blame game—as in, if I’m choosing to “do everything right” now that I’ve had cancer, does that mean I did something or maybe everything wrong before and therefore caused my cancer?
I was not perfect before cancer, and I’m sure as hell not perfect now. In some ways cancer has made me worse. I am much less patient and tolerant. And now I have a cancer-focused blog in which I write and share my rants with anyone who’ll read them. I’m sure there are many that would count that as NOT an improvement. Yet, I couldn’t, wouldn’t, have done this without cancer. (Hint: I like my blog and think it’s a good thing.) I documented in my post Punk Rock (Breast) Cancer that I once thought cancer was magic, that I would get this new, wonderful outlook on life and I’d handle things better. I learned that is not true real quick. Cancer just makes a person more who they really are—good, bad, ugly, and/or unable to behave in an appropriate manner while having cancer, or after it.
I often wonder if folks who throw themselves into this “new me” idea and action plan blame themselves for getting cancer in the first place, and hope they are not devastated if cancer returns. I’ve said too many times on this blog that cancer’s motto is “shit happens”, because sometimes illness is out of an individual human’s control.
I recently came into contact with a woman who had just finished treatment and was near tears as she talked about how she was improving her diet and exercise regime to do anything to prevent recurrence. I wondered if thinks she caused her cancer in the first place, since she is doing all these different things now. It was not my place to ask her, and I did not.
You see, I recognize myself in her. Oh, I talk a good game here in my various blog posts about how I refuse to blame myself for my cancer. But I’ve also admitted that I eat tomatoes now because of their cancer-fighting properties. Because in the center of me that is filled with self-doubt, I still somehow believe it was that hatred of tomatoes that put me in that damn infusion chair in 2010-11.
While I cannot judge how any other person “does” cancer, I sometimes think I must seem rather stubborn, or stupid, or both, in comparison to the “change my life” patients, for accepting that maybe I could not have stopped cancer from happening to me.
I’ve covered the diet-exercise angle quite a bit in terms of blame, prevention, and moving forward. And I suspect those things aren’t even the half of it. I’m too afraid to deal with the karma/philosophical aspect; as in if you shoplifted at age 5, is that why you have cancer now? (No, I did not shoplift, but I’ve done other bad things, who has not, unless you are some deity?) That is a whole other post, and I’ll get there someday. But I do know this, whatever bad things I’ve done, I’d already learned lessons from those things and improved (in MY way) because of them. I did not need the added punishment of cancer to motivate me to improve myself. It is sad to think that it takes something as dire as cancer to inspire self-improvement. I reject that notion completely.
There are only a million things to say about Telling Knots’ recent Larry Flynt piece, and all the comments, and I may or may not write more about it. But I have to tackle a weird thing first.
One of the defending comments came from a Hustler Club employee, and in her defense of the event (perceived as offensive by many) she states that two female relatives had breast cancer, one of whom died. Kudos to Telling Knots for expressing sorrow right away in response. Not that I am not sorry for the woman’s loss, but my irritation at this disclosure is strong.
This is not the first time I’ve heard/seen this kind of “my (relative) died of breast cancer, and my (other relative) is a x number of years survivor of breast cancer” comment; it isn’t even the first time I’ve heard/seen it used by a person participating in or supporting an offensive type of “ta-ta” event as a reason why the speaker is doing it. What is this phrase supposed to achieve? That because she witnessed breast cancer she has special understanding of what it is like to have it, and all the issues surrounding it? And that this is somehow a rational argument as to why the event should not offend patients, simply because it does not offend patients she knows? Does this claim of having relatives with cancer give her some authority?
But then I think, cool it with the perpetual outrage Curmudgeon, perhaps she is trying to be empathetic, and most people don’t even try to do this. So am I bitching because I think it is the wrong kind of empathy?
It would be absurd to always be annoyed if one person speaks up on behalf of another. I think back to a post I wrote months ago, where I, as someone who chose a lumpectomy, pondered unfair judgment made of women who chose the so-called “unnecessary” mastectomy. I think back to a recent awful IRL incident: “Well he smoked for soooo long,” an acquaintance said of a person dying of lung cancer. “And, what, so he deserves this then?!” I sputtered back angrily. Perhaps I was out of line to speak up; certainly I was, ah, a bit aggressive. I know I cannot speak for lung cancer patients, but it seemed wrong, in that moment, not to point out how awful it is (and always will be) to blame the patient, any patient, or to imply anyone deserves cancer. I remember once hearing an anecdote about an ovarian cancer patient wanting breast cancer patients to speak out for ovarian cancer patients, because there are so many more breast cancer survivors, given that ovarian cancer patients have a lower survival rate (and yes lower incidence rate as well…but that does NOT make the cancer less important—read this). What a horribly practical view on the part of the ovarian cancer patient, and totally understandable. So then I think, yeah, there is a need to speak up for one another, but not always to speak for one another, if that makes any kind of sense.
But on the flip side, none of us experience cancer, or even breast cancer the same way. Sure, many of us have lots in common, and that is how bonds are formed and so on, but there are differences. Heck, there are a great many breast cancer patients who have no qualms with Flynt’s event, or other slogans, events, and organizations I find so extremely offensive. Just because I’m offended, doesn’t make me right, I keep whispering to myself, unsuccessfully, because I can get a little self-righteous on that topic. I cannot speak for them and they damn well can’t speak for me. In fact, I am pretty certain most readers are not going to agree with my irritation here.
For me, “my (relative) had (some kind of) cancer” is going to have to go into my list of things I don’t want to hear as a cancer patient. I just think, if I went around saying I understood all about any kind of cancer because I know a few people with other cancers, it would be utterly ridiculous. As if other cancer patients did not already feel marginalized enough by the Big Pink October machine! Me, with breast cancer, the most well-know, probably the most funded and researched cancer, might as well just use the insulting phrase, “well, some of my best friends are (whatever type of cancer patients)”. As if I had some special insight into the issues or problems people with other diseases face; puhleeze, snort of derision. I can’t speak for people with other kinds of cancer, or other breast cancer patients, hell, I can barely speak for my own self!
Look, all I know is that however unfair I’m being, when I hear someone say “my relative had/has breast cancer”, all I want to say is, “that doesn’t mean you know or understand ME, or all the bullshit baggage I bring to my own personal case of cancer. I don’t have cancer the same way your relatives have it.”
That baggage we all bring to our cases of cancer is a topic for another day. But in the meantime…am I being unfair to those who drag out a faux cancer card, the “my relative has cancer” card for whatever reason?
Exactly.
My “Where I’ve Been” post is still forthcoming, but in the meantime, I realize that I missed the opportunity to post on “National No Bra Day.”
I am reposting an article I wrote back on the unofficial No Bra Day during Pinktober (October — Breast Cancer Awareness Month). The “official” fake holiday was actually yesterday, July 9th.
I see that you left a number of lovely comments on my M.I.A. post. I will respond, but wanted to say “thank you” from the bottom of my heart in the meantime. I am also looking forward to catching up with your blogs and all I have missed in the past couple of weeks.
My warmest thoughts & thanks are with you all…
——————
I am not a ranter by any means and I have been pretty quiet about “Pinktober” and what has come to be known as “Pinkwashing” in breast cancer circles…
View original post 1,808 more words
I know some of my views are unpleasant. I know I say thoughts maybe best left unsaid. And here I go again.
I have yet to become enamored of Twitter, maybe that will change, but it does lead me to articles I would not have found on my own. Nancy’s Point tweeted a HuffPo essay that I would’ve missed, because I’ve avoided HuffPo lately since every time I go there I just get pissed off. I re-tweeted it (because I’d rather mooch other tweets than compose my own I guess) and posted it in other various places. I’d read the post and agreed with it without giving much thought to the title: “Nobody Shaved Their Head For Me”. Even after reading it a couple of times I’m still not sure if the author even wanted any commiserating head-shaving; what struck me was the truthfulness of the main thrust of it: that big push of support in the beginning, and then the “aren’t you done with cancer yet” crap when treatment is maybe only partly over, and how that makes some friends fall away. Mets patients must drive certain people nuts, since they will never “be all done with cancer”. (Mets patients—fire away with this idea in the comments, of course.)
My own worst story in the “be all done with treatment” comment department came from a former co-worker during a lunch event. I was in the middle of Herceptin, maybe a week out from finishing radiation. She said something like “but you’re all better right, you’re all done, right?”, in her usual hyper, brusque manner. I remember saying no, and muttering something about being HER2+ and the length of treatment for it. But here’s the catch. Her own father was in his final weeks after a couple of years with Stage 4 cancer, so I assumed she understood a little about how cancer lingers. But then I think, perhaps she resented me for being only Stage 3, and for the fact I was expected to live. I cannot say this woman was a friend, but this scenario does show the complications when you have cancer, your friend doesn’t but has a parent dying of it. And so there is another dimension in the discussion of How Friends Fall Short In Supporting Us Cancer Patients. Too heavy for me to get into right now, maybe, but would love to hear thoughts!
But I digress, getting back to that HuffPo essay title. My buddy Greg commented that he never wanted anyone to shave their heads for him, although he agreed with the main thrust of the piece. This got me thinking, and remembering some stupid tidbit about Miley Cyrus shaving her head for cancer patients—I’ve no idea if it was for a charity or what. I did not comment on it then because it seemed beneath notice, but this essay title dredged up some thoughts I had about it.
Well, if you know the Cancer Curmudgeon, you can guess the verdict. I think it all a bit silly.
Sigh, yeah, I know it is a well-intentioned activity, and maybe if it is done as an event or project that raises money, that’s great (if the money goes to reputable groups, that is) and if folks become aware of some of the Crap That Comes With Cancer, well, I’ll never object to that! But the bottom line is that cancer is to be faced by the patient alone, and head-shaving in solidarity just does not impress me. Is being bald the worst part of cancer? For this breast cancer patient, is it worse than the loss of breasts?
No. Not for me. The loss of the hair in my nose I found to be far worse, and I won’t even go into the loss of other hair today. The nausea, constipation, radiation burn—a hundred times worse that being bald, and I had to do that alone, no solidarity opportunities. The surgery, the loss of a chunk of my breast including the nipple—a million times worse than being bald, and I did that alone, no one could do that for, or with me. No, I do NOT want anyone to go through any of that with me; I don’t wish the horrors of cancer on anyone. But at the same time, I don’t want anyone to think they understand surgery or the rest of these horrors of cancer by participating in a mere head shaving. That is why I find the whole thing so ridiculous. Sorry to point out the wedge between the sick and the well, but unfortunately, the sick do have to go where the well cannot follow sometimes
I prefer what is tangible, immediate, and practical. Yes, bringing food, providing a shoulder to cry on, taking care of housework and/or kids, these are practical, useful, solid supports. What else folks? Leave me comments. I had a great deal of support for which I am grateful, and it benefited me greatly, especially financially—VERY needed. No one shaved their head for me either, but someone did give me a ginormous bottle of powdered laxative (she is also a retired infusion nurse, so she knew what was needed, and she gave me the Neulasta shots, saving me from yet another visit to the money sucking cancer center—bonus! Told you I was lucky!). Now THAT is practical, useful shit. Pun intended. And yes, preferable to a damn head shaving.
These examples are what one person can do for one cancer patient. What about bigger ideas, for the community of cancer patients? I pose this question because I suddenly remember that National Cancer Survivor Day happened last month. I did not even know the day existed until I saw it on blogs…the day of! And from what I read, seems most were unimpressed with it. I’m still unclear as to what is supposed to happen that day. I see words like “gather to commemorate” and “honor their strength and courage”. I shrug, I guess it is fine to be honored, but I really need things like a better health care system, outrage at the high prices of medicine, and I need people to not just assume insurance takes care of it all—I’m sure many cancer patients know what it is like to battle the company when they tell you they won’t cover a procedure, many days after it already happened. I’m not prepared to argue the ins and outs of insurance and the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, because I’m not that smart about it. Those first two words are so important. I AM prepared to tell you what it is like to get rejected by insurance companies for having a pre-existing condition known as cancer. I AM prepared to tell you that if I get bad news in a few weeks at my six month check-up, it will be disastrous for me, and I can tell you all about that kind of fear. I AM prepared to tell you what it feels like to be an unprotected patient. Heavy issues like that cannot be solved with a feel-good activity like head-shaving.
A few other unpleasant opinions that resulted from my exposure to the interwebs yesterday: The comments on the piece. Oh yeah, these are why I stopped visiting HuffPo. I want to believe that comments sections are a great place for discussion, to see ways of looking at issues I have not considered. I’m really naïve for being a self-professed curmudgeon.
Wow, cancer patients versus other cancer patients. This is a sore spot that I will avoid now but am confronting in a future post. For now, suffice to say that there is no right way to do cancer, and patients who’ve found cancer to be a gift and are coping without this supposed whining—great for you, but some of us cope this way, some of us hope that by talking about the negatives we can improve them. You don’t have to read our “whining” posts, much less comment, why waste your time? I doubt the woman who wrote the HuffPo piece is going to suddenly have a change of view because of such tsk-tsking and “be positive” finger wagging. One way does not work for everyone (click here).
And wow, a non-cancerous person who pointed out that the patients’ friends are new to the whole “how to handle my friend with cancer” thing too. Well, yeah, but is that not why essays like this are good? So the conversation can get started, so these interactions can be improved when other young people get cancer? Isn’t talking about it best? Shouldn’t that be part of any friendship, why should cancer, or any tragedy—like miscarriage, death of parent/spouse, loss of job, paralyzing accident—be a changing factor? This is precisely why I liked the post so much!
Look, it may be difficult for those friends, but they still have health, which the patient has just lost. I get that it is hard to know what to do. I once WAS such an acquaintance that did not know how to handle cancer patients’ pain. But I learned the lesson the hard way (yeah, yeah, I know I say I did not “learn” anything from cancer, I changed my mind, so shoot me). But my sympathy can only go so far; I reserve it for the cancer patient, now that I’m on the other side (in the land of the sick). And the cancer patient who wrote the piece IS telling us what patients need from friends—that is the whole point!!! Rather than going on the defensive, maybe listen instead? Better to listen to what she says than learn it the hard way, like I did, by actually getting cancer.
Having essays like this, starting conversations about this, should change and improve future cancer patients’ experiences. But no. Instead I see that usual reaction: cancer patients should just be grateful to survive, should stop complaining about cancer, and cancer patients are not allowed to want more, to want better.
To the supporting friends I say treasure your health, and please stop judging how the sick handle being sick.
Just a reminder, I call myself the Cancer Curmudgeon, and I mean it. My posts will most often be sarcastic; grumpy even while humorous.
I am working on a few less than happy, peppy, perky posts. I believe that the only way to eliminate the darkness, the negatives, the unhappy facts of life is by facing them and dragging them into the light. If you are easily offended, do not read them; I’ll try to remember to tag appropriately. Oh, and there is one mostly positive one coming too. But if you are reading posts by someone who calls herself a Curmudgeon, well, be prepared. What you see is usually what you’ll get.
Anyway, this quote from the great Quentin Tarantino applies here.
I see so many posts on various blogs praising (or, uh, the opposite) members of their medical team. And in person, I’ve run into so many people who looooove their oncologists.
I’m not the sentimental sort, and while I am fond of my oncologist, I wish I never met him. I was treated in the only cancer center for miles around in my rural area, and he is the Medical Director of the joint. He’s very calm and even keeled, and very humble. I remember being a bit surprised when I learned, about half-way through my treatment, that he was the dude in charge. He doesn’t act like the “I’m-in-charge-here sort”, and that’s good.
Now, on this blog in a few posts here and there, I’ve mentioned a couple of points that are key to this post: 1) This is a rural area, so, in other words, my cancer experience is really, really unlike those had by patients at Farber or Sloan-Kettering. Here, a cancer patient is quite likely to run into one of the nurses or doctors at a grocery store (ok, we’re aren’t so small town that there is only one store!) 2) I am a pet/house sitter, so I spend much time living in other people’s homes in various neighborhood developments in the area.
Have you figured out where I’m going with this?
A few months ago I gained a client that has kept me quite busy, meaning I’ve spent most of my time in one neighborhood these past few months. This client has a gorgeous yellow (practically white) Lab puppy, and Puppy has personality to spare. I’ve been working closely with the client on puppy training, so I’ve been immersed in AKC guidelines and Good Canine Citizen training and just good old fashioned getting the puppy socialized. Puppy and I walk up and down every street every day, practicing all kinds of commands: stop, down, sit, leave it (bleh, I say that one a lot, given Labs’ keenness for small dead animals that are ever present here in Road Kill, USA), stay, let’s go. Puppy is pretty and happy, and well loved, and we visit many folks on our walks each day; especially the after school gang. Puppy loves the after school gang with their melting fruit-flavored ice pops all over their faces, and they are still short, so their faces are still close enough to the ground for optimal slurping!
One lazy Sunday, a car approaches and the driver raises his hand absent-mindedly and I, as I always do, wave back. Like I said, this is small town values here. Everyone waves at everyone else even if the other is a stranger (or, there are no strangers). But this time, no, it was my oncologist waving at me. As I lazily throw up my hand, his gaze returns to a neighbor’s lawn decoration.
I see it as the wave of “the friendly neighbor”, not “hey, I think that is one of my patients,” and realize, good grief, he did not know who that was…walking down the street, hair a mess, in cut-off shorts and an old rock concert t-shirt, with plastic poop-pick-up bags streaming from my pockets. And why would he, I was not wearing my usual outfit, the oh-so fashion forward, cheesy-ass, flimsy hospital gown. My goodness, does he ever recognize anyone out of the cancer center?
Clothes are our armor, how we face the world by presenting a carefully selected image. Or in my case at that moment, just stuff I did not mind getting dirty. In exam rooms we are vulnerable, literally and often figuratively naked. To doctors we are not our image. To him, I am not cool-aging-punk-rocker equipped with my dog-walking gear. I am one of hundreds of scared breast cancer patients.
If you think this post is going to get all heavy, nope. There is a little more to tell here, which I find funny, but then I have a warped sense of humor.
Puppy and I continue on the road the doctor had just used to drive home. She spots it before I do, unfortunately. Freshly squished baby frog. Before I have time to think, “oh Dr. _________ must’ve run over that on the way home,” SLURP! Puppy consumes it, just as she does with most road kill if I don’t see it first and issue my “leave it” command.
Puppy is happy; satisfied she got one over on me. That night I curse my oncologist. I know, I know, I scoop poop for a living so it shouldn’t bother me. But that sort of thing grosses me out a little. Especially an hour later when Puppy wants to kiss my face with her tongue.….“Go away frog breath!”
Like I started this post, lots of cancer patients love their oncologists. I’m fond of mine. Puppy, however, worships and LOVES him: Dr. ___________, Frog Killer, Provider of Tasty Snack. Someday, when Puppy and I show up in his front yard, I know she will roll over on her back asking for a tummy rub, and when he leans down, she will slurp him too. I cannot prevent this from happening.
Now, the only question is this: when I see him for the every-six-months thing in a few weeks, do I tell him what happened?
“Yeah, but bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good”
–“Pulp Fiction”, 1994
While I was ranting in the previous post about how the media treated the recent death of Gandolfini, I began ranting about how TV doctors, commercials, and other media go on and on about healthy diets, and soon I was going on and on and on about food and weight loss and the judge-y judgertons on TV, and had wandered away from just fussing about Gandolfini and how his death got treated. I realized just how much media messages about diet and weight bother me.
I call this post “Cake”, but I don’t just mean cake; I’m using that one four lettered food item to stand for:
Ice cream
Chocolate
Cookies
Fried chicken, oh heck, all fried foods, fried stuff with cheese, to quote Joey Tribbiani
Rare steak
Fudge
Bacon
Cookies
Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger
Pie
Mayonnaise
Brownies
Mac-n-cheese
Potatoes
Candy
Fruit juice (not the real, 100% juice kind)
Coca-cola (I mean all soft drinks, where I’m from Coke means any syrupy, carbonated beverage)
Wine
Vodka
Biscuits
Pasta
Waffles
Food smothered in any kind of creamy sauce, mmm, like Alfredo
Sweet tea
Pizza
Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, lovely spam, wonderful spam
In other words, every food or drink that is awesome but is aiming to kill me. For the record, I don’t like soft drinks or soda pop (whatever your region calls it), or pie, or spam (my favorite song), but I’m listing foods that I know many others enjoy.
Now, I love when y’all comment on my posts, but I gotta ask this time that no one leave me a lecture about healthy diet and exercise, or moderation. I don’t eat a box of pasta and a jar of sauce every night for supper. I get the concept of moderation. This post, in combination with the preceding one, should explain that I GET IT, I just feel like I’m being lectured all the time with the constant messages about losing weight. Liberal media, Right wing media, shoooooot, Diet media is more like it. Sometimes I think that whole Cancer Thing I had there was just a plot constructed by The Smoking Man to get me to eat a damn salad. (Kidding, I ate salad in my BC—before cancer—era, I just do it more now). Who is The Smoking Man? OMG, stop reading and go stream all episodes of “The X-Files”, like right now, before I sic the unmarked helicopters on you. My love for that show probably explains too much of my blog.
Anyway.
You guessed it; this is just a humor post, me blowing off steam by going to the ridiculous extreme. I’m just complaining, and kicking against this constant need to behave sensibly that cancer seems to have imposed on me. No, this post was written by the six year old me, and she is cranky. And she wants a donut.
But in all seriousness, the issue of weight in all health-related pieces I see or read is really making my blood boil lately, and Gandolfini was the last straw. Wanna hear something stupid? BC, I was not overweight at all. I was in the correct weight span for my height. Was my BMI perfect? Doubtful. Was I a pleasing shape? No, I looked like—and still look like—a marshmallow with toothpicks for arms and legs, because all my weight gain goes to the middle, turning me into a box shape (oh yeah, forgot marshmallows in above list—but I don’t like them either). Was I fit or in shape? I’m not sure; I mean I had two physical jobs that required me to be active and do lots of heavy lifting. So, no I wasn’t in the gym, mostly because I was busy, working my ass off to get the money to pay the bills. I had no immediate health risk factors for anything really, other than my family (genetically and you know, stressing me out, driving me crazy).
Now, post-treatment, yeah, I’ve put on some extra pounds, and that has everything to do with chemo. During those first awful weeks of chemo, I hated all food and doubted I’d ever want to eat again (and yeah, lost ten pounds very quickly, my pants kept falling down, plumber butt!). Two years after chemo ended, and the smell of most foods do not make me nauseous anymore, it’s like I still cannot quite believe my good fortune at getting my appetite back. I’m like a kid in a candy store, or cake store, or steak store, or fried chicken store, or caramel popcorn store, or…you get the idea. So, I wasn’t overweight before cancer, I gain it after cancer because I missed the taste of food so much, and now all I hear is: fat causes cancer. I just want to scream! I can’t win for losing. So if I get cancer again, can I sue chemo treatments for making me appreciate food anew, and therefore causing me to overeat and get fat causing me to get more cancer? Yes I’m being facetious and sarcastic, to make a point.
I’ve been rolling my eyes lately at the commercials in which a woman is confronted with a donut or cake or a person dressed up as a cupcake or some such nonsense, and she chooses the healthy fruit-filled cracker-like snack. It’s just so stupid. That supposedly healthy choice is not at all healthy (preservatives, empty calories, and all kinds of other crap) and it is just so unrealistic. I would take that cracker and throw it, and then devour the cake. The ad doesn’t make me buy their product; it does make me cook fatty foods. I once watched a film about food that started off promising, talking about why humans crave the carbs and sugars and what not, but then it turns into what seems like an ad for juicing (I did not check, but I can take a guess at what or who funded this documentary). Not once in any of these types of commercials/films/shows does anyone acknowledge a basic truth:
CAKE TASTES GOOD AND THAT IS WHY I WANT IT. All the fancy juices and jam filled crackers in the world will not change that fact, why will no one admit this?
I do not have great will power, but when I do manage to exert even just a little will power, it comes from admitting to myself that hey—I want that cake (or any tasty food) because I LIKE IT. I don’t stupidly pretend that better-for-me foods will give me even half the joy or satisfaction the cake could give me. Otherwise being healthy would be easy, and I would not need films, commercials, and talking head TV doctors lecturing me. Of course, this line of discussion gets too close to that Kate Moss quote (“nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”).
Of course, that opens a whole other can of worms doesn’t it? A friend with numerous chronic illnesses (none of them being cancer) must avoid fats and sugars to avoid going from feeling bad to worse. It is like a simple mathematical equation for her: Insert cake into mouth = feel terrible all night. Lucky for her, she is one of those people who just don’t care much about food, and cutting out certain foods doesn’t faze her, she never misses any of them. Well, that ain’t the case for me and the equation is not so simple in cancer. Being fat is a risk factor but not an absolute. Cutting out all the things I love (wine, chocolate) does not give me a 100% guarantee, and I want that guarantee. And again, don’t send me a lecture, because I’ve heard the argument: being fat is a risk for the post cancer woman because then she’ll just die of a heart attack, if not cancer. Gee, thanks. Health nuts get their panties in a twist about this one all the time, I know it, I understand it. Now, can I have a piece of cheesecake to enjoy?
Sigh, guess I just have to file this problem under the “life’s not fair” section, and muddle on.
But maybe my real point, in all this fussing, whining, and moaning I’m doing here today is this: I have a sneaking suspicion that cancer has made me afraid of enjoying some of the simple things in life I used to like. I wanna go outside; nope, pesticides. I wanna go to the beach; nope, sun = skin cancer. I wanna dye my hair magenta again; nope carcinogens in beauty products. I wanna eat something good; nope, I’ll get fat. It’s like I live in a world full of “nope” now. No, I’m not being so drastic or extreme as to suggest that for all the limits on my life now maybe I should’ve just given up when I got cancer. Not at all. Just sayin’ real simple-like, I know a life-long health-nut guy who stopped eating sugar and his Lymphoma keeps coming back. Remember—no guarantees. All I’m saying is, I could take those twigs on TV a little better if they’d just admit they want the cake, rather than putting their noses in the air, piously waving the sweet treat away and then downing a glass of something that looks like liquefied crap that came out of the lawn mower.
A friend sent me a quote once about not just wanting to survive, but wanting to live. If I can get 10 to 20 more years, well, by golly, they will be ice cream-filled years. Now that is L-I-V-I-N’.
You’d think after that eruption I had a couple of weekends ago I would have stopped following the “Time” magazine health blog. But apparently my idea of fun is hitting myself upside the head with a 2 x 4. I kept getting their posts on my reader, until yesterday. So what pushed me over the edge?
Last Wednesday evening when I heard James Gandolfini died of a heart attack I was at first sad; although I was not a big fan or anything, he was a great actor who happened to be very famous for creating an icon (in my humble opinion, famous people who act for their profession are often NOT very good at it, but he was, let’s get that distinction out there, clearly—and also acknowledge that the best actors are often not famous). Bottom line, I did admire his work if I saw it, but gave him little thought otherwise. I hated the thought I had a split second after hearing the news: oh man, when are they going to start talking about his weight, relating it to his death?
Sure enough, a few hours later talking head doctors are all over the news programs like flies on shit. The next morning, all the morning shows (why the hell do I keep turning these things on? I could remove my risk factor for stroke and nervous breakdown by not watching these shows) had their on-staff health reporters talking about Gandolfini’s past with substance abuse and of course, his weight. I started writing this post on that day, but luckily, all the chatter died down (or I was just outdoors enjoying summer more, out of touch with TV and internet), so I put it aside. Then yesterday I check my WordPress reader and I see a post from “Time” tying Gandolfini’s weight, and his death, with the concept of “the Family” (read: mobsters), and how everyone has the obligation to take care of the self as a part of taking care of their own family/”Family”; a humorous (I guess) nudge that even the mobsters reading the post need to get fit, for the sake of others, you know, if they won’t do it for themselves. The post was weak and silly and said nothing new.
The worst part of the post, however, was a claim that all the other coverage of this event ignored Gandolfini’s weight, contending that commentators sidestepped the topic, saying if an anorexic starlet had been the dead person in question, the health concerns of being too thin would’ve been talked about immediately.
Say whut?
The blog post’s author was apparently not watching/reading the same stuff as I, in which THE WEIGHT was a BIG talking point. No one was being “coy” (author’s word, not mine). In fact, one of the points I wanted to make when I started writing this post—before trashing it last week and reviving it now—was the subtle implication that when someone dies of heart attack (or gets some other disease, like cancer) and they are the least bit overweight, well, gosh darn it all, they’re just asking for it, and they got themselves into this fix because they are fat lazy slobs. Just the fact the on-staff medical reporters were immediately dragged in front of the cameras the morning after to talk about heart disease prevention was, to me, a quiet indictment of Gandolfini, a gentle finger point: this could have been prevented had he eliminated his risk factor (as in, slimmed down). Oh sure, they make sad faces and express sorrow over the treasured celebrity’s death, but in saying “you can prevent this from happening to yourself” while they pull the sad face, they are saying/not saying, “he brought it on himself”. One talking head doctor actually said the phrase “if any good can come out of this” when saying this event is an opportunity for viewers to start becoming aware of their own risk factors. The insensitivity shocked me, but why? Having cancer my own self taught me that some people, when confronted by the sick person, start calculating their own risks, assuring themselves that their diet is better than the patient’s, so they’re “safe”, all the while expressing sadness and comfort to the patient’s face. I remember practically being able to see the wheels in some folks’ heads turning this idea over and over, while they spoke to me, and asked me about my sugar intake.
So you may be thinking to yourself, why is the ol’ Curmudgeon bitching about this? Of course heart disease, being overweight, and substance abuse are dangerous and we all need to take care of ourselves. I get it, being overweight causes problems; I don’t need convincing arguments. I’ve no quarrel with any of this. Yes, we do need to take care of ourselves and I have no objection to creating new healthy habits and taking better care of their bodies—I’ve done it myself. My stupidest example? I LOATHE tomatoes but eat them anyway because they are supposed to be great at preventing cancer.
But why does it take a celebrity event for the public to become aware of health threats? Is there really anyone out there thinking, “OMG, James Gandolfini can die of a heart attack, so maybe I might too?” C’mon, do you really need Dr. Pretty Hair Know It All On TV to tell you this stuff? I learned about health and nutrition in school and high school graduation is now an over 20-year-old event for me, so it’s not like teaching it is new. Are they no longer going over this stuff in school? Was it not covered when the Boomers were in school? But somehow I doubt Boomers are still ignorant of basic health knowledge. I mean, look at the cover of every periodical in the grocery store, rambling on and on about this protects you from cancer, this causes heart disease, yada yada. Info about weight, exercise, not drinking, and all the usual suspects, is the topic of so many news items on TV, so many daytime programs, on the cover of so many magazines, to me it seems impossible to avoid knowing the basics (this is not to say the headlines and abbreviated segments on the news really give in depth coverage of these health topics, I’m sure misinformation and misinterpretation thrives, but the basic message–lose some weight–is there). Messages about proper diet and exercise are everywhere, how the hell are people missing it? Why are talking heads acting like this is all brand new info?
I guess there are a few reasons I’ve not thought about until now. First and foremost is that since the health messages are so plentiful, they have become white noise. I know I tend to tune out every time I hear about some new health property about a mundane food…I’ve heard it all before, and if I hate that food, it could make monkeys fly out of my butt, I still ain’t gonna eat it. (Ha ha, that is a lie, I just admitted to the tomato project. But still, you can tell me yogurt could turn me into the Queen of England, and I won’t eat it. That crap might as well be flavored snot for all it doesn’t appeal to me). I probably register only about 10% of the messages that bombard me; yet the few I do hear annoy me enough to write this post, (maniacal laughter)!! Maybe everyone is distracted by shinier topics: who cares if blueberries can prolong life, because OMG, a Kardashian did something and Miley Cyrus is smoking weed with Snoop Lion! (That sentence alone should make one realize that celebrities should NEVER be role models). Maybe everyone in my demographic already HAS the message, but the messengers have yet to figure out how to reach the other target audiences (yes, I’ve covered this issue before), so they just keep repeating it into the ether, hoping the message will land on the right ears, eventually. And maybe, just maybe—and listen up, this is my favorite idea—we know what is good and bad food, and we just keep eating the bad food because it is yummy. Ooooo, that topic is a whole other blog post (stay tuned).
Side note: I recently ingested a tidbit, not sure where or how (read it, heard it, saw it on YouTube), about how doctors don’t discuss healthy diet and exercise with their patients, and that is going to change in the future. But given the messed up state of health care, not sure how it will help since the people most in need of hearing the message can’t afford to go to the doctor unless it is an emergency type deal. Just sayin’.
The other problem with weight is that it such an easy target for those people who get attached to a concept I call “The One Thing”. Allow me to channel SNL’s Stefon for a moment to explain “The One Thing”:
It’s that thing, where people get all hung up on one idea and think it’s the only thing causing all the problems. This concept has everything: simplicity, the luxury of ignoring other ideas, single-mindedness, DJ Baby Bok Choy.
Ha ha, just kidding on that last one (if you’re unfamiliar with SNL’s Stefon, give yourself a time-out laugh and look up one of his sketches).
The best/worst example I saw of “The One Thing” kind of thinking was in some comments about AJ’s Big Announcement. The commenter thought AJ’s action unnecessary because according to this person, the root of all ills, especially cancer, is second-hand smoke (not even, you know, just smoking, whew!), and went on and on and on for several loooong paragraphs about that and ONLY that, to the exclusion of any other idea. My reaction (and I bet others did this too) was to kind of back away, going “ooookkkaay”. Kind of like another SNL character, Girl You Wish You Hadn’t Started Talking To At a Party (or whatever her name is). Guess that BRCA thing was just incidental in this person’s mind. Weird. But the catch is, some health or medical professionals get into that rut too, and I get a little worried that by focusing on “The One Thing”, other factors are getting missed. It seemed as the day after Gandolfini died wore on, I heard progressively less about his past substance abuse, and eventually only heard about the weight factor.
Back to the guy who inspired this post: Gandolfini. I never again want to talk about him (or any artist), in combination with heart disease, health, risk factors, or drug abuse or especially weight. I want, from this moment on, to always and only, talk about him like this: great actor, great contributions to art, to the American cultural landscape, to pop culture, his portrayal of that most American of icons, The Mobster. I can’t learn any lessons from his death because it did not teach me anything I did not know (read this in Frankenstein’s voice: “overweight—bad, smoke—bad, exercise—good”). Just this once, can we honor an artist without making an example of the life outside of art? Do we always have to learn an important health lesson?
anotheronewiththecancer 