The Dirt Field

My aunt was diagnosed with cancer last week, and although the overall prognosis is quite good, she still needs to have surgery. That’s happening today.

I don’t know if this is really a subject my family wants posted on the Internet, but I think cancer is something that has touched or will touch everyone at some point in their life, so why not talk about it? I’ll be perfectly honest – I’m terrified of cancer. Every single person in my family that I know of has died of cancer. No fiery car wrecks, no sudden strokes, no tropical diseases. Just great big servings of cancer for everyone. I’ve already put a down payment on my headstone and told them they can go ahead and engrave it with “Here lies Lindsay. She died of cancer.”

When my mother found out about her sister’s cancer, I think it was startling to her for a number of reasons. Not only did it remind us all that, despite my aunt’s outgoing personality and unending hunger for shopping, she was still human and fallible, but it also made my mother realize that if yet another woman in our family has cancer, she and I are obviously facing an even greater risk. No woman wants to know with certainty that both she and her only daughter are one step closer to a serious illness.

The day after I got the news, I met my mother for breakfast at iHop, because nothing takes away the sting of cancer like chocolate chip pancakes and greasy spoons. My mother emphasized her incredibly optimistic outlook on the whole situation (the woman could find a way to be positive while a tiger was gnawing on her leg), but she did mention that she was going to look into genetic testing for both of us to determine our proclivity for cancer. And that got me thinking; do I want to know if I am more likely to have cancer? I already know there’s a pretty good chance – do I really want to know with near certainty? Would you choose to know when you’re going to die and how, if given the option?

I would not. Something tells me it would take the fun out of living just a little. Although if I knew I was going to die of cancer in ten years, I might take up cocaine and bungee jumping in the meantime. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like it’s going to kill me.

The logic behind the genetic testing is to help you be more aware of your body, and to more closely monitor yourself for signs of cancer. But ever since I was little, I’ve always been neurotic about cancer. I chewed sugarless gum for years on end, and every time I’d get a headache, I would become paralyzed by the fear that it was a brain tumor caused by saccharine. Every time I’d get a sunburn (which for me is anytime a sunbeam comes within fifteen feet of my exposed flesh), I would become certain that skin cancer was just around the corner. Would it really help to know beyond a reasonable doubt that my paranoia is justified and that I need to be even more cautious? What’s the use of prolonging your life if you’re just going to spend it worrying about dying anyway?

I think the best anyone can do is to just be careful and observant, and leave the rest up to fate. Sure, I’ll do my monthly chest gropings in the shower and of course I’ll wear sunscreen, but I refuse to be that person that wears kleenex boxes on her feet and plastic bags on her hands. Life is too short to waste being constantly alert and afraid. And if I am ever diagnosed with cancer, I’ll call my mother, who has more optimism in her little toe than I have in my entire body, and together we can kill the cancer with happy thoughts. And chemotheraphy.

In the meantime, if you’re the religious sort, perhaps you can pray for my aunt or maybe do an animal sacrifice or whatever else floats your boat. She’s too damn vivacious and strong to ever lose a battle to cancer, and I want her to have all the help she can get. Finally, do everyone who suffers from cancer a favor and make the most of every moment you still have – hug your best friend, order a cheeseburger for your dog, sing your heart out in the car, and remember that you only get one chance to enjoy your life to the fullest.