Today, I’m not going to write about writing, or books, or characters. I’m going to write about real life. About an aspect of real life that seems to touch everyone, or pretty damn close to it, and it’s something we would all love to never experience, and in fact, wish were eradicated.
That dreaded C-word. Cancer.
I can’t stop thinking about it lately, probably because it has been in my face recently. David Bowie. Alan Rickman. A dear friend who lost her husband (who happened to be my age and left behind a young son and a beautiful wife) to it. All last week. And I wrapped up the week by finding out another friend’s mother was just diagnosed with a form that is so rare and aggressive, they won’t even give her a prognosis. Plus there’s my husband’s cousin,fighting his second round now, and we’re all crossing our fingers. He isn’t even forty yet, with two young children and a wife. So not fair.
That’s all on top of my mother discovering she had breast cancer, last August.
Talk about hitting home. I’ve been fighting bouts of hives that have been reoccurring since September, and I’m certain that’s the cause. Unfortunately, they probably won’t go away until next summer, after the chemo and radiation are done. After—hopefully—Mom gets a clean bill of health, or at least told they’ve conquered the bastard for now, and she can resume a normal life again.
Cancer just sucks. It doesn’t pick and choose based on any factors whatsoever. Extremely healthy people get it, while someone who uses every vice possible for decades is never touched (not that I want anyone to be touched, I’m just making a point that it doesn’t matter how well you take care of yourself—apparently). Kids get it. Adults. Teens. Women. Men. Heterosexual, homosexual, asexual. Haters and lovers. Funny people, serious people. Prisoners and that lady who has never so much as gotten a speeding ticket.
We are constantly barraged with ways to try to avoid the asshole, but he just laughs and zaps the next person—the one who followed all the rules and did exactly what he should have done to avoid it.
Cancer is the worst villain in every book (okay, maybe I am talking about writing after all). It’s the one that is completely unredeemable. He has no remorse, no regrets, no emotion whatsoever. Even Voldemort can’t compete with this guy (but then again, Voldemort’s entire reason for being evil was based on his emotions, wasn’t it?).
The worst part is, it’s also reality. For every happy ending, there’s a terribly tragic one. It’s nothing like the books I write. My books always have a happy ending. Probably because reality doesn’t, eh?
I don’t really have a point to this post. Mostly, I needed to get these emotions down on the computer, because they’re eating me up inside. I’m angry, I’m sad, I feel helpless, and I’m not a fan of any of those feelings. I want to be happy, and I want everyone around me to be happy, too. But it’s hard when almost daily we hear of another tragedy, thanks to that jerk, Cancer. Damn, I wish we could defeat him.
For everyone who has lost someone, or has gone through the painful process of attempting to beat cancer, know that I am fighting along side you. And know I’m angry on your behalf. And yes, I’m still eternally hopeful we will kick cancer’s ass at some point, hopefully in my children’s lifetime, if not my own.
We deserve to win.
Tami Lund is an author. She’s also a wine drinker. She writes happily ever afters, one book at a time. Stalk her at www.tamilund.com.