“Write about a time when once just wasn’t enough,” I recently asked my memoir students to do. Reflecting, I wondered how this applied to my life. What would I find insufficient? Hiking the Swiss Alps at 18 or sailing Alaska’s turquoise waters? Maybe savoring steak frites at a hidden gem Parisian cafe? Yet, my thoughts veered to cancer, a diagnosis I’ve faced twice. Apparently, once wasn’t enough.
In 2004, my internist discovered a suspicious thyroid nodule, leading to an early-stage thyroid cancer diagnosis. Meeting the surgeon, his comforting touch seemed trivial. He remarked, “If I had to have cancer, this is the one I’d choose.” It felt dismissive then, but I now understand. My 99% curable papillary carcinoma was manageable compared to others. Surgery followed by thyroid hormone replacement ensued. A year later, radioactive iodine treatment required a week of isolation, triggering menopausal symptoms. Nonetheless, doctors assured it’s a preferable cancer. With treatment over, the daily battle became managing thyroid levels.
Seventeen uneventful years passed until another, more serious cancer emerged. Fortuitously, it was slow-growing and treatable, caught early. Surgery was curative, yet I lost two organs—my thyroid and uterus. Now reliant on patches and pills, I strive to quell a fear echoing like terminal tinnitus. Sinister cells could be multiplying unseen, threatening like an incoherent death note.
In 1971, Richard Nixon declared war on cancer, equating national effort to the Apollo moon program. I barely noticed then. Back in youth’s invincible embrace, cancer seemed distant. Five years later, watching my grandfather succumb to lung cancer jolted my naive sense of immunity. After my second diagnosis, my sister urged abandoning Nixon’s war rhetoric, suggesting love might expel cancer, rather than combat it. She proposed, “I’m not sure cancer retreats by waging war against it.” Yet could an oncologist prescribe love?
Post-surgery, my oncologist starkly shared she was trained to despise cancer more than love patients. Does hate eclipse love in the cancer dialogue? Will self-love guard against another diagnosis? Susan Sontag, a survivor like me, criticized metaphor-laden discussions of cancer in her 2007 work, Illness as Metaphor. She resisted the notion of illness as moral flaw, debunking myths that cancer stems from repressed emotions. Do we mistakenly link cancer to anger repression or believe cancer is merely a biological disruption of abnormal cells?
Am I the archetype of cancer risk? Likely not the only one pondering this. Since hearing Martha Graham’s words at college, I’ve cherished my body. Her advice, “Your body is a temple,” resonated deeply. I embraced healthy living—organic diets, exercise, mental wellness—and yet, organ loss occurred.
At night, I dream of home invasions, losing gear and limbs. Writing evokes fury, anger, betrayal—words I try, then discard. Cancer might be an invader, but I eschew combat readiness. Despite pondering a third cancer’s shadow, preparation intrigues me. How should I ready myself? A 2020 Scientific American article posits cancer battleground imagery harms patients and caregivers. War language, portraying cancer cells as “invaders”, medical treatments as “weapons,” survivors as “warriors,” and death as “a lost battle,” is pervasive. Reframing such narratives could offer clarity.
Can cancer be more than battle? A transformation, a call to deepen understanding, or painful passages promoting growth? My sister’s advice steers me from battlegrounds inward, uncovering hidden sorrow layers. Years might unravel them, years I hope are mine—to live, love, and regain wholeness.
Nixon’s eradication vision remains unrealized, with cancer still U.S.’s second-leading death cause over five decades later. The war metaphor persists echoing fear. Post-surgery, my oncologist unemotionally noted a 2% recurrence risk, with fatal outcomes. One cancer scare suffices per lifetime. Perhaps two taught focused living without battle or perfect love, but moving forward boldly.
Megan Vered, Berkeley native, shares personal essays in HuffPost, Kveller, Writer’s Chronicle, and more. Author’s views are personal.
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