Cancer Is Weird

Cheery, I know. It’s a weird thing to talk about. It’s something so prevalent, always lurking in the shadows, we all know or have known someone with cancer. But yet, we’re all still awkward when it’s brought up. Whenever it’s talked about it’s either a rallying cry, “Beat Cancer!…Stand Up To Cancer!…Fuck Cancer!”, or very serious and somber. I don’t think I need to quote the somber bits, you’ve heard “lost their battle” before. But the truth is there are lots of bits in the middle that we need to confront. 

My Dad has cancer. I’m not the first person it’s happened to, I won’t be the last. I’m not looking for your sympathy, I just want to have an honest conversation about it. I’ve learned the hard way that when someone close to you has cancer, people tend to tip toe around the topic while still trying to poke and prod for information. 

I’ve known for months about my Dad’s diagnosis. It’s hard to explain how many people my Dad knows but it’s more than you. If you’re sitting there thinking well not more than ME, you’re wrong. More than you. To avoid him from becoming a cancer-riddled Beatle, I decided to keep my mouth shut about his disease. The amount of people that would’ve called, texted, stopped him in the street to ask him about his illness and constantly remind him the jeopardy his mortality is in would have been too much. So I kept my mouth shut, and let him tell who he wanted to tell.  

Well today he had surgery in an effort to remove the cancer. Started out hot with the surgeon being hours late because his previous surgery had “complications”. Exactly what the guy in the on-deck circle wants to hear. Surgery went flawlessly, as far as I’m told. He looks to be in good spirits, the hospital is keeping him overnight just as a precaution. Point is, his bozo friend decided to post a picture of my Dad scoffing down Perkins with the caption “Please pray for my friend who’s having an operation today.” Idiot. 

I was getting calls, texts, social media messages from friends, co-workers, family members, and even strangers. “What happened to your Dad? Why didn’t you tell me? What’s wrong with him? Is he okay? You’re Dad has cancer?! Why didn’t you say anything? Why? Why? Why?” What we’re you going to do? Cure it? It’s not like it comes up in casual conversation. Hey what’s the parlay this weekend, oh by the way my Dadbhas cancer. If I wanted to talk about it, I would have talked about it. Because you’re not important enough to know, that’s why. 

People have been very angry with me today because my Dad has cancer. 

I get it and I don’t get it. Cancer makes people act strange, but also I would never act like that. Am I just better than everyone? 

Different strokes for different folks is what I’ve learned. Take my Mom for instance. Two nights ago when my Dad was walking the dog I served up a joke for my brother to spike on my Dad when he came back inside. To which my Mother responded “Don’t you dare! What’s wrong with you? Cancer?!” Mind you, it wasn’t a joke about cancer. It was about the new car he just bought. To which I replied, “Yeah because if there’s one thing people with cancer love, it’s being treated differently.” We didn’t do the joke. 

My Dad and I are extremely close. I’m his namesake. We’ve only talked about his cancer once. It was the night after my Mom told me his diagnosis. I brought it up driving him to the bar because I knew he didn’t want to have the conversation in front of his granddaughters who didn’t know yet. 

“Mom told me.” 

“Sucks, huh.” 

“That’s one way of putting it.” 

We talked about his doctors appointments, suggestions, and what the next step was. We fought back a few tears, he shook my knee, and I asked if he wanted to talk about it more. “Nope.” I told him if that ever changes or if something ever feels wrong to call me immediately. He agreed, and then cracked a joke about a doctor shoving a finger up his ass. 

That was it. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s because he’s still relatively healthy, but most of the time I forget he even has it. We’re still in that in-between. Which is good, because for him and I that means the way we’re coping with it is working for us. 

Everyone copes differently I suppose. Some people want to talk about. Some people want to be left alone. Some people want to air it out on social media to spread awareness and receive love. Some people want to joke about having a finger up their ass. But as far as I’m concerned, if anyone not in my immediate family has an issue with how I choose to deal with this, they can kindly suck my dick.