I was in the locker room before a hockey game last night, taking my time getting dressed. I am very regimented and arrive, usually first in the lockers, to begin my pregame routine. My teammates all think I am nuts. I lay out my equipment, stretch and begin to dress. I wear over-the-knee, argyle socks for practical reasons related to a knee brace and a desire to keep my knees from chaffing under perpetually wet shin pads, though I suppose I could just wear plan coloured socks - but what would be the fun in that. I get my skates on and then sit, usually for at least 20 minutes, waiting for the zamboni to finish its rounds and most of my teammates to show before donning my shoulder pads, jersey, helmet and gloves. I don't really ever deviate and I almost never show up late. It screws up my game. I am a prima donna and I know it and am happy with it.
Last night, while working through my pregame, a teammate of mine arrived and a curious discussion began, which became more curious as he lifted his shirt to reveal a shaved abdomen and some black magic markings. The discussion became a broad locker room address in which the teammate wanted those of us who were unaware to know that he had just been diagnosed with cancer. The prognosis was good post a round of radiation treatment, which had significantly shrunk the tumour, and he was in good spirits and grateful for all the support from the team members who were aware of his situation.
It was sobering.
The teammate in question is a good guy, a father and family man and fun to be out on the ice with. He is very self-deprecating about his skills on the ice, but generally hustles his ass off to play his position (every now and again getting a stupid penalty, but then who doesn't other than Lady Bing). He is no different than you or me. There is no reason why this devastating disease sought him out and chose to, at least in the near term, turn his life upside down. It certainly has no correlation to his inability to back check.
Shhhh. He has (cancer).
There is no reasoning at all with this disease. We don't understand it: only the strain and pain caused by its arrival. We don't seem to be able to find a cure for it (sure, some cancers are more manageable than others). The National Cancer Institute says that cancer care was approximately $104.1bn in 2006 and growing. Another article says that annual cancer medical research spending is now in the area of $95bn per year. Cancer death rates have declined 21% among men and 12.3% for women during the period of 1991 to 2006, according to the American Cancer Society and the rates of cancer are declining (-1.3% per year among men and -0.5% among women). Yet armed with this data, the facts are no comfort when facing the diagnosis of friend or family and we seem to know more and more (maybe it is measure of our aging) who are afflicted or touched by this disease.
I am no expert here. You can talk to my brother who is battling a fairly rare form of cancer (lipo myxoid sarcoma). He is my expert. His cancer, which we thought we had beat, appears to be back. He and his wife have had a rough go of it as she lost her brother to cancer and is now dealing with a father who also has it (as, of course, does her husband - my brother). He has his own illness to contend with against the backdrop of a mother who is a breast cancer survivor. It is a lot to manage in his household, and yet he has (they have). The cancer has energized him. He spearheads a foundation dedicated to the type of cancer he has and has touched the lives of some who suffer, and in some tragic cases, lost their battle with the disease.
His courage is admirable. He has set an example which should inspire all (and he is not alone in his battle with this stealthy assassin). That said, he is my brother and while his illness makes me grasp my life and what I have, in family and friends, all the more tightly, his illness, cancer, leaves me terrified, hiding under the proverbial bed, hoping that no news is good news.
So, why don't we yell from the tops of the mountains instead of hiding under a bed or in a closet? Call this disease out. Make it a national cause. Not that we have not found great support in our efforts to meet cancer on the field of battle. But why do we tolerate those we love doing things like smoking? What part of the warning on the package don't they understand? If they don't understand that writing, what will they understand? What do we do for those who wake up one day to find a murderer in their bedrooms and kitchens with no provocation whatsoever? Can't we take a megaphone, yell from the top of our cancer free lungs and figure out how we beat this thing to a pulp, make it a piece of our past and enable our friends and family (and ourselves) to live a much calmer, happier and healthier lives?
Don't tell me to shhhh.
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