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December 30, 2005
Predisposed
Last night I got the call. My father has cancer.
Cancer is really a general term. While there are in fact a variety of cancerous cell types, in layman's terms, where these cells are first discovered determines the type of cancer you have. In my father's case it is prostate cancer.
The doctors tell him that this is a cancer that is easily treatable (statistically speaking), and so my dad is relatively upbeat that everything will be okay, or so my mother tells me. He didn't call me. She did. So I only have her word on the matter. He's opted for the "seeds" radiation treatment.
Even though many forms of cancer are treatable and curable, the word "cancer" still possesses a spectre-like quality. In it's worst forms it is a genetic Grim Reaper inflicting upon its victim a slow, painful murder with the cruelest irony being that both killer and victim are one in the same. It is not a suicide for it is not a willful termination on the part of the living organism.
I've known my share of people afflicted with cancers: an aunt, two uncles, my grandfather, a good friend's spouse and father, and others. Sadly, more succumbed to the disease than won; one tragically way too young.
All this gives me pause to selfishly ponder my own mortality; ponder, but not fixate. From grandfather to father and eventually, possibly, likely to myself, I now know I am predisposed.
Posted by Tacitus at December 30, 2005 11:46 AM