What I Know About Cancer. Today.
Not my wife Trici
who died in 1999
or our first-born child
our daughter Erin who died in 1990
but my oldest son Rory
at the age of 13 in 2005
from a brain cancer
called glioblastoma multiforme.
A kind of cancer for which there is no cure.
I did not wear the telltale yellow LiveStrong bracelet
(this was before Lance got honest)
although both my sons and many of their friends did.
I did not want to LiveStrong.
I wanted to live honest.
Which at times included
So I did.
Try to live honest.
And I couldn’t jump on the “we hate cancer” bandwagon, I didn’t wage war against it, I wasn’t in for the “fight of our life,” and although I tried in the beginning to visualize healthy cells killing the cancer cells, that never rang true for me. Not really.
I didn’t see the point of subjecting my most amazing
and whole-brain radiation
(“It’s not rocket-science Mr. Zuba. Anyone can do it. We literally bombard his brain with as much radiation as we can.” the doctor said to me one Friday afternoon.)
“Why do it? For what?” I asked.
To buy some time.
Possibly a month or two.
Not my kid.
Not this time.
I decided to move in the direction of hope
instead of dancing with “there is no hope, he’s going to die”
for the next few months.
And midway through the journey
I came to the conclusion that somehow
it’s all God.
It’s all God.
All of it.
Even the cancer cells
that were destroying my son’s brain.
It became clear
that the cancer cells were not destroying him.
Not the essence of Rory,
and could not be destroyed by cancer.
And neither could mine.
we could become enriched.
And we could expand.
If we said yes.
To the invitation that cancer extended to Rory
and to me
and to hundreds
of other people who travelled with us on this most incredible trip.
So we did
say yes to the wild, unpredictable, often unnerving ride
that is living with someone you love
who’s been diagnosed with a terminal cancer.
And after his death
I’ve thought long and hard about this thing we’ve named cancer.
(Believe it or not, I worked for the American Cancer Society for six years. It’s where I met my wife.)
And I’ve decided
I don’t believe we will eliminate cancer
from the human experience
by continuing to cut it out,
burn it out,
or bombard it with poison chemicals.
No matter how much pink we wear
no matter how many miles we walk
and no matter how many strides we make.
We won’t “cure” cancer
as long as we continue to do the same things we’re doing today.
I believe that the collective we
creates and continues to create cancer
of all kinds ~
including the glioblastoma multiforme
that ended my son Rory’s stay in his physical body ~
by the choices we make
We are killing ourselves.
And we’re killing our parents, our grandparents, our spouses and partners, our siblings, our neighbors, our colleagues, our friends and acquaintances, and we’re killing our sons and our daughters.
And until the majority of “we,”
who continue to demand, manufacture and consume foods that cause cancer,
who continue to create, buy and use products of all kinds that cause cancer,
who continue to allow companies and corporations to pollute the very air we breath and the water we drink with cancer causing agents,
who continue to allow pharmaceutical companies to limit research into ending the “big-business-of-cancer” once and for all,
make different choices
we will continue to live with cancer
and we will continue to kill ourselves
and each other with cancer.
And that’s what I know about cancer.
There is a new way to do grief
and we must become the teachers.
Join us at www.facebook.com/tomzuba1