Prose To Go

Today is a new day for Lisa's blog. I have decided that since cancer has been so insidious in my life, that I must kick its ass.

I like to say I was fortunate to have cancer at age 27. People stare at me, mouths agape. Who wants to be ill so young?

Because I survived. It wasn't a horrible cancer like what Farrah Fawcett is going through. I've seen my mother-in-law succumb to colon cancer. My dad is dealing with the same illness. I love to eat, so I can't imagine a worse deal.

Mine happened on my tongue first. A sore that wouldn't heal. Remember that. My dentist sent me to a specialist after three weeks. Talking to me as if I were a child, that doctor mentioned surgery, radiation ... it was a blur. He even notified me over the telephone. How kind of him. Not unusual, though, when I've shared stories with other Cancer Club members.

That's what I call it, the Cancer Club. There are over 10 million survivors in this country alone. CC membership does not discriminate. You can be 10 years old or 90, white, black or brown. You could be a doctor, steel worker, even a priest. No one is immune.

That's what makes it so scary. I never had a family history of head and neck cancer. I didn't smoke cigarettes or marijuana. Never touched either. I didn't drink a lot or take drugs. Well-meaning people asked me those questions over and over again.

Then there was that look of pity in their eyes. That was the worst. I didn't want their sympathy, I just wanted to be normal again. A woman with hopes and dreams, like everybody else on the planet. To succeed in my career, win some awards, maybe even a Pulitzer.

Not this, what was in 1989 still considered a death sentence. Not my specific cancer, although an intern had written in my file that I had a poor prognosis. Rather, I had an 85 percent chance of being cured. Being young with cancer is a blessing. You are otherwise very healthy. In fact, it's still considered an older person's illness. Which means that often it isn't detected soon enough.

When Kate Jackson described her friend Farrah's illness, she stressed the importance of early detection. Exactly. What a smart woman, I reveled. That is the answer.

We hate getting those tests. The colorectal one is incredibly icky, at least for me. Drinking that stuff and cleaning out your colon. Being hungry. Ugh. I once said we should make the terrorists do that one. It has to be worse than waterboarding.

Yet it is so worth it. Once you go through the test, you are so relieved. You know what you're dealing with. You're up to date, educated, better prepared to face your future. You can make plans with your children and friends. You're not hanging out in limbo anymore, waiting for test results. You can take control of your life again. You thank whatever God you pray to.

I was blessed that I had a dentist who sent me to that specialist. I ended up having surgery at the local cancer center which I cannot praise enough. Another gift is that one of the finest research centers in the world, H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center and Research Institute, is right here in Tampa. My surgeon saved my life and continues to practice here in town. He cured a friend of mine a few years ago, a law enforcement officer with plenty of good years ahead of him.

For good or bad, this is now a cancer-related blog. Because we have to kick its ass.