What I Would Say to Cancer
A couple of days ago, the Lance Armstrong Foundation put out a video: “What Would You Say to Cancer, Given the Chance?”
I’ve watched this a couple times now. It’s a powerful video. It wasn’t until afterward, though, that it occurred to me: the premise of the video — talking to cancer as if it were a person — should feel contrived and odd to me.
But it doesn’t.
Because — probably like a lot of people who’ve been affected — cancer doesn’t feel like a disease to me. It feels a lot more calculating and sinister than that. And to tell the truth, I’ve had internal monologues not too different from what the people in this video were saying, where I told cancer what I think of it.
Today I’m going to try to write some of these things down.
What I Would Say to Cancer
I think I would start by trying to make cancer realize how badly it’s hurt Susan, has hurt our children, and has hurt me. It started by taking one of Susan’s breasts, then went on to take her energy, and then one of her hips, then attacked her ability to walk, breathe, and even think. And while the cancer is quiet for now, we know it’s far from finished.
“Why would you want to do that?” I would like to ask. “Why would you attack someone like Susan? She hasn’t ever done anything to invite you in. She isn’t old. Her kids need her. I need her. Why are you doing this?”
Just because I know the question doesn’t have a good answer doesn’t mean I can’t ask it.
On that LiveStrong video, a lot of the people wanted to challenge cancer to a fight. I have to admit that this part of the video scared me. We’ve already tried fighting. If I could talk to cancer, I would really like to ask for a truce. A cease-fire.
I’d be willing to trade or negotiate. If I could beg for that truce, in fact, I would. “You’ve proven your point. If we agree that you’re the winner, will you stop now? Or if you still want something else, can you take it from me instead?” I honestly can’t think of many limits of what I’d trade.
I would want to tell cancer that it has changed me. I’ve always prided myself on my sense of humor and the ability to find absurdity everywhere. But cancer has made it hard for me to be funny. In fact, I think I’d tell it, every time I succeed in being funny, cancer should know I’ve just given it the finger. Shown it that it can’t change me entirely: I am still me.
I’d tell cancer that it’s not just affecting the people it attacks. I’d tell it that our kids are hurting too. Susan hates not being able to do everything she’s always done for them, and I am not picking up all the slack that needs picking up. I worry every day that I am not a good enough father to take care of our kids the way they deserve.
I would ask cancer some questions. “Why are you so mean? Why are you so relentless? Why are you so sneaky? Why are you so arbitrary?” I’d tell cancer that it’s not just a villain, it’s a caricature of a villain.
I’d tell cancer that it’s gone too far. It’s attacked my wife, my father, my sister, my grandma, my father’s wife, and my mother’s husband. It’s attacked friends and people I’ve never met in the real world, but still care about.
So I guess I’d tell cancer it’s changed me in one other way: it’s given me a focus and intensity that I’ve never had before. I’m not a fighter, but in this case I am making an exception.
I’ve got a lot of friends, and we’re working together to help fight it. Sure, it’s just a little drop in the bucket, but there are a lot of us. And we’re all going to put our drops in the bucket. And someday that bucket will be full, and we will have beaten you, cancer. And that’s a good reason to do this.
Because I can’t bear the thought of my kids having to someday face cancer themselves.
Your Turn
Please use today’s comments section for what you would say to cancer.
PS: If you want to join Team Fatty for the 2009 LiveStrong Challenge, I’d love to have you. Just go to one of our team pages for Austin, Seattle, San Jose or Philadelphia and sign up. We’ve raised more money than any other team this year, but it’s really just a start. I’d love to have your help.
PPS: Thanks to everyone who pre-ordered a Team Fatty jersey or bundle last week. By doing this, you helped Team Fatty raise more than $10,000 in the fight.
Comment by the greg | 03.18.2009 | 11:12 am
i don’t know what to say to cancer, except maybe “LEAVE US ALL ALONE!!”, but we love you fatty. AND UR STILL FUNNY.
Comment by Todd Olson | 03.18.2009 | 11:14 am
I am sitting in a Caribou Coffee fighting back tears right now. I feel bad for you because I have been there. One of my best friends lost his mom to breast cancer and I lost my dad to prostate cancer – he was 57. He never got to see my kids.
Comment by chtrich | 03.18.2009 | 11:16 am
I’ve only been remotely affected by you so far, but I fear all the time that you will someday make a strong impact on my life in a bad way.
Enough is enough. GO AWAY!
Comment by dug | 03.18.2009 | 11:18 am
the last couple weeks i’ve been listening to “The Historian”, a long (really long) historical fiction type re-imagining of the dracula story.
i can’t tell you how many times during the book i’ve stopped and thought “dracula is just like cancer.”
to cancer, i wouldn’t have anything to say. but i would shoot him with a silver bullet, drive a stake through his heart, and leave his dead (again) body with a mouthful of garlic.
Comment by Randoboy | 03.18.2009 | 11:23 am
I’m with you: Laugh at it. It may be a hollow, fake laugh sometimes, but that’s the only thing that seems to work. Kind of like that alien that Melvin Belli (yeah, the famous attorney) played on the original Star Trek. When Captain Kirk got the kids to laugh at it, it showed how ugly but powerless it was, and then vanished.
Comment by Vet Sculler | 03.18.2009 | 11:26 am
I don’t know you yet – though I’m scared that I’ll meet you some day.
In the meantime remember this; you’ve picked on someone with a LOT of friends, and some day we’ll beat you.
Comment by Roadie Steve | 03.18.2009 | 11:26 am
What I would say to cancer? It’s hard to say. I’ve lost a grandather, two aunts, and countless other relatives and friends to you, so I know you will beat me in a fair fight, unless by some miracle. So I chalenge you to two chalenges. First a bike race. Either a hill climb or a 24 solo, your pick, two weeks to train. Second, I challenge you to take on humanity, not one by one as you have been, but instead as a whole: a group of motivated, fiercly competive, bullheaded funraisers, activists, doctors, and scientists. That is how you will have to face us. And with that I feel mine and every one elsew odds look a whole lot better.
Comment by Carol | 03.18.2009 | 11:36 am
Stomach cancer took my mom, and just yesterday my best friend was diagnosed with breast cancer. I would like to kick cancer’s butt.
Comment by Linda | 03.18.2009 | 11:38 am
Fighting back tears here as I read this…I lost a close friend last year and another close friend has just recently been diagnosed with it. It changes everything and once touched by it, whether directly or indirectly, our lives are never, ever the same. Keep the faith, Fatty, and feel free to cry here on your blog when you need to. You’re only human.
Comment by Michael in TN | 03.18.2009 | 11:41 am
Two words… F&#* You!
Oh, and then I’d kick it in the nuts.
Comment by Mary Sue | 03.18.2009 | 11:50 am
Dear Cancer:
You came after my mom. We laughed as I shaved her head, she screamed with joy when her radiation was officially over (and scared the poop out of everyone in the waiting room. Except me. I knew what the shouting was about).
She won. And you haven’t been back for ten years.
It doesn’t mean you’re gone, though. Matter of fact, your name is brought up constantly. Every time a woman in my family goes to the doctor, we talk about you. Wonder when it’s our turn for you to visit.
And there are other people I know, our mothers all were doing the Chem/Rad two-step at the same time. Some of them didn’t make it to one year. Some of them, you snuck back in after five-ten years and took them. I saw my friends crying, and I knew it could easily have been me standing next to that casket.
My job sucks. It sucks A LOT. I don’t get paid much and it causes a lot of stress. But when I come to work and do my job, other people have the resources they need to do their job. And some of those other people are doctors fighting cancer, and some of those other people are researchers looking for the keys that will end cancer.
Every day when I come to work, it’s a giant middle finger to cancer. Every. Single. Day.
So I say, dear Cancer:
No Love,
Mary Sue
Comment by The Incredible Woody | 03.18.2009 | 11:51 am
I’ve never despised anything as deeply as I despise you, cancer. My Mom was diagnosed when I was 10 – she fought valiantly for 6 years.
I hate you for taking away my Mom, for taking away my childhood, for taking away my innocent outlook on the future.
It took a lot of years to realize where my anger should be directed. Now, it is correctly directed at you, cancer! So I ride…..
Comment by MikeonhisBike | 03.18.2009 | 12:05 pm
Dear Cancer,
Can’t you just leave us alone. We just want to ride our bikes, raise our families, and grow old together. You’re really getting in the way of all of this. Don’t come back until you can play nice.
Comment by donbiker | 03.18.2009 | 12:09 pm
You are losing. Modern medicine has given me eight years since my breast cancer diagnosis. Last fall you came back as stage four but recently developed drugs are holding you at bay. It’s not called terminal cancer any more. You are a sneaky shape changing devil but you are losing.
Comment by nibo | 03.18.2009 | 12:14 pm
Sitting at work with tears running down my face. You’re right… It’s a very powerful video.
To Cancer:
“Okay. We get it. You’re big and bad. Now please, go pick on someone your own size… Like AIDS. AIDS needs to be taken down a step or two. Go see if you can get rid of that instead of us.”
Comment by Dan O | 03.18.2009 | 12:15 pm
Today is the one year anniversary of a bone marrow biopsy that revealed how much of the marrow was dirsupted by multiple myeloma, a diagnosis I got on 2/27/08, next week I get to have another one to see if it’s all clear after a bone marrow trasnplant, I’m hopefull that it is, and so is my wife and Dr. I would say to cancer, that you’ve really screwed with my life, and ask it why? What did I do? It also screwed with all of my family’s lives, and my friends families. I’d ask if it knew just how far reaching it went. And again ask it why? I’d also tell it that, even though I know it will return, in my case it always comes back, but possibly not for a long time, I will still not let it rule my life. So even though I have a lot of anger towards it, I will not let it win. I will also not let it see that I am scared. Next time it comes, I’ll attack it the same way I did this past year, that was with a great attitude, and doing whatever I needed to do. Every day I give cancer the finger, just by waking up in the morning.
Life is good
Comment by bikemike | 03.18.2009 | 12:28 pm
hey butthead(cancer), leave Elden’s family alone, go pick on someone like A.I.G. or Wall Street or Madoff or Fox News or those little tiny bugs that come out just before dark that bite the crap outta you or some such.
Comment by Sally | 03.18.2009 | 12:31 pm
To the people who made and wrote this video, this is by far, the best video on cancer ever.
Thank you!
Comment by nosferaustin | 03.18.2009 | 12:32 pm
I don’t know what my father, Tony, or his uncle Johnny or his dad, James or his mother Phila or my mom’s dad, Jeff or her mother, Marie or her sister, Mildred, or my step-grandmother Edith, or my niece Stephanie or my father-in-law (who I never got to meet because of you), Thomas or my wife’s grandfather, or my friend Tracey or my friend Melissa, or Doug’s wife or Susan or Lance or Sara’s dad, Jeff or…see, you’re powerful, I can’t even think of all of the names off the top of my head…happy? And I’m just one guy. And I don’t even know that many people. And I’m not even all that close to my family. But I get it. Okay? None of these people deserved to have to know you so intimately for you to prove your point. No one else should have to, either, okay? Can we call a truce now? Will you, please, stop? You’ll go down in history, I swear…you’ll be read about for centuries, studied, admired for your diversity and indiscriminate power. You’ll be bigger than the plague; bigger than…than the Beatles, bigger than everything! But you have to stop, okay? Promise?
Otherwise, Fatty and his friends here, and Lance and his friends, and all of those unnamed scientist and doctors and researchers that we support, well…we’re gonna kick your ass. Get it?
Comment by Big Shorty | 03.18.2009 | 12:34 pm
Dear Cancer,
You suck…..just in case you didn’t know. I watched as you took my father-in-law from a guy who could kick my *ss with both hands tied behind his back to someone who couldn’t eat or breathe well, to a person who couldn’t walk anymore and used an ATV to get around the property, to a man who could no longer take care of himself anymore.
Surgery had you first when you attacked his stomach and esophogus, then you lay low like the dirtbag you are until you decided to attack his liver and spine. Did you enjoy the fight? YOU didn’t take his life….an infection did…but it wouldn’t have happened unless YOU were around.
Now, 9 years later you want to be in my life again by attacking my wife…HELL NO! Sure, thyroid cancer isn’t the same as gastro-esophogeal cancer…BUT IT IS STILL CANCER! You have again been removed surgically and this time I hope you are enjoying the radioactive iodine you low-life punk. She is taking part in some clinical studies so you can be detected earlier when you are an even smaller punk dirtbag.
I’m doing my part to make sure that you become a thing of the past…something that will be discussed in history books. A disease killed by doctors and a gang of folks wearing black/pink and yellow/black led by the best family man and the best cyclist of the times respectively. I don’t want you in my life or the lives of my kids who won’t know Grandpa Delmar other than in pictures.
Oh yeah….and I’m just one in several million who want to see you gone.
I hate you with a passion,
Big Shorty
Comment by Fattier | 03.18.2009 | 12:51 pm
I hate you, I don’t understand you, I still want you to give me my grandfather back. Which is why you make me so determined to fight alongside others in an effort to crush you. You are bigger than me, and you might some day live longer than me…but don’t think I’m going to give up.
Comment by Jill | 03.18.2009 | 1:06 pm
Great words, everyone. I’ll have to think about what I would say to cancer.
I’m a bit ashamed that I’ve been inattentive this week and missed out on the Team Fatty kit preorder. I may just have to pick up the special edition on eBay once they become available.
WIN!
Comment by WheelDancer | 03.18.2009 | 1:07 pm
It is a powerful video indeed but it pales compared to your post Fatty. Thanks for finding the fighter in you to lead this charge! There are things worth fighting for so you keep charging forward, we’ve got your back.
Screw you Cancer,
You’ve had a long run but it’s time you be on your way. Enough taking pot shots at my friends, enough sucking the life out of good people. It’s your turn to be alone, isolated and ravaged. We are going to roll over you and prevent you from entering our lives in the first place and blast you out if you even try. There’s a place in hell right next to smallpox with your name on it so get moving. We are moving you out of our lives and into the history books.
WIN Susan, WIN Eldon, LiveSTRONG!
Comment by GenghisKhan | 03.18.2009 | 1:14 pm
Dear Cancer,
You’ve put us through hell. Now it’s your turn.
GO TO HELL!
Sincerely,
The World
Comment by TomE | 03.18.2009 | 1:38 pm
can’t type…eyes are blurry from tears…
Comment by Andrew | 03.18.2009 | 1:41 pm
When I first ran across your blog, I subscribed because it was about cycling and it’s funny. But sometimes I fight back tears when I read your entries, and I love it for that too.
I admire you for staying (apparently) positive and continuing to live your life despite the challenges that you and Susan face. I can’t imagine going through what you are, but I hope if I ever have to, I can do as well as you.
Comment by Boz | 03.18.2009 | 1:41 pm
Ya know cancer, you’re getting to be some what of a loser. Yes, a big fat loser. You may have bullied many for quite awhile, but lately, you’re not getting your way so easily. You went after my mom, she kicked your ass. Same story with my buddy Craig. Standing 8 count. Many, many more every day spit in your face. So why don’t you and your buddies like Aids, diabetes, and the the other sorry-ass diseases just got away already. You just don’t have any upside….
Comment by Mia | 03.18.2009 | 1:44 pm
I’m at work and I’m bawling. I have this to say…
Cancer,
You took my mother’s life when I was too young to really understand what you are. You destroyed my family and you nearly destroyed my life. I exist to fight back and should you ever knock on my family’s door again, I will attack you with a vengence.
Comment by Dana | 03.18.2009 | 1:44 pm
I also feel ashamed I didn’t get my preorder in for the special edition Team Fatty gear. Last chance round?
Comment by Paul G | 03.18.2009 | 1:51 pm
I’m so close to tears I had to stop a couple of times. Thanks everyone who wrote in.
I guess I’d tell cancer that it took from me the woman who gave birth to me but as a result gave me a mother, who taught me what unconditional love was. Cancer took a grandmother, a grandfather, attacked my dad and countless others dear to those close to me.
But the thing about cancer is that for me it still is an idea, instead of a thing, and that makes it almost worse; I won or lost all of my people so early in my life or so late in theirs that I am unable to summon anything but intellectual anger and the lurking fear that one day, perhaps soon, I’ll have to confront it head on.
In the meantime, my Livestrong bracelet and yearly contributions are constant.
Comment by ann | 03.18.2009 | 2:14 pm
I guess we say the same thing in TN, because I agree with Michael in TN:
“Two words… F&#* You!
Oh, and then I’d kick it in the nuts.”
Comment by Kathy | 03.18.2009 | 2:32 pm
Cancer, you tried to take me. You took my Mom and now you are trying to take my son who is stronger than steel. We are pissed at you – be gone !!!!
Comment by matt mccluskey | 03.18.2009 | 2:32 pm
My very blunt response is here:
http://mattmccluskey.blogspot.com/2009/03/21-mar-1988.html
Comment by KanyonKris | 03.18.2009 | 2:38 pm
“Cancer, old buddy! Good to see you!”
“Hey, why don’t you tell me your weakness. You know, how you can be killed.”
(fingers crossed behind my back)
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Comment by Erik B. | 03.18.2009 | 2:48 pm
Cancer,
You aggressively attacked and took my mother from her loving family. A beautiful, wonderful woman. Her name was Patricia. Remember her? We do. You have caused irreversible damage to the lives of me and my family.
Cancer, I am usually a forgiving person, but you are not forgiven for taking my mother. I am not the fighting kind, but I will be a part of the fight against you until YOU are gone. And you WILL lose.
Comment by emily anne | 03.18.2009 | 2:54 pm
My Dad fought you once and now you are back for more? A totally different type of cancer, in a totally different spot in his body. You have no mercy.
I was young the first time he fought and won. At 8 years old I giggled as his hair fell out. I complained about the long drives to his chemo appointments.
Now at 25, as he battles again, I am not laughing and I am not complaining. I am upset. I am scared.
Cancer, I hate you now more than ever.
Daddy- pedal on, I love you.
Comment by Erin | 03.18.2009 | 3:11 pm
I’ve been lurking for awhile, but this brought me out…
Hey. You. Yes, you. You’re probably kind of pissed. You know my dad? The teacher? The one who helps children headed the wrong way transform themselves into amazing young people who will change the world? He kicked your @ss 12 years ago. I bet that pisses you off.
You know what pisses me off? The price he paid killing you was too high. Since your little visit, he’s had 2 jaw surgeries, a jaw bone and tissue transplant, root canals in all his teeth, a feeding tube and a tracheotomy. Oh, and he weighs less than me, and I’m 6 inches shorter. You didn’t steal his life, but you took away the way he was living it. You can’t even lose with any sort of dignity, can you? Worthless SOB.
*flips the bird*
Erin
Comment by Mike from Melbourne | 03.18.2009 | 3:12 pm
You have taken 7 close members of my family and at least as many friends. I have been to funerals of people ranging in age from 3 to 75 and they were all taken from us before their time was due. Enough is enough!
Comment by jenjen | 03.18.2009 | 3:15 pm
Dear cancer –
Today is the four year anniversary of my dad’s death from Pancreatic Cancer. What I say to you is: why? Why do you take some of the best people of the world before their time? My sister is giving birth to her first baby in a week and my dad will never see that grandchild. He spent his whole life working on drugs to stop you. We will not give up. We will beat you.
WIN Susan!
Comment by Rokrider | 03.18.2009 | 3:23 pm
cancer, you sorry SOB!
You took my dad just four months ago. But with the help of his bike he battled you for many years. And dropped you on every climb. But you just kept on attacking until at last, he didn’t have the strength to fend you off anymore. Okay, so maybe you took this stage, but in the GC you don’t stand a chance. You’re a marked man. Everybody is gunning for you. So watch your back, because this is one breakaway that will never succeed.
PS: you look really stupid in lycra.
PPS: I really HATE you
Comment by Clydesteve | 03.18.2009 | 3:30 pm
tag, you lose this time bucaroo. 5 years ago, my brother completed chemo and radiation for squalmous cell cancer of the head and neck, with a 5% chance of living.
next month, he celebrates his new life (5 years cancer-free) with his wife and 25 or 30 of their friends in a Manhattan resteurant. they have been instructed that they are to come prepared with a story or speech, and a donation to the Livestrong Challenge (Team Fat Cyclist).
and i am not sorry about that.
AND, Scott is going to join Team Fatty and come over from Italy to ride 40 miles in the Seattle Livestrong Challenge. He has already got some road rash cred when he pushed his “wizard of OZ & Dor-a-thy” cruiser too fast on the Rome cobbles, and is looking for a CX bike to continue training.
THIS is a miracle! I am jazzed about riding at least to the 40-mile turn-off with him.
Comment by Lizzy | 03.18.2009 | 3:31 pm
After two and a half years, I too would call a truce. Take what you have taken – 2/3 of my lung, some of my lymph nodes, and some of my physical strength. But, now, stop. Let me stop the drugs and know you’ll stay away. You tried to take the latter part of my twenties. But I’ve prevailed thus far. Let me know I’ll have my thirties. Let my people and I have nothing but good news from here on out. Let me make big, big plans. I hate what you’ve done. But thank goodness I am stronger than that; and thank goodness I have my strong people behind me when I just can’t do it alone. So there, a truce. Let my life go on now, without you in it.
Comment by Richard ash | 03.18.2009 | 3:33 pm
I too had cancer. It does change people in a damaging way. Oh, I want the cure, but I want mostly to find the cause of all this cancer. Why cannot we have companies fess up and test their products to make them pure of all toxins? Who will start the trend to safe food, water, air,industrial products, clothes- in fact anything we come in contact with. No excuses about the low levels, as allowed by EPA etc. Give us the straight goods. I believe cancer is caused by the overburdening of our bodies by all the surrounding small doses of chemical that we injest and breath in every second of the day. We must start to reduce these levels to zero. Which company will be the first start the pure product idea?
Comment by Caitlin | 03.18.2009 | 3:43 pm
Cancer, you are the worst thing that has ever come into my life, but you made one big mistake. You came after my mom. If you had done your homework before you decided to attack her, you would’ve known what you were up against. She will fight you every minute of every day for the rest of her life. I know that her life might be shorter because of you, but I also know that your life will be shorter because of her. Even if you take her life away, you will never be able to kill her. She is stronger than you could ever imagine.
I also want to thank you, cancer, for giving me a purpose. I am going to spend the rest of my life helping people fight you. Every single day, one by one, we fight and we struggle and you get a little bit weaker. You may be stronger than us now, but we will never give up. We will fight you with everything we’ve got. Nothing can stand in the way of that kind of strength.
Comment by Skidmark | 03.18.2009 | 4:02 pm
Fatty, I feel for you. Cancer runs through my family, well, like a cancer. So here’s the conversation:
Cancer, you’re trespassing, and you’re unwelcome here. I will see you off the premises, or I will see you dead. I am more persistent, more determined, stronger and cleverer than you. You WILL be defeated. Now f*** off!
Comment by Skidmark | 03.18.2009 | 4:06 pm
Another note,
One of my most cherished friends, a man old enough to be my father, coached a lot of us when we were young, stupid and getting into cycling. Bob was the bravest, toughest man I’ve ever known. When cancer began to take him, he kept riding. He was our mentor and more. Undergoing chemo and radiation, he rode his bike from our small town to where treatment was administered some 35 miles away. After ministrations, he RAN home, and I accompanied him on my bike because he was a little delerious and we wanted to keep him safe. He owned a bookshop, and he was “self insured” when it came time to prolong his life, or lose the house he shared with his wife, he accepted his death sentence with grace and courage.
1. American health care is messed up. 2. More than 25 years later, Bob still rides with me every day, and dear Lord, how I miss him.
Mark
Comment by Hilslug | 03.18.2009 | 4:58 pm
Like many others, my life has been affected by cancer. I hate cancer.
Cancer’s power bruises us but our power will ultimately crush it.
Comment by Jenni Laurita | 03.18.2009 | 5:02 pm
Wow.
I can hardly keep back the choking tears.
I would say to cancer, “Please, never come back to me. Please allow me to have already learned all the lessons I needed to learn from you.”
And one million other things I can’t bear to write or I’ll be sobbing all night.
Win.
Comment by Margaret | 03.18.2009 | 5:59 pm
OK, admittedly it doesn’t take a lot to get me emotional these days, but I’m sitting here trying not to actually cry. I’m sure somebody else has noticed, but the video isn’t available any more (or at the moment at least).
I honestly don’t know what I’d say to cancer. I tend to be a “blame myself” type person and I’ve done a lot of agonising and soul-searching since my son’s brain tumour diagnosis almost 3 years ago (he’s 6 now, we’re lucky it’s not one of the nastiest ones). My husband’s father died from lung cancer a year before we married, 2 years before his first grandchild was born. I’m not unique in that I probably don’t have enough fingers to count all the people I personally know that have had run-ins with cancer. A cousin is losing his battle as we speak and I’m expecting “the phonecall” any day.
I don’t know what I would say. But I appreciate your sharing your words with us.
Comment by Charisa | 03.18.2009 | 6:05 pm
Cancer is just pure evil.
Comment by formertdfan | 03.18.2009 | 6:32 pm
I would tell it to leave my dad, who was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer a few months ago. I can’t bear the idea of living without him, he is young.
Comment by formertdfan | 03.18.2009 | 6:34 pm
off topic, i would tell men to get their PSA checked, and to opt for BIOPSY if it is not normal, as opposed to “watchful waiting”, please.
Comment by Grace | 03.18.2009 | 6:45 pm
Here’s what I would say to cancer: You thought you got my husband, didn’t you? Well, he was part of a clinical trial for a treatment of prostate cancer that kicked your a**. He now appears cancer free so NYAH, NYAH, NYAH to you!
Comment by Grace | 03.18.2009 | 6:47 pm
And I agree 100% with formertdfan …. get those PSA levels checked, men!
Comment by Paula Kirsch | 03.18.2009 | 6:49 pm
Age has nothing to do with it, NO ONE no matter how old should suffer the ravages if cancer.
Paula
Comment by KeepYerBag | 03.18.2009 | 6:51 pm
Hi, Cancer! It’s time for your hemlock enema.
NOW BEND OVER.
Comment by bubbaseadog | 03.18.2009 | 6:52 pm
im sorry for you cancer you took my mom and my big sister and and now the whole world is gonna kick your ass .and im gonna help them do it.
Comment by Terry | 03.18.2009 | 7:05 pm
Hey buddy, these people are really pissed at you. If you want, you can hide in this little box I have so they won’t hurt you. When you want out, just ask and I’ll let you out. I promise I will. Really…
Comment by Tracy (Oklahoma) | 03.18.2009 | 7:16 pm
Dear Cancer,
I hate you more than I thought possible. I have never hated anything until you. I hate you for taking my precious father-in-law (melanoma) at the young age of 44 before my children were ever to be born and have the privilege of knowing such an incredible human being. You robbed us of those memories, but that wasn’t enough for you. You had to come take his wife, my sweet, loving mother-in-law (breast cancer), 10 years later at the very young age of 54….ON HER BIRTHDAY! Her grandbabies were only 7 and 9. They needed her. Not only did you take my children’s grandparents, but you orphaned my darling husband. He still cries even though it has been a total of 21 years since you first came and took his father, 11 since you took his Mama. But you weren’t done with us even then…you took the one man that made the difference in my life as a child. Three years ago you took my Uncle Bob..the kindest man I have ever known. You ate away his stomach and took him to his grave at 62, leaving nothing but a shell of a man to bury because you eroded his body. I HATE YOU CANCER. I HATE the fear you leave in our lives. I HATE your control. But you can’t take away the love, or the memories in our hearts. You can’t take the HOPE that we have that someday we will KILL YOU!
Comment by Walter | 03.18.2009 | 7:51 pm
Everything you & everybody else said above +1
Comment by ~tb | 03.18.2009 | 8:11 pm
You are your least favorite word in the world. You took my sister and my father. I hate you and all that they went through because of you. Stop. Now. Just stop.
Comment by Llama | 03.18.2009 | 8:39 pm
My grandfather passed when he was 65 from cancer. My father was diagnosed shortly after he turned 65 this year. He has now been given 4-6 months to live. I never really knew my grandfather, I have one faint memory. Now, my daughter will really never know her grandfather. Will it come for me on schedule? What would I say? I have very little to say to cancer; “Cancer, I know you’re coming. I’ll be ready and waiting for you. I’ll give you the best fight you’ve had in three generations.”
Normally, I’d find some humor to dish out . . . not today.
Comment by Jennifer | 03.18.2009 | 8:49 pm
So far, I’ve outlived my cancer. My dad was only 7 years older than I am now when his cancer (briefly) outlived him.
I would tell that “One Rogue Cell” to remember that it is going down with the ship. Shooting itself in the foot. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Cutting off its nose to spite its face.
Cancer never wins.
Never.
Comment by dawn from Houston | 03.18.2009 | 9:07 pm
Cancer,
You think you are so great. You seem to attack the good people, the ones who are the most giving. Recently you took my Uncle, the man who helped out every neighbor with those little repairs they couldn’t do by themselves but didn’t have the money to hire someone to fix it, so he did it free. We’re stronger than you. The literally hundreds of people who came out to his funeral and donated to find a cure prove it. My aunt who went through chemo, radiation and two surgeries in the last two years and is winning her battle with breast cancer proves you are weak.
My grandmother beat you and just turned 90 to prove it.
My dear sweet twin sister, who gives to her community her entire being, supporting children who are lost souls, single mom that she is, did win her battle with cancer.
But you have succeeded in part of your intimidation campaign. Every time I have an odd pain, I think I have cancer. Recent exploratory surgery made me nervous and I did give in to your powers of fear. But I am stronger than you, my family is stronger than you. Every year, we fight against you, physically and financially. My family is strong and stubborn. We don’t lose fights. Every death you have caused has just created a more avid fighter and fundraiser of another family member or friend. So keep it up, ’cause we will too.
Comment by Ivorygorgon | 03.18.2009 | 9:49 pm
I, like many of the others here, have a long string of family members who have died of cancer. Grandmothers, grandfathers, mother . . . and most recently on February 22, after being diagnosed only 3 weeks earlier, my wonderful, kind, smart, and achingly loving brother, Bryan. I was on my way to see him, to say goodbye, and was sitting in the airport when I got the news.
Right now I have absolutely nothing to say to cancer. I am full of hate and four letter words and I know this is a family friendly blog. And what is more, cancer doesn’t care what we think of it. As a matter of fact, if cancer were sentient, I think it would love the pain and suffering, anger, hate, and despair. So from me, cancer is getting the cold shoulder.
Comment by dan | 03.18.2009 | 10:08 pm
I agree with formertdfan: men over 40, get checked every year, and get a PSA test if you’re at risk. Over 50, check your PSA every year. Prostate cancer is very curable when you catch it early.
Here’s what I say to my cancer every day: You’re an unwelcome companion and I’ll do whatever I can to minimize your influence. You may determine how I die, but you don’t get a say in how I will live.
Comment by Dobovedo | 03.18.2009 | 10:21 pm
OK Cancer… you want a fight? You got it. Go get yerself a bike. A light bike. A fast bike. The lightest, fastest bike you can find. Train hard. Train well. When you think you are ready, stop picking on all these people and come see me. We’re gonna duke this out, mono et mono.
You, cancer, and me. Base of Brasstown Bald. We’re racin’ to the top. Not the parkin’ lot top, the top tippety top, past the barrier that mere mortals like me ain’t supposed to go across.
When I beat you, and I will, you will be gone. Gone from Susan, gone from Fatty’s life and his children lives and from everyone them. Gone from every one else I know who has suffered under you, and gone from everyone who is affected by you, directly and indirectly.
Oh, but before you go, I know a couple guys in TN who are gonna kick you in the nuts first.
Comment by Rob M | 03.18.2009 | 11:27 pm
Ditto to the other comments.
I’ve had many relatives (my Mom, Dad, Grandfather, Uncle, and three cousins) and friends die from cancer. I believed that a cancer diagnosis was an automatic death sentence. Then Lance came along and every time he won a bike tour, or when he visited the White House, or cycled with the President, or drove the Indy Pace car, or any of the other thousands of things he does I now realize that cancer can be beaten every day. It’s about living. I’m riding the Livestrong Challenge (Philly) for those who can’t.
Thanks Lance for giving hope to so many and for leading this fight. Thanks Fatty and Susan for your courage. I’m riding for you.
Comment by Tammy | 03.19.2009 | 12:01 am
When the doctors told me my son had hodgkins lymphoma, I couldn’t say anything at first. And then I said F*** cancer (a lot). And then I asked the cancer – why my son? – why couldn’t you come after me instead? Why pick on my son who hasn’t had a chance at his life yet when I’m standing here halfway through mine?
But the cancer didn’t answer me. It was too much of a coward to stand up and face me.
And so we started treatment. And I yelled at the chemo for killing my son’s white blood cells – for making this always hungry teenager of mine not want to eat. I yelled and hollered and screamed at cancer. No one heard me. But all day long, I yelled at the cancer, cursing its existence.
Then halfway through treatment, the cancer had had enough. F***ing coward that it was, it slid away as quietly as it had appeared. The audacity. Turning our lives upside down and then just slinking away. I yelled again.
They tell us it’s gone. Somehow I can’t believe the Doctors. This cancer crept into my son with no typical symptoms and then left just as inobtrusively. I should be laughing at it, telling it WE WON! WE WON! But every time I try to say that my son is cured, my eyes fill with tears of fear that it will silently creep back and we won’t know it.
So F*** you cancer! And don’t dare come back. Give my son the chance to live his life and reach for his dreams. Give him that chance because you can’t begin to imagine the fury you will face if you even try to return again.
Kenny’s Mom
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Comment by chris | 03.19.2009 | 1:09 am
I’m not a hater. There are very, very few things in this world that I hate. There are a lot of things that annoy me, some things that I strongly dislike…but not many that I hate. Cancer, you are one of those things that I hate. I HATE you cancer. I hate how many people you take from this world. I hate how many people you have taken from my life. I hate how you go about taking those people. I hate what you put people through who survive it. I hate what you put people through who do not survive it. I hate what you put my mom through. I hate that you took a friend and mentor from my family and friends. I hate that you took my mom’s brother, my uncle. I hate that you took two of my mom’s sister in laws, my aunts. I hate what you are currently putting my cousin, his wife and their kids through. I hate what you are putting another cousin through. I hate that today you are causing so much pain and fear for a very close friend and co-worker whose mother was recently diagnosed and just started chemotherapy. I hate that you took another friend and co-workers mother. I hate that you are so indiscriminate in who you so mercilessly attack, in fact the people in my life who you have gone after are some of the most caring, giving, and courageous people I have ever known. I hate what you are putting Elden, his wife and their children through. I hate what you put friends and family of people who have it through. I hate the pain you have caused in so many of my family, friends and co workers lives. Many times I don’t mind crying all that much, but right now I hate that I’m crying, hard, because of you cancer. I just hate you and all that you do.
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Comment by Nix | 03.19.2009 | 3:38 am
Cancer, you are the creepiest thing around. You really make me sick the way you have killed people around me. Yes, I’m healthy, but if I look and realize the number of people I know and care about that have been affected by you, it is unbelievable.
Why my aunt and uncle, they both died one day after each other. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor too late, all she could do was swear and get pain killers until the end. She didn’t recognize anybody anymore, not even her husband on the day he came to tell her he would be submitted for a small viewing operation to see what mattered to him. When they opened him up, there you showed your nasty face… Thank god he died there and then and my aunt the next day.
Why can I tell stories of more people who died because you touched them… but hey, more and more I can tell stories of people who fought you and survived.
We will fight this, just as we started the fight with your buddy AIDS.
Comment by ChefJT | 03.19.2009 | 5:08 am
You’ve taken too many, hurt too many, but trust me Cancer, YOU WIL NOT WIN! Together, we are stronger than you.
Comment by Mike Roadie | 03.19.2009 | 5:38 am
Cancer: “Nobody likes you”……that’s from my 7 yr old niece and that’s about the worst, most true feeling you can get from a 7 yr old!
So painful, so hurt…..what strength in that video.
All I can say is, this is why we do what we do.
Join us….www.livestrong.org….or help Team Fatty (that would be us riding in our BLACK jerseys) http://austin09.livestrong.org/mike
Oh, and by the way, we will WIN!!!
Comment by Kristie | 03.19.2009 | 6:05 am
Hey, I just found you (I mean YOU, this blog …. I’m talking to you now, not cancer) and I’m so glad I did. Although I don’t have an athletic bone in my body and really AM a fatty, I enjoy reading about your cycling adventures (I’ve been perusing your archives a bit)
Anyway, blah blah. My husband was diagnosed with sinus cancer in 2003 — my 4-yr old daughter was diagnosed with leukemia six months later. Needless to say, 2003 was not a good year for us. Two and a half years of chemo later, my daughter is doing well. My husband? Well, we found out two weeks ago the cancer came back — for the fourth time. Frustrating, discouraging, maddening, you name it …. I’m sure you’ve felt it, as well. But like you, I try to retain my sense of humor. In fact, I love the “giving cancer the finger” analogy and from this point out will steal it as my own. (kidding — you totally get credit.) :)
Comment by cheapie | 03.19.2009 | 6:17 am
cancer….you suck. i’m sure one day we’ll find out you exist because of something we’ve created or that we’re eating, doing, etc. but you still suck.
and thanks for the news yesterday that you killed Stan. that’s awesome.
Comment by Bob | 03.19.2009 | 6:22 am
From a Tragically Hip song that helped me (and still helps me) while my Dad was fighting pancreatic cancer:
Yer not the ocean, you’re not coming in
In our case it did come in, but it doesn’t always win. To Susan and everyone else battling this horrible disease: Keep up the good fight.
Comment by Tom Fury | 03.19.2009 | 6:27 am
I’d say “Give it back. Give it all back to me, none of it was yours to take and I want my friends and my
Grandma and my sister and everything else you’ve taken back.” But it doesn’t listen, does it?
Comment by Anonymous | 03.19.2009 | 7:03 am
I HATE YOU WITH A PASSION!!
I HATE YOUR NAME AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!!
I never knew how much you could effect me until I heard YOUR NAME from the doctor telling me over the phone that I had Cervical CANCER.
I was shocked at the fact that AS SOON AS I HEARD YOUR NAME!! that I had tears running down my cheeks.
There IS a WORLD of DIFFERENCE in Speaking your name and hearing the Doctor Speaking it to me.
I lost the Love of My Life to YOU 3 yrs ago.
I lost my mother back in ‘99.
I have lost a couple best friends because of YOU.
And let’s not forget to mention my friends…IRL/Internet
YOU are Everywhere!!
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!
I WISH YOU would just PUFF & DISAPPEAR!!
Comment by robinrobin4 | 03.19.2009 | 7:07 am
oops.
I forgot to post my name…robinrobin4… when I posted my comment.
This is me:
Comment by Anonymous | 03.19.2009 | 7:03 am
I HATE YOU WITH A PASSION!!
I HATE YOUR NAME AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!!
Comment by ChinookPass | 03.19.2009 | 7:58 am
I’d challenge cancer to race the Leadville 100. Though I’d be sure that cancer would do poorly and would not finish, I’d like to grind it into the ground. I’d ride with cancer for awhile and pretend like it was beating me, but at some point I would push it off a cliff. Cancer doesn’t play fair, why should I?
Comment by Andrew | 03.19.2009 | 8:05 am
You attacked my sister, killed my grandpa, and attacked my sister-in-law twice.
You may have won some battles, but when the Millennium rolls around, you’re going down.
Comment by Lesli | 03.19.2009 | 8:28 am
Cancer is a part of my life.
Cancer is a part of my life because I work in a hospital devoted to cancer research. I see patients and families on the skybridges, in the hallways, in the waiting areas, and in the dining areas. I see the spectrum of emotions. The fear, the determination, the joy. Through it all, I see an amazing amount of hope and optimism.
Cancer is a part of my life because my stepdad and my uncle are survivors. They beat the odds.
Cancer is a part of my life because my father’s mother and my mother’s father lost their battles with cancer. They are lost to me.
Cancer is a part of my life because I choose to fight it the only way I can. I swim. I bike. I run (ok, I walk).
Comment by Isela | 03.19.2009 | 8:38 am
Your post is powerful and has brought me to tears. I think you have said it correctly, we accept our defeat for this round, we have seen how malicious and vindictive this opponent is, however, we haven’t lost the fight. We will continue fighting, round after round after round, we are probably going to be quite hurt in the process but we are strong and our hearts and minds will continue to fight and eventually we will find a way to defeat it. Love to you and your family.
Comment by Andrea | 03.19.2009 | 8:58 am
Thank you for inspiring me Fatty. I lost my Mom to bladder cancer two years ago. When I watched this video on the LIVESTRONG blog earlier in the week, I was really torn up about it. I put it in the back of my mind. I came to your blog last night and read your post and it pushed me to confront cancer in a way that I needed to. Thank you!
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[...] « What I Would Say to Cancer [...]
Comment by Cancer Media | 03.19.2009 | 10:47 am
My wife is undergoing breast cancer surgery 10 years ago. Since that time I began to be careful with this disease. I can only say “we should be able to war against cancer”
Comment by Matt | 03.19.2009 | 12:07 pm
I would say “Hey Buddy! (lying) Want a beer?”
“Yeah I know it’s a new brew, I never heard of it either. its’ called tamoxifen”
“drink up!”
“sure I have more, all you want”
“make yourself comfy under that tanning light”
Reading this while my wife is getting her third chemo treatment for breast cancer.
Livestrong
Comment by Tyler | 03.19.2009 | 3:41 pm
Dear Cancer,
THANK YOU!
THANK YOU for waking me up to important things. THANK YOU for not taking my sweetheart two years ago. THANK YOU for not taking her (yet) during your return.
THANK YOU for being “kind” enough to give her/us some more time.
-Time to finally live with all the family on the same page,
-Time to fix the house like she has always wanted,
-Time for the unbelievable hug she gave me this morning,
-Time to be at peace with things,
-Time to learn love for others,
-Time to learn how to accept the love of others,
-Time for her to make baby blankets for the grand children she will never know.
I WILL NOT thank you for what you are about to do to us.
I remind you, Cancer, that although you have the power to destroy a living organism, you have NO POWER over death. My Savior has already fixed that. You may win the battle, but you will never win the war!
Tyler
Comment by Noose and Goose | 03.19.2009 | 7:27 pm
Cancer is a part of my life. I view you as the Devil but I have enough faith to know that If Jesus could deny your temptations, I will deny you my life. I am scare everyday that you will return, but you will not rule my life.
Now get the hell out of Susan’s life!
Comment by robinrobin4 | 03.20.2009 | 6:27 am
I HATE YOU WITH A PASSION!!
I HATE YOUR NAME AND EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!!
I never knew how much you could effect me until I heard YOUR NAME from the doctor telling me over the phone that I had Cervical CANCER.
I was shocked at the fact that AS SOON AS I HEARD YOUR NAME!! that I had tears running down my cheeks.
There IS a WORLD of DIFFERENCE in Speaking your name and Hearing the Doctor Speaking it to me.
I lost the Love of My Life/My BEST FRIEND to YOU 3 yrs ago.
.
I lost my mother back in ‘99.
I have lost a couple best friends because of YOU.
And let’s not forget to mention my friends…IRL/Internet that are effected by YOU.
YOU are Everywhere!!
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!
I WISH YOU would just PUFF & DISAPPEAR!!
Comment by Liz | 03.20.2009 | 8:21 am
Cancer,
We had a fling last year. It was brief and you were relatively easy to get rid of once I realized I wanted you gone. But here’s the thing–I think about you all the time. I’m afraid of you showing up at every corner. Statistically, there’s a good chance of running into you again and I would prefer you stay out of my life forever. I have nightmares about you, I am afraid of you.
You taught me some good things last year, you did. You made me wake up in many ways. But now I’d like it if you left me alone. And while we’re at it, leave my loved ones alone too. And if you refuse and I do run into you again, you should just know, I will kick the ever loving shit out of you Cancer. I will. You’re on notice.
Sincerely,
Liz
Comment by Richard ash | 03.20.2009 | 8:52 am
I hate CANCER too. It took 3 years out of my life and killed 2 in-laws who didn’t deserve to die young.
A pox on Cancer.
Do not blame cancer- blame the causes that give us all cancer. Only then can life be improved. Find the causes of this blight-Soooooon!
Comment by Shelia | 03.20.2009 | 10:10 am
Cancer,,,,you truly do SUCK!!! This month marks two years since you visited my precious mom. You took her when you left,, she was only 46 and my very best friend. I hurt daily,,the images of her last breath will never leave me. I see the pain in my brother, kids, dad, grandparents eyes and it hurts so bad. How could you? I begged & cried for you to leave, but you stayed and tortured my very young mother. Now what? How can I live a normal life? You took her, but you took so much of me with her. Who is going be my kids grandmother now? Who else can love unconditionally but your mother? I HATE what you did!!
Comment by Onan the Barbarian | 03.20.2009 | 10:51 am
Sorry Cancer, the joke’s on you.
You took my dad last year after only showing up a scant few months before. You turned him from a strong independent person to someone who had to be helped out of the car and eventually someone who was bed ridden. You took his mind (brain cancer) and his body before you killed him.
But the joke’s on you.
He donated his body to the medical students who some day will kill you and your kind for good.
You won this personal battle, but lost the war.
/RIP Dad (March 5, 2008)
Comment by LaCootina | 03.21.2009 | 9:04 am
Look, Cancer, I know it’s your biological imperative to assault “x” number of people every year. I hate that you took my mother’s best friend, her only sister. I hate that you can steal a kid’s childhood, or the best years a parent can share. I hate that you can turn a senior’s golden years from quiet peace and dignity into an invasive physical and emotional assault. I wish you hadn’t signed me up, but frankly, I’d rather take the hit than pass it on to a kid, or a young parent. And I’ve already figured out that no one gets out of this game alive. I might just have a shorter playing season than most.
You are the selfish, cruel, farty roommate who just won’t take the hint and move out. Still, you brought a lot of surprises and blessings with you. I can’t say I’m glad to have the experience, just that every step of the way, there have been more silver linings than dark clouds, something that came as a total shock to me. I have been given the gifts of clarity and perspective, I have the blessings of gratitude and humility, of respect for the kind of courage that is not yet part of my repertoire. (In ways I am still discovering, you have made me a better person, but I would have been perfectly happy to go on being a mediocre person.)
So I’d like us to find a way to tolerate each other, because the fighting just depletes me too much, and after more than a year on the frontlines, I just haven’t got a lot of fight left in me. Can I live with you, like diabetes, or a virus? Can we just coexist without constantly assaulting each other? That would be my ideal situation: to feel that cancer is a part of my life, instead of the sum of my life.
You’re just a pathetic mass of mutant cells, Cancer, and even if you do take my life, I know that’s just one part of my existence. I will live on in the hearts and minds of those I love, and those who love me. In their acts of kindness and generosity. In their thoughtful, prayerful, grateful moments. Even in the artful things I’ve created, to share my love of beauty and comfort. You can deprive my spirit of my body, but not the other way around. Your spirit is a fleeting nuisance, Cancer, but my spirit is rich and pure and eternal.
So, pththththth!
Comment by Miles Archer | 03.21.2009 | 11:43 am
Just signed up for San Jose challenge. I need to get out and start training for the Metcalf Rd climb right away.
Comment by TK | 03.21.2009 | 3:12 pm
So if you die, does it mean that you didn’t fight hard enough, that your death is somehow your fault?
Comment by Laurel | 03.23.2009 | 11:19 am
Fuck you, Cancer.
Comment by Tim E | 03.23.2009 | 9:51 pm
You took my mother. You tried to take my wife twice and she kicked your butt both times. Go away. Leave us ALL alone.
Comment by michelle | 03.24.2009 | 9:31 pm
Cancer,
I grieve for the possibilities that will never be with people who are no more. I didn’t need to be aquainted with your friends Hate and Anger. How about I become the unpopular uncool person again, and you 3 go play with yourselves?
Comment by Gary | 03.25.2009 | 10:18 am
You and I have known one another for a very long time now. You made yourself my partner, one that I never wanted. It took ten years and five surgeries to get rid of you. Physically I was free, mentally I was not. I was still afraid of you, afraid you would make yourself my partner again, afraid you would win. You consumed all my thoughts, all my waking hours, always fearful of you. This being so long ago and my being so young, I knew of no one who had you as a partner, I felt I was alone in my struggle to overcome you. I wanted to forget you ever existed. In time I was able to make you a distant memory.
Then in 1999, thirty years after getting rid of you, a young man with a bike and yellow jersy made me relize I was wrong to forget you, to deny you. I was not doing anything to fight you, to bring about your defeat. Now I want to force myself on you, dominate you, just as you did to me and are still doing to so many others. I started giving and participaing where I could to bring about you demise.
I finally discovered a very corageous group of people who have been fighting one of your tougher brothers. He goes by the name Multiple Myeloma and he is an especially tough competitor, he keeps winning, he never loses. These Multiple Myeloma patients are fighters, they are tough, and so are their families and their doctors and their nurses. Together they formerd a group called Miles for Myeloma to raise much needed money to fight you. I have joined their planning committee; this is where I want to fight you, this is where I want to make difference. After four years we have raised one million dollars to battle you. Every day now the paitients are staying in the fight longer.
Oh yes, two years ago you tried to make yourself my partner again, but you were quickly found out and with three more surgeries you have been beaten back once more. You and I have been going through this now for over fifty years. I no longer fear you as I did in the beginning; I know you can be defeated.
I’m going to keep helping my friends to fight your tougher brother, Multiple Myeloma. I really want to see them defeat you once and for all.
Comment by Lael Sheber | 03.26.2009 | 3:18 pm
You have turned my life upside down.You stopped our family from living in the fantasy of a normal life in which we had control. 8 months ago we thought my 3 yr old son had a stomach ache. Turns out he has CANCER!! How could a 3 yr old have cancer? He is currently being pumped up with chemo that is killing him in order to save him. I HATE CANCER!! I HATE YOU! You killed both my grandmothers, my uncle, tried to kill another uncle and you are currently trying to take away my baby. How Dare You!! I don’t feel like we can fight you, really, we have no control but I just hope my boy can get through this and get to live a normal life someday. It’s not a battle. You kick people’s butts, you kill them. Some, are just lucky enough to make it out the other side.
Comment by Marie | 03.26.2009 | 3:38 pm
You are a horrible monster that tried to steal my beautiful little 3 year old away from me.
I hate you. I hate what you made my child go through. I hate how you affected our whole family.
You suck oh, and you LOST!
I still have my beautiful daughter, though the cost was high.
Comment by Linda Ruthers | 03.30.2009 | 8:37 pm
I have cried, reading these posts and stories.
On April 15, 2008 I was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma of the left base of the tongue. I had two chemo and 42 radiation treatments.
I’ll never be able to eat real food again. Thank God for Ensure.
But I’m alive and strong and, in many ways, a better person.
Cancer is unthinking and uncaring. I wouldn’t say anything to it.
What I would say is to those who love me most: I never knew the depth of your love before this challenge and I never knew the pain of causing you grief before. It was almost worse than the cancer.
I never want to bring this on you again.
Comment by john anderson | 04.10.2009 | 7:33 pm
what i would say to cancer will always be the same ,
FUCK YOU !!
You have no place in my life and I will rid my body and soul of you in whatever fashion I need to!!!
I shall kick your ass for the rest of my life and will live proud and strong just to spite of you!!!
You will NEVER have any control over me nor shall you be able to dictate any aspect of my life , so once and for all,FUCK YOU CANCER!!!!!!!!!!!
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[...] (WIN! Susan!) – the wife of my favorite comedic cycling blogger Fatty (Elden). Read his post What I Would Say to Cancer and I bet you’ll join our team too. Or at least scrape together some spare change and [...]