Cancer and the battle

In the last few days there were funerals for Aretha Franklin and John McCain. I have a lot of respect for Franklin, though I don’t listen to her music. Everyone is praising McCain, though I stop at one aspect of the man – he was a Republican and bought into a great deal of the party’s goals and dogma, all of which are harmful to the marginalized. He may have been a maverick on a vote here or there, but not anywhere near enough for me to add my praises.

But enough of them. I’d rather talk about something brought up by NPR (alas, I don’t remember which show and can’t find the story). Both Franklin and McCain died of cancer. Nearly every news source (and NPR pulled out a large number of them) said both had courageously “fought a battle” with cancer.

Then NPR asked is such militaristic language appropriate? Probably not.

Since I can’t find the NPR story I went looking for their source. I found a few. The most recent was from last February. Other stories go back to 2014. This idea has been around for a while. Here’s some of what they talk about.

Militaristic language implies that treating cancer is a battle that can be won. What are we actually fighting for? Elimination of cancer? Normalization of life? What about when cancer returns after a relapse? Did the patient lose? Are all those cancer free years devalued? Perhaps we should talk about cancer survivors and apply that term even to those who hold off death long enough to attend a grandson’s graduation.

If cancer is a battle, what do we say to people who choose to forego treatment? Are they losers? What about those whose treatment doesn’t bring renewed health? If cancer arises from within my own body does battling cancer mean battling myself?

When someone dies of cancer does it mean they should have fought a bit harder? Why don’t we hear the phrase, “He battled heart disease.”? Even if the cancer is gone but took body parts with it, was that a win? That doesn’t seem like it.

Perhaps it is better to say cancer is a journey.