FU 2 Cancer

Fuck You to Cancer…Face Up to Cancer…either way “FU2Cancer” has been my battle cry for the past 20 months.  

In early 2010, three anchors in my life were diagnosed with cancer: my husband, Clarence, my dear friend and design partner of 30 years, Stephanie, and one of my very closest friends, Pat.  Pancreas, breast, pancreas.  All three were diagnosed within six weeks of one another, blindsiding and befuddling me and leaving me madder than hell. How unfair could life be?

Turns out: pretty damn unfair.

It’s been said that when you’re dealing with cancer (or anything else for that matter), you play the hand that’s dealt you. Stephanie and Pat drew the cards that no cancer patient wants to draw: “Stage IV” “Metastasized” “Inoperable.”  We knew from the get-go that these were not winning hands.

Clarence, we thought, had drawn a considerably better hand. He had the “Early” card, the “Operable” card, and for many, many months the “Remission” card. (His surgeon actually tried to play the “Cured” card. Turns out he may have been bluffing.)

My husband fought his Purple* People Eater with a Whipple surgery  in April of 2010; the Rock Star Surgeon (he of the premature “Cured” card) removed a third of the pancreas, numerous lymph nodes, part of the duodenum, the gall bladder, and a portion of the bile duct. Recuperation was long, painful, and complicated, but we were rejoicing: Clarence’s prognosis was very, very good.  You can withstand almost any distress if it holds out the promise of life.

While Clarence recuperated, Stephanie and Pat embarked on their own distressful journeys, though theirs were not without occasional glimmers of hope – even humor. “Responding,” “Improving,” “Beating the Odds” and (my personal favorite) “Hasta la Vista, Baby” were among the cards that were drawn, weighed, and played by my friends in the summer and fall of ’10.

You know where this is heading, so I’ll cut to the chase.

Pat battled her cancer with a ferocity that would have made Boudicca proud (Don’t know her? Look her up!). Stephanie tangoed with her cancer, the epitome of calm, sophisticated grace.  The fact that they both outlived their initial prognosis was little consolation when they died within two weeks of each other in July ’11.  Stephanie’s death was a double loss; I had to regroup professionally as well as emotionally – I’m still working, with limited success, on both counts.  Pat’s death left a hole in my life that I will never be able to fill; I don’t even want to try. I miss them both more than I can possibly tell you and not a day goes by when I don’t pick up the phone to ask Stephanie a question or find myself making plans for some extraordinary adventure with Patsy. Guess I’ll need a hotline to Heaven and a plane ticket to the Land of the Dancing Spirits. Sigh.

Despite these colossal losses, cancer wasn’t finished busting my chops.  A comrade and fellow writer: breast cancer. My Pilates instructor: breast cancer.  The managing director I hired, mentored, and considered my protégé: breast cancer.  My rage – my blood-boiling fury – was almost unbearable.  When I wasn’t wearing my FU2Cancer tee shirt, I was bellowing that curse…sometimes silently, usually into my pillow when sleep refused to give me cancer-calming relief.

This week, Clarence took the bullet we naively thought he’d dodged. He picked up the deck of Cancer Cards and drew “Returned,” “Stage IV,” “Metastatic,” “Inoperable” and…as if to soften the blow “Early,” and “Slow-Growing.”  

I can’t speak for Clarence, Pat or Stephanie. I can’t speak for my two daughters, my seven stepchildren, Pat’s family: Amanda, Allison and Jack , Stephanie’s scores of nieces and nephews, the  theater’s staff, the legions of loved ones grieving for friends and family members who have lived...or continue to live…with cancer.

I can only speak for myself. This is my story. It started with a FUCK YOU. It’s mellowing into a FACE UP. It’s full of tears. But it’s also, oddly, filled with some laughter. Because I happen to believe that hilarity in the face of cancer isn’t only appropriate, it’s healthy. 

Cry with me, laugh with me, howl at the moon with me if it helps you get through another day.  The Purple People Eater may have returned, but it’s got to deal with me first.

*Purple is the official color for pancreatic cancer awareness.