C.H.A.O.S. Mission Statement

A brief rant/tangent (a ranget!) if I may...

This week I couldn’t escape the media to-do over Elizabeth Edwards’ cancer recurrence and whether her husband was a godless bastard for abandoning her in her hour of need to run a presidential campaign. (Although I was glad it got the media pack off the fed firings case – what’s the obsession with eight lawyers losing their job when there’s buckets more real woe in the world?)

What vexed me most was that they kept replaying (at least on NPR) her carefully scripted press conference which included her statement "every time you get something suspicious, you go into alarm mode. Every cancer survivor that you know personally has exactly that experience."

Excuse me? Elizabeth, I’m truly sorry that your cancer has returned, and you have my best wishes for successful treatment, but no, you do not get to speak on behalf of all cancer survivors, especially if it’s to make statements like that.

I’m sure some, perhaps many people who’ve had cancer feel the way you do, but not all of us go running to the doctor assuming a hangnail is a malignancy, and your words, broadcast to millions, reinforce the Eeyore stereotype and make it harder for those of us who do not share your attitude.

When I’ve gone to the doctor for everything from bronchitis to a broken arm, when they take my history and find out I had cancer, I always get the patronizing "now, now, who’s my brave little survivor?" crap, or, just as bad, the eye-rolling "just because you’ve got a screaming headache doesn’t mean your cancer is back" even though I never suggested a connection! (Thanks to the one doctor who took me seriously ... and sent me for an eye exam. Now I don’t get headaches and instead get to rock the Tina Fey sexy librarian look.) As I told the ER doctor who wanted to shake my hand when he found out I’d had cancer (really... while I was laying there with a broken arm), "cancer does not define my life. Let’s move on." I probably shouldn’t add that the very next thing I said to him was "now give me some fucking morphine!" but oh, nevermind.

Yes, I am pretty wound up about this, and quite frankly if she makes more comments like that I may have to kick her ass, cancer and all, but trying to channel my energy in a more positive direction, I have decided to form an organization that will tackle the irritating stereotypes that surround cancer: Cancer Haters Against Over-Simplification. As the founder and president of CHAOS, I am available for all media interviews. Basically, journalists can ask the usual insipid questions to the usual talking heads (NPR had a segment after the Edwards announcement on "can women who’ve had breast cancer live without fear ever again?" Uh, yeah. They can. I do it every freakin’ day, though for the record, I think "breast cancer" sounds so terribly stodgy, which is why I prefer the term "titty cancer." But I digress. Again.). After they make their horribly oversimplified pronouncements on behalf of all cancer survivors everywhere, I can follow-up with: "actually, while many cancer survivors may feel that way, not all of us do. ‘Cancer’ itself is just a general term for abnormal cellular growth, and encompasses an enormous range of manifestations. You can generalize the disease by calling it cancer, but don’t generalize the people who have it, lest ye be smited."

Whew. Ok. Better now. So, to review: it sucks that your cancer came back, Elizabeth, but given the amount of media attention paid to your statements about it, please craft your words with greater care. I doubt you would think to make statements on behalf of "every woman" or "every American" or any other groups to which you can claim membership, so don’t do it with cancer survivors. Not only do we not all share your feelings, but some of us get quite ornery about it.