Survivor

Press Card

Press Card

As a cub reporter at The Washington Post, I wrote my share of obituaries, and, back then, The Post required a cause-of-death in every obit. “He died of cancer,” a family member would sometimes offer, “but we don’t want that in the newspaper.”

And more than once, after I explained The Post’s policy, families preferred there be no obituary — nothing at all — over a mention of cancer. Better to let a cancer victim’s passing go un-noted than to have the scarlet C sewn to the legacy of a loved one.

That was the late ‘60s, early ‘70s. Today, of course, we’re wearing wristbands color-keyed to specific cancers: blue for prostate, pink for breast, yellow for Lance and living strong. We blog about our cancers, we wear ribbons and t-shirts in solidarity. We’re activists who lobby and go to public hearings to argue our cause. We walk and swim and run and bike on behalf of cancer friends and family.

Ashamed no more: Cancer’s been outed.

And we’re no longer victims; we’re now “survivors.” That’s what we cancerians used to be called: victims. Yes, those were the days when cancer was a death sentence, and a shameful one to boot. (I’ve certainly never thought of myself as a cancer victim any more than I consider myself a victim of right-handedness. It’s just a fact.)

In the argot of cancer, “survivor” is neither a definitive nor a conclusive term: It doesn’t mean you’ve won, doesn’t imply you’re cured, and certainly doesn’t announce that you once — past tense, here — had cancer. Survivor, in fact, applies to all cancerians, every one of us, from the beginning point of diagnosis to the end point of death. Standing tall or standing small, with cancer, you’re officially a survivor.

Survivor is a term, therefore, of such length and breadth that it cannot possibly posses any meaningfully descriptive depth: It’s just spread too thin. It is, quite simply put, merely the anointed successor to victim. But many cancerians question the use of “survivor” and object to it (sometimes fervently so), while others simply reject it outright. I have to admit I’ve been taken aback by how rigidly some people feel about this business of how we describe ourselves (survivor, warrior, fighter) and the cancer experience (slog, journey, process, battle, dance).

Truth be told, I’ve rarely used the term “survivor” to describe myself — or any other cancerian. To me, it’s always had a hokey, politically correct vibe to it. Ergo, my term “cancerian,” a (hopefully) deft side-step of not only victimhood but also survivorship.

So it’s odd that, today, I somehow have this sensation, in the seventh year of my cancer journey, of being a…cancer…survivor. Why?

For one, and for the nonce, I’m not now a “patient”; I’m not undergoing any treatment for my Stage 4 prostate cancer. No pills, no shots, no infusions, no radiation, no chemo, and the last milligram of hormone therapy washed out of me well more than a year ago. In fact, my quarterly check-up today came back as no evidence of disease (NED). For those keeping track (and I most certainly am), this marks 18 months of NED.

So I’m now living in an interlude I call “between treatments.” Because of the cancer found in my lymph nodes at surgery, it’s highly likely (inevitable, even?) there’ll be recurrence and more treatments at some point in my future.

And that’s why calling myself a cancer survivor seems deceptively — OK, I’ll say it: early, premature, even presumptuous.

But cancer, as I’ve noted, is not just a physical disease but also a mental one. We cancerians know the coiling of the nerves brought on by a looming test; we feel the visceral gnaw of what dark truth those tests might reveal; and we all can visualize the sword of recurrence dangling above us.

“I don’t think we’re ever really cured of cancer,” I’ve heard more than one cancerian say, “because you always have the fear it’ll come back.” Or as my lymphoma blog-friend Jennifer put it: “We are always emotionally a little bit in that oncology waiting room, no matter what our [cancer] status.”

Maybe, then, being a survivor is not about outrunning the physical disease we have but about all the attendant, cancer-related fears we harbor, treatments we endure and side effects we bear — however long, however brief that time between those end points of diagnosis and death.

I’m living through — I’m surviving — the cancer experience.

About Bill Curry

Stage 4 prostate cancer

16 Responses to “Survivor”

  1. Two things:

    I didn’t know there was such a stigma regarding cancers and death due to cancer. I have noticed in obituaries that rarely is there a mention of cause of death.

    Nineteen Sixty Nine. What an great time to be a journalist. The year before was the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, the presidential races, two assassinations, riots, etc. Then there’s 1969: that was the year of the Moon landing, more Vietnam, Nixon in the White House, etc. Then came 1970 and the Cambodian incursion, more Vietnam and drama. It must have been great to be a journalist then.

    Stan Pengelly

  2. Usually I am on a mission to stop the spread of obscure acronymns. There are too many of them, especially here in Washington. But the one I learned of while reading your post– NED– is entirely permissible! SF in DC

  3. Patti Kilpatrick Reply July 23, 2013 at 4:28 pm

    Hey, Bill!
    Eloquent as usual and so articulate and well-expressed! OMG, the young Bill photo was great! Quite serious then…but you look about ready to pop a droll joke. NED is fabulous! Congratulations on continuing to wrap your mind around the fears, squeeze them out, rise above them, and enjoy the day we have now!
    Patti

  4. Sally Sanders Pilcher Reply July 13, 2013 at 5:14 pm

    Bill…your insight is wonderful. Hope to see you in Sept.

  5. Congrats on NED, Bill! I really admire your neologism. I’m OK with “survivor” (after all, it’s tattooed in Elvish on my right wrist), but “cancerian” subtly communicates the ominous side of this disease that will always be part of who we are.

  6. Loved seeing the press card and the picture of the Bill Curry I remember. Congratulations on NED!

    Five years cured (hadn’t heard of NED), Hurrah. Ten years, ditto. Twenty years, ditto. Forty years, ditto. Forty-six years, ditto. And yet, after all these years comes the feeling of relief with the “negative” after a mamo or pap,

  7. You look so serious in your photo!! Congrats on NED. Love you!

  8. Bill;

    Written like the outstanding journalist and former cub reporter you are, and true as true can be. Wish I could have said it as well…

    Congrats-keep on NEDing and inspiring us all!

  9. Again, I thank you for sharing

    Carol Carol Pearce quizp@aol.com

  10. Always a thoughtful perspective, Bill. And your NED news is great!

  11. You write so eloquently Bill and I know you have been an inspiration to many other “survivors.”

    Les Mace

    PS: Nice sideburns :)

  12. 18 months as a NEDian – wonderful news indeed! And the photo – You made my day a second time by posting that!

  13. NED How Wonderful. Once again you have taken the words right out of my mouth, but certainly more eloquently than I could have said them.

  14. Bill,
    So well said. I hate cancer so much (as we all do) that I like to think I will not dignify it by giving it too much energy. That’s why I love the name survivor. It will not win, even if mine comes back I will consider it as always just a blip in my screen.
    Celeste:0)

  15. YESSSSS! Undetectable! Well done!  Pick a day for a lunch at the Noke this week and let me know.   Paul R. Calderon

    ________________________________

  16. Glad to hear all is well. Yeah!,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 214 other followers

%d bloggers like this: