I’m not fighting cancer

I’m not fighting cancer.

I’ve had adrenal cancer twice and another cancer once.  My role in treating this has been lying down and letting surgeons cut things out of me, and lying down on a million-dollar radiation machine once a weekday for a month. The bed was too short for me by a few inches and the first few times I sat up, the headrest rattled onto the floor. Everyone who worked there was much shorter than me and said I was simply way too tall. (I am around one inch taller than average.) I can’t tell you how funny that became after a while. Radiation affects your mind, I think. (Also, I still blame it for my poor vision, which was perfect before.)

I believe these huts were designed around the same time as the radiation machine I was in

So that was it for the “fighting” part. As for prevention…

Every few months I lie down and get rolled through a hoop three times for a CAT scan (it used to be around two hours for an MRI), and I get poked with blood test needles around two or three times per quarter. I also made minor dietary changes and fortunately had an attitude change. I take some drugs every day,  and see the oncologist and endocrinologist from time to time. With all this, by the way, my insurance company still turns a decent profit.

In case you wondered, these are the drugs. They’re still made by their creator; the patent ran out in the 1970s and there’s no generic. I take 270 per month so my caption is wrong.

While I welcome your good wishes and prayers, it makes me a little uncomfortable to be congratulated for fighting cancer. Other people do that, but,  for me, there’s just avoidance and prevention. It’s a dull, unromantic slog.

Now, fighting with the insurance company and medical billing agencies… I do that.