A grudge match to the end
I’ve been in this cancer business for a while. Through tanker trucks of chemo, twice, and two transplants. Six years so far.
But I wouldn’t say I’ve… “battled” cancer. Calling it a battle gives both cancer and me too much credit. Cancer is an insidious disease that silently turns a body on itself and so does its parasitic harm. I’m just a guy who wants to live and so will follow directions and behave as directed. I’m not a warrior.
I don’t mean to diminish my resolve, or cancer’s. It’s a grudge match to the end. But it’s more like chess. There are no clashing swords or ear-splitting bursts of machine gun fire. Just quiet calculations by miraculous doctors, slow drips of toxic chemicals and waiting. We make our move and wait to see if cancer has a riposte.
In the end–hoping and assuming it’s a happy ending, there is no real declaration of victory. After a long time, if cancer has no response to the last move against it, the immediate idea fades some, but never goes away. There is no check-mate. We just stop playing. You can all it a battle if you want, and I might too, sometimes. It would be great if it were that simple. But it’s not.