November 19-20, 2014

I'm not, of course.

I'd much rather have a tooth ache: "Oh, your tooth hurts? Let me pull that out! All better." Or breast cancer: "Ya got breast cancer?! Well, that's easy, we'll just remove your man boobs! Enjoy life on the beach! No need to save those ta-ta's! We beat cancer!"

A warning, up front: this diary entry will spend far too much time talking about the "curable" diseases by way of contrasting how much simpler and easier are the "incurables." That said, any piece of writing this rife with "air" quotes, and this piece is lousy with them, is almost certainly in trouble from the get-go. At the same time, this is my topic, too -- because I do have an incurable disease, goddammit, and that gives me as legit a place at the table as anyone, whether I like it or not. So at risk of offending many and enlightening few, let's start by looking at some of the reasons why I'm glad I do not have a "curable" disease like, oh let's say, breast cancer.

I will begin by stating the obvious: for a man, having breast cancer has to be right up there with having breasts in the first place in terms of the humiliation factor. In point of fact, I endured a trip to the dermatologist recently that involved the removal of a suspicious mole in the center of my chest, and I will not-at-all-freely admit that as I contemplated the results of the biopsy, I never once thought, "God, please let it be breast cancer. At least I can beat that. And I can enjoy life on the beach!" However, even beyond the unique situation presented by male breast cancer, I find the whole "Beat Cancer" mentality troubling.

For one thing, when has anyone ever celebrated "beating" heart disease? Or stroke? I realize that maybe they should, but they don't, despite the fact that fully recovering from a stroke arguably requires effort equal to, if not greater than, that necessary to "beat" cancer. What's with the special finish line for this disease over all others? Not to mention that the finish line itself suggests that what we have here is a deeply misguided, competitive alternative to "Don't tell Big Daddy or he'll give up." More like, "We have to tell Big Daddy, so he can fight! Rah Rah Rah, Go Team Beat Cancer!" As such, it may be different sides, but it's the same coin, not least because each side is emblazoned with the same words: "In Docs We Trust."

Speaking of which, cancer is only relatively beatable after all, depending: melanoma has a 93% survival rate after five years while of those contracting cancer of the pancreas, 93% are dead in the same five years. While these vastly differing outcomes are almost certainly a result of a complex mix of factors, I seriously doubt that any credence is given to a theory that puts the responsibility at the feet of the doctors involved with either disease. In other words, I don't think anyone's standing on the sidelines cheering, "Go Team Derm Beat Cancer," while simultaneously badmouthing those "loser" pancreatic oncologists.

The reason no one does that? I would suspect that it's because we all know somewhere in our dark, benighted hearts that cancer doesn't "choose" anyone as more or less worthy of engaging in a contest to "beat" it. This is because cancer is not a team nor is it a person who picks fights with human beings. When we treat it as though it is, those who "lose," especially in the early "minutes" of "play" can feel as though they failed through some personal fault of theirs while, perhaps even more hideously, those who "beat" cancer can be made to feel as though they did so because they were morally superior to those who did not. The sad fact is that all of them -- winners, losers, melanoma, pancreatic -- were stricken with a wholly impersonal disease.

None of which is to say no one should try to beat cancer, of course. Kick that cancer's pussy ass, I say. Just let's be clear that it's molecule on molecule here, not (un)worthy man or woman on personified Disease Creature. So there'll be no need to fight like a girl, or save the sentimentalized (or loathsome, depending on gender) ta-ta's, when we can just use our universally beloved brains to create scientific ways to destroy those motherfucking cancer cells! I know, I know, "Use our universally beloved brains to create scientific ways to destroy those motherfucking cancer cells!" isn't quite as punchy as "Beat cancer!" But I would contend that it is more accurate, not to mention more fair to all concerned.

All of which is to say, man, am I ever glad I've got an incurable disease! Compared to that mess of thoughts and feelings, Parkinson's is almost ridiculously easy: you're told you have an incurable disease, so what on God's green earth is keeping you from lying back, rolling up the most prodigious spliff of the finest ganja you can procure, lighting that sucker up, and lazily drawling, "Fuck YOU, Rah, Rah, Rah, Go Team Beat Parkinson's, who asked you?!" Nothing. Nada. Zip, zero, zilch. You ain't gonna beat Parkinson's, so nobody's going to blame you when you lose!

But here's the curious thing: I have discovered that if I accept my Parkinson's Disease as a fact of life -- as, say, a conspiracy of molecules as opposed to opportunity for moral judgement -- then I can work hard to lessen its effects, if not stop its progression. For me that equals exercise, diet, and attitude. (#threewalksadaywhetheryouneedthemornot, anybody?) It's not a cure, obviously, but it beats the pot-addled alternative, at least for now. If I keep this up, the next thing you know, there I'll be on the sidelines with my Go Team Beat Parkinson's buddies, and we'll all be chanting "Use our universally beloved brains to create scientific ways to destroy those motherfucking Parkinson's cells!"