Cancer and the Munchkins

Rich C. Rubin

"What do you want from me, God" I didn't ask for it, nor do I want it. I never asked, "Why me?" when the doctor finally announced that I had Cancer. I just sat there with my hands in my lap and took it all in, not really hearing his voice, but looking at his white coat and seeing how white, a lab coat can be with florescent lights on it. The tiny sterol room became even smaller as the words left his mouth and no words entered my ears. The glum faces of my wife and the nurse said it all. The doctors dissertation on what I had never touched me inside, except the fact that I would die if I didn't have my esophagus cut out and replaced with my stomach. I do believe that's the only words I herd that day, in that tiny little white sterol cold office.

Nothing can prepare you, in advance, for the final discretion of a doctor telling you grave news, of your body being eaten up by little dwarfed animals. Cells that decided to go a muck and start destroying what took decades to build. How dare these munchkins start devouring your temple. Who gave them the right just to barge in through my front door and be the uninvited relatives that one expects at a warm sunny family barbecue. You know the ones, two hundred and sixty pound cousin Pete and his wife Gerty, plus their little brood of munchkins that eat everything in sight. They don't leave the BBQ dinner until everything has passed through their lips and over their gums, look out stomach, everything is gone. Then they have the nerve to ask for "Doggy Bags", for their Three hundred mile trip back home. God forbid that they should starve to death on their return bus trip. Then they go home and breed like rabbits and come back to your next outdoor BBQ party and they have a dozen more munchkins in their herd.That's how I believe cancer cells act. Defiant of everyone's wishes. Uninvited pests that don't care about anyone else.

Driving home from the doctor's was non existent. Words were being spoken from my wife, but I just couldn't hear them. Her mouth was opening and shutting, but I just couldn't understand any of the words. I am sure she was giving me a pep talk, as she normally does when I have something go wrong and I am sure she was giving me sound advice since she knows more about Cancer than anyone I am close to. It's just that the drive home didn't happen. I remember opening the garage door, no I don't even remember that. I think the first thing I do remember was calling my mum and explaining what had just taken place at the doctors office. She, as usual, seemed compassionate, but very calm. She had asked all the right questions that one would ask in this situation, like what could be done, besides surgery, how long will it take till I can have the surgery, etc. It was the first time since my bought with the Sleeping Sickness, in North Africa, that I had wanted to really see my mum, close and private. Just to hear her voice, because I really didn't think I was going to live through this one. I had already spent 5-6 of my cat lives up and didn't have many to go till I saw the big guy. There were only two people that I cared for then, my wife and mother. Now, no one else, or anything seems to really matters now.

It's been ten months since the operation and life goes on. Not the same, but it does go on, for at least right now. We all will die, sometime in our lives, but I believe we do try to put it off as long as we can. To all the cancer victims, their families and friends, I take my hat off to all of you. It is just as hard on the ones we know and love as it is for us. God bless you all.