Cancer Sucks.

At the risk of alienating my most sensitive readers, I've just gotta say it:  Fuck cancer.

If you've been reading, you know I don't throw that word around cheaply.  I don't resort to profanity to shock or offend you.  It's the only way to adequately convey my anger and the profound sense of injustice I've felt while reliving all of this. In fact, if you are so sensitive that the little pixels making up the word “fuck” made your heart skip a beat, I highly suggest that you click on that little “x” in the corner of your screen.

If you are a parent whose child is fighting cancer, I urge you to do so.

I'm not trying to challenge anyone, I'm not daring you to continue on with this post, I'm not trying to get melodramatic.  I'm trying to warn you that I intend to post the most offensive thing that I have seen.

You may recall this photograph from my previous post about Stephen's hair loss: 

January 1995.

And I'm sure you remember this one of Stephen and all of his buddies:

February 1995.

These images, right here, are where most children's cancer charities and awareness groups STOP. When the children are pale, and bald, and obviously ill, but still beautiful little fairy children. They leave you to imagine that the kids who lose their battles fade gently away into the afterlife of your choosing.

The reality is that cancer is ugly. And relentless. And cruel.

THIS is offensive:

June 1995.  And a very good, photogenic day.

Cancer, and it's treatments, didn't stop at taking Stephen's hair. In less than seven months:

It took the vision in his right eye.

It paralyzed his face.

It took the fine motor control from his hands.

It took his ability to sit up unassisted.

It caused the seizures that we sat and watched helplessly.

It filled his lungs with fluid.

It more than doubled his weight, from 48 pounds to 105.

It took his ability to speak coherently.

It put him in a wheelchair, where on the rare occasion that we were able

  to take him out in public, strangers  would assume that he was mentally

  disabled, and would speak to him as such.

It took his immune system, to the point where we were unable to take him

  out at all.

It took his life.

Stephen faced his battle with so much bravery, and so much hope, and so much appreciation for the love from the community that rallied around him.  But he also felt anger at the injustice of his fate, and on just one occasion railed against God.

Stephen and my mother were home, alone, after his radiation therapy had ended.  They had never openly spoken of the possibly of death, despite the homecoming meaning the end of cancer treatment and the beginning of palliative care.

Out of the blue, he asked, “Mom, why does God hate me?”

She was shocked. “Why would you think God hates you?”

“Well, first I get a real nice stereo for Christmas, and God takes my hearing.  Then, I get some cool video games, and God takes my hands so I can't play them.  Then I have this great big TV, and I have to wear a patch over my eye, so it's hard to see....”

He began to cry, which he rarely did.  “Why doesn't he just take my breath and get it over with?”

“God doesn't hate you,” my mother said, holding back tears of her own.  “He is waiting for you, with open arms to welcome you.  He loves you very much.”

Stephen never mentioned God again.

No child should ever have to beg God to let him die.

I've been trying to end all of my posts on an upbeat note.  I can't do it today.

Instead, here's something empowering we can do.  I've been linking this blog on Facebook to the point of annoying, and I'm sure that some people have started to scroll right on by. Or have maybe even chosen to “hide” me. And that's ok. Understandable.  This hasn't been a "fun" blog, and not everyone can handle it.

For that matter, I don't even know what sort of algorithm Facebook uses to decide what posts appear where anymore – all I know is that I haven't seen every update that every friend types.  They've changed the News Feed so that by default you can only see updates from people you have recently interacted with.  So I'm not sure who is even aware that this blog exists.  Short of sending all 275 of my friends a personal message, there is only one way I can think of to get everyone to sit up and take notice.

Today's post would be one hell of an intro to anyone who'd never been here before... so TOMORROW, Tuesday, March 1st, I will post a Buzz For Bubbers update, titled “You Can't Ignore Cancer.”   

Please.  Link that post to your Facebook page.  Request that your friends and family share it as well.  I'd love to open my page on Tuesday, March 1^st, and see that message repeat itself over, and over, and over again, 200+ times down my computer screen.  Alternately; tweet it, text it, email it, feature it on your own blog... just get it out there!

It's so quick.  It's so simple.  And if you want to follow it up seconds later with the typical “I'm eating asparagus,” or “The temperature in Decatur is 47 degrees below zero,” or “My kid just pooped on the floor and it was sooo cute, lol,” go right ahead!  I'm just asking you to put it up there.  Just for a second.

There are less than three weeks left.  We are getting close to the end.  I'd like to thank you all, again, for reading, and for doing so much to help me help these kids! 

To donate to St. Baldrick's in honor of Stephen, click HERE!
See the blog post on "Binary Voting" for details on how to vote for or against my head shave!