And that's kind of sad, really.
I've been thinking that the first world had an odd relationship with cancer as a whole. It's one of the few things that consistently reminds of our temporary status here, of how easily we can be unseated from this self-deluded seat of power atop the world. And that shit really sticks in our craw. We've conquered almost every other major disease, sometimes to the embarrassing point of making it do our dirty work, like using modified versions of HIV to inject our own custom code into cells. Cancer, however, remains the stubborn exception.
The American relationship with Cancer actually feels somewhat arrogant to me now, I guess. Of course Cancer was the first thing I jumped to when I felt the lump in my neck, what else could it be? What else could kill an affluent white male of the first world?
If nothing else, it's a reminder of what's been left undone for me over the past two years: A teetering mountain of possibility, rotting as the seconds pass, their magic evaporating in the unrelenting afternoon sun.