surviving 2 thriving

The slogan for M.D. Anderson, the mega cancer research and treatment complex in Houston where Jane is now receiving her cancer care, is “Making Cancer History.” It is such a great line that I wish I had written it. I happen to like good lines with double meanings and this is one of the best I’ve seen.

M.D. Anderson is making cancer history daily in so many ways that it would be impossible to be aware of all of them. I’m pretty sure they are making cancer history with their research, the number of patients treated, the size of staff, and more.

The complex is so big that it feels almost like an international airport when you first arrive. Thousands of people from all over the world are congregated there on any given day, and they have one thing in common: they are carrying the weight of cancer. You can see it on their faces everywhere—the coffee lines, the food lines, the pharmacy lines, the physician waiting areas, the surgery waiting areas, the hallways—every place on every floor. I would describe the look as a strange blend of concern, cautious optimism, and restrained hope.

One day Jane and I were sitting in the waiting room of one of her surgeons. I watched a young woman sitting by herself. Waiting. Like everyone else, she had the look. I wondered about what she might be thinking and feeling. She reminded me of that first day I met Jane, and I wondered if she was facing this thing alone. I think she probably is. No one should have to carry the cancer weight alone. It’s heavy enough with help.

During our most recent stay at M.D. Anderson, I watched the very large surgery waiting area, down the hall from Jane’s room, fill up every day with families and well-wishers. Everyone waiting and wondering how all this is going to turn out. I repeatedly had this overwhelming sense that I wanted to make it go away for them. I wonder if the doctors and nurses there get that feeling once in awhile.

I found myself thinking about the other meaning of M.D. Anderson’s line. What if somehow M.D. Anderson (or anyone else) made cancer history by making it cease to exist? I thought about how that huge complex and all the people working there would suddenly have no purpose. We made cancer history, now what do we do?

It would be a miracle on such a grand scale, that as far as I’m concerned they could turn the whole complex into a huge place of worship. More practically, I suppose, they could move on to any number of other diseases and make them history as well.

In fact, what if we made divorce history? You say, “That’s impossible!” Well, they haven’t found a cure for cancer either, but it doesn’t stop M.D. Anderson from saying they are all about “making cancer history.”

What if we could make abuse history? Or, make addiction history? What if I could change this blog project to just “Thriving” and forget the surviving part? For that matter, what if we could make all sorrow, pain, and tears history? What about if we could make death itself history?

I’m getting carried away here, to be sure. If we could do all that, we wouldn’t need places like M.D. Anderson anymore. We’d be in heaven.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.[i]