Two times I felt rage, warranted or unwarranted, in the last few days:
- Reading an article in the Herald about a patient with the same tumour as Dad, who has survived 20 years and claims it was his unorthodox self-prescribed medication routine that 'cured' his cancer. I wanted to scream; whether or not it was the acne medication that helped that guy and whether or not Dad starts insomnia pills as a supplement, we still have no fucking idea whether it will work. It doesn't give me hope, not at all.
- Quotes pasted by relations on Facebook from a recently deceased public figure implying that if she'd better taken care of herself, rather than looking out for others all the time, she would not have been diagnosed with cancer or may have picked it up earlier. Hey, it's always possible that her diagnosis was late because of her schedule assisting others. But if you'd like to make yourself feel better about being a little selfish from time to time, you do not need the words of a dead woman lashing herself for missing her disease while helping others to make you feel better. And do you genuinely believe that cancer differentiates on some kind of moral basis? You might, but I certainly don't.