I find the World War II years a very interesting era. Brave men and women, a valiant cause, sacrifice for the greater good. I know there were also dark parts of our involvement in that war (internment camps come to mind), but the cause itself, the brave march of average citizens come together to defeat Hitler and fascism and save a continent suffering in its grasp makes worthy tale along the lines of redemption stories, fairy tales, and every hero's journey ever told.
The first time I had cancer (how's that for an introductory clause?), my daughter and I spent a lot of time watching movies. I was recovering from surgery, then getting through chemo, so when my husband was at work (he took a lot of time off, but when I was ok to be home without his help) and my daughter was on summer vacation, she was free from homework and I was tired, so together we spent a lot of time exploring what Netflix had ready to entertain us.
We worked our way through a lot of Bollywood ("I Hate Luv Stories" was an early favorite) and then started in on World War II movies (including one with Tyrone Power, the "oh so handsome" actor my grandpa used to tease my grandma about). We weren't so much watching soldier films, but more the "keep strong" inspirational ones that dealt with individuals and families left to hold down the fort, usually with brave self sacrifice, inspiring perseverance, and occasionally a little tragedy to bravely muddle through.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about all the war and battle language that get tied in with cancer.
It feels strange to think of myself as "warrior" partly because I'm not really the one coming up with the plans here. Which, believe me, is a good thing. As a patient, I can and do give consent, of course, and I ask questions and don't hesitate to bring up for discussion things I'm curious or concerned about, but I think we can all agree that I'm better off talking to (and listening to) my oncologist than I am winging it on my own. If she and I truly have equal knowledge, experience, and understanding when it comes to cancer, then I really need to find a new oncologist. Fast.
But I'm still thinking about it and trying to come up with something that comes closer to the experience, and to me, and in keeping with the war analogy, I think having cancer is really a lot more like being the ones left holding down the home front in times of war.
As I'm sure you already know, I don't actually have first hand experience with what it was really like to be home while a World War was going on. Suffice to say, my image is probably a lot less about the real home front experience, and more about what movie makers and propaganda machines wanted to inspire with. But, since that's the sort of thing most of us alive today know about those years anyway, I guess that works out just as well in this instance.
The way I see it, with both, in a lot of ways you look around you and things are the same: same home, same routines, some or, if you're lucky, all of the same people you love; but it's not really the same at all.
You're aware that battles are raging somewhere, and you know the battles are probably of great strategic importance, but you don't know all about them and can't really see how they're going or which side is coming out ahead until later when you get some reports of the damage or lack thereof.
The usual routines are suddenly changed and you just have to deal with it, and you have no idea when or if things will ever return to the old "normal." In wartime, maybe you have to go on without some people you count on, and make do with rationing and shortages, maybe hold down another job to make ends meet or fill in for a smaller workforce. With cancer, or illness in general really, your routines and often your ability to do them are suddenly different, you're finding your way around a new reality, while simultaneously added appointments, treatments, and side effects take more time and attention.
You don't really see it much in the movies, but I wonder about how it was for people who lived through "The Great War" to see it all happening again just a single generation later. The first one was supposed to be "The war to end all wars," but obviously it didn't really turn out that way. I don't know that I need to elaborate too much on how that relates to what's going on with cancer like mine right now.
With war and, unfortunately, with cancer, too, you're hoping for the best and wishing for things to go well, but you also know that there's always a risk of that not happening. And that risk is fundamentally out of your own hands and clearly not something you have that much control over. You can do your part (buy War Bonds, donate tires, conserve gasoline; take your medications, have your treatments, and do all manner of good for you things) but your ability to have much impact on the outcomes is, in reality, severely limited.
But, in both cases, these battles and this war can be extremely important both now and in the future. I'm sure war rations were irritating, but not as bad as an undefeated Hitler. Obviously, defeating Hitler was actually much more urgent and important than pushing a single cancer into "No Evidence of Disease." No contest, really. But, since it isn't really an either/or situation, I'm just going to acknowledge that fact and let the statement stand.
In both cases, if you're lucky, there is so much support and caring, from family and friends and others going through this thing with you. You may not share the same challenges, but it helps to know others are hoping and praying and pulling for you, are there to commiserate when things are hard and celebrate small and large victories. I see that particular attitude as one of the greater things of that "Greatest Generation," the overall impression that everyone was in this together and everyone had a role to fulfill. With cancer, it's probably fair to say there are more people who want to help then there are actual things to do to help, but the love, prayers, and support are both uplifting and humbling. In a good way.
I know with this cancer there will be no single D-day, and unless science catches up in a surprising way, there aren't likely to be any "War Ends" announcements. I'm hoping for a long period of remission, but no one would say, "you're cured," at least not with what we know today, so there will be no personal versions of ticker-tape parades and dancing in the streets (Well, at least not for that reason. I'd still be ok with a ticker-tape parade and I'm pro-dancing-in-the-streets for small reasons as well as large).
But I guess at Christmas of 1943, no one who heard Bing's dulcet tones knew if they'd ever be home for Christmas again, either. And still Bing sang and people listened and hoped and wished and prayed. And life went on. Just as it does today.
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