No matter what it is, you have the right to be downright afraid. Friends and relatives allow, nay expect, you to take pause and mourn the loss of your life as you know it.
But taking that moment is only expected, and in some instances tolerated, if you’ve been lucky enough to contract a civilised disease – one with widespread public knowledge and understanding.
More importantly, you’ll hardly receive great dollops of understating if you are too embarrassed to tell people what’s happening and merely appear to be feeling sorry for yourself.
Cancer is one of those diseases that is openly, and often, spoken about, and generally everyone knows (a little) something about the disease. Unfortunately almost everyone reading this will know at least one person who has or had the disease, someone who battled and lived to tell the tale or was beaten by the Big C.
It’s an accepted disease and nothing to feel ashamed about, because generally it’s not something you “brought on yourself” like the broken leg you suffered when you jumped off the roof with your superman cape at the age of 10.
However, it’s really only true that people will empathize and support you if you have the right type of cancer.
This may sound a little flip so let me explain what the right cancer is. It’s one we all know about; it’s one of the ones commonly spoken about – stomach, breast or perhaps lymph cancer. It’s one we regularly talk about and read about and it’s not one that affects your (most) privates.
This month is Movember and it’s a month I believe we really all should be getting behind in one way or another. Movember aims to educate all of us about testicular and prostate cancer – two fairly common, but seldom spoken about cancers that, like breast cancer can strike anyone down at any time.
As someone who has never, and will never, experience either of these I cannot speak authorotively on the subject, but what I can comment on is the fact that like all cancer these cancers take away so much more than simply your health.
This is especially true when it comes knocking at a young man’s door. It affects men who may not be comfortable talking about their privates, or who may feel emasculated by the disease and the idea of talking about problems in his nether regions.
Testicular cancer is said to most often strike men between 18 and 40 and so it was with a friend. Shortly before his exams in the June of Standard 9 (Grade 11) Peter*, a healthy and very active 17-year-old with dreams of becoming a paramedic woke up one morning to find one very large ball. He had had no pain, no discomfort and no warning but on this morning his testicles where different sizes.
Only hours later he was referred to a specialist by a very grim GP who feared that Peter had testicular cancer. Treatment was swift and effective and soon (enough) he was declared clear of cancer and healthy. Today, 20 years later, and with regular check-ups under his belt, Peter is still in remission and leading a healthy and relatively happy life.
What testicular cancer took from Peter was far greater than his hair – which he still keeps shaven. It had a more devastating effect than the operation which robbed him of one testicle and left in its place a “falsey” and it was certainly worse than the chance that he may never father children.
What cancer took from him was his greatest dream.
For years he had dreamed of the day he would finish school and be trained as a paramedic, always at the ready to rush to a scene and administer a lifesaving service. However, after surgery and chemo, Peter was unable to pass the rigorous physical component of the application process and was thus denied his dream. While he isn’t the type to let life get him down, he found another professional at which he is extremely good and leads a satisfying life. It’s a life he enjoys but not the one he envisaged for himself.
In an unusually serious moment very late one night, Peter stopped himself mid-joke and declared “I always wonder if things would have turned out differently if I’d known more about the disease and that it strikes so young, whether I would have been more aware of these things before it got so large?”
While the answer will always be elusive, even in that moment I realised the importance of what he was saying – he simply had never been warned about the disease, its symptoms or its preferred host. While knowledge may not have helped in his case I wondered why we, as women, receive so many warnings about breast cancer from the onset of puberty, and yet boys (at least when Peter was at school) receive so littleinformation about the male diseases they should be watching out for.
We’ve come a long way since 1991 and what was discussed at schools 22 years ago, so I’m hoping that the amount of information offered to the 2013 pubescent boy far exceeds that offered to Peter and his friends. I’m also hoping that they, like girls, are being encouraged to self-monitor and to report abnormalities before things go to far.
Movember is a month of awareness for men, and the women who love them, about sensitive but important matters.
It’s also a time to grow a silly, bushy or shapely mustache for a good cause, and get away with it even if you look a little leery doing so.
It’s the perfect opportunity for the man who has everything, but always wanted a tashe, to grow one since there’s simply nothing any civic-minded girlfriend, wife or boyfriend can say or do because at the end of the day, you’re doing it for the greater good – not for yourself at all.
It’s time to register your tash on www.za.movember.com and get behind this important initiative to raise awareness and preserve male health.
To every Springs lip that’s acquiring a tash, the Addie salutes you – but we’ll be hoping for smooth lips come December 1.
Send us photos of your growing tash and let’s see who can acquire the most impressive one during this important month.
* Not his real name.
