Though life may at times be a fantasy, cancer isn’t really like the movies.
Most often I think of “The Bucket List.” Not at all because I am going to die and not at all because I wish Jack Nicholson would take me around and do cool things (well, actually I wish Jersey Boy Jack would take me around and do cool things – chuh, that ain’t gonna happen).
But I harken back to the scenes of post-chemo for Jack and Morgan (and films of that ilk). Don’t get me wrong, there are those whose post-infusion days have been dramatically worse and others who have skated through relatively unscathed.
But that’s my point. In the movies it’s almost always driving the bus or praying at the porcelain throne. When in fact the side effects of chemo are vastly different for each individual – as varied as the myriad mixtures of medicines used to address the equally varied strains of cancer that are out there (why do they call it a cocktail, anyway?).
Reality is not “Terms of Endearment,” “The Fault in Our Stars,” or “Stepmom” (ok, I’ve seen “Stepmom” way too many times), but every cancer movie tries to help capture just one person’s perspective on tackling the disease. My movie hasn’t been written yet, and with my estrogen-filled pedigree, the chance of a rom-com is dangerously high. But if it were to happen, it would be yet one more attempt to capture the impossible – asseverate another person’s journey. I guess you’re just stuck with my blog . . . that is until Gabe Kaplan (with his best&red Mr. Kotter hair) is ready for his close-up.
Thanks - Jess
