Media Metastases, and When It's Not "Happily Ever After"

I'm sure they were there all along, but haven't we all had the experience of something that is invisible until it's salient, and then it's everywhere.  All of the sudden, there are movies about cancer (comedies, even!) and TV shows about cancer, and TV shows not about cancer with very special episodes about cancer.  All come complete with extensive ad campaigns and promotional appearances.

There are commercials for cancer treatment centers and cancer drugs.  There are heartwarming stories about people who have recovered from cancer and moved on to do remarkable things.  There are testimonials from people who are doing wonderful things in the name of someone who has or had cancer.

The NFL goes "pink" to raise breast cancer awareness (see below).

When you tell someone you're dealing with cancer in the family, nearly everyone has a story in return of their or a loved one's battle.

Were they all there before?

This past week has brought two stark reminders, however, that the disease is far more than a plot device.  It's real and not all its stories end "happily ever after."

The first, of course, is Steve Jobs.  Many, many words have been written about his passing; I needn't add to those except to say that when Leslie was headed to surgery, I bought her an iPad (identical to the one on which I'm typing this post).  Surely, Jobs had the iPad in mind long before he became ill, but he certainly helped design a device ideal for someone bed bound and with minimal energy.

Far more in my mind (though not on the cover of Time) is the death on Saturday of Paula Ford, from breast cancer.  I met Paula on the Internet, a fellow member of my online running group.

I probably didn't see her in person more than a half-dozen times - the Madison Marathon, Dances with Dirt (where she ran with the wonderfully-named team "Does My Butt Look Big From Way Back There?"), a long bike ride to celebrate another friend's 40th birthday, and a few other races (including the Chicago Marathon, which took place this year just 12 hours after her passing).

In our virtual world, though, Paula was a star.  She was brilliant - a soil (not "dirt," if you please) ecology expert with a focus on sustainable nutrition.  She could sling snark or bad jokes with the best.  She was a "Jiminy Cricket" to me on the topic of food marketing and obesity, sending me research studies and her analysis, bemoaning kids' increasingly unhealthy diets.  She was fearless -- a proud and outspoken liberal living in red America (Kansas, then Texas).

I don't usually like to use "fight" or "battle" to describe cancer treatment; it suggests that those who don't make it didn't fight hard enough.  Without question, Paula fought.  She railed against mindless "pinking" that made cancer a fashion statement (see above).  Even when her treatment options were exhausted, she spent time in her academic office, ensuring that her research programs and graduate students could go on without her.  When her systems shut down, her body went on for almost a week on sheer will (as a mutual friend put it, she was never one to leave a party early).

Paula's death would have saddened me at any time; right now, it's far too close to home.  As Leslie is fond of saying (as am I, as are all of Paula's friends, as are Apple fans, as are...), cancer sucks.  Pardon me I don't rush to the theater to laugh about it.