Once it spreads to other parts of the body beyond the skin, it is difficult to treat.
Without even knowing his complete diagnosis yet, I can't get the "once it spreads -- it's difficult to treat" out of my head.
My father has melanoma, a very serious kind of cancer, and it's metastasized into his lymphatic system. How far beyond that we don't know yet. But he's mad as hell and he's beat the devil more than once (so's my mom for that matter).
Metastasis means "displacement" in Greek and that's how he feels, to be moved out of the proper place. When you're sick, there's a palatable disconnect from the rhythm of everyday life.
About 160,000 people are diagnosed each year with melanoma, more frequently in women than men.
How many of those become displaced from family, friends, co-workers and communities? Conversely as well?
Beyond displacement, nearly 50,000 people tragically die from melanoma every year, leaving hole-ridden hearts behind.
Sure it's all in the caring now, but this morning as Oakland and the rest of the world burns, I'm displaced and mad as hell.
All I want to do is dig a shallow grave in the backyard for all the world ills and my father's cancer and bury them.