Death Comes to Hollywood: Cancer in the Spotlight

After heart disease, cancer is the second leading cause of death worldwide. According to a 2018 article, an estimated 9.4 to 9.7 million died of cancer worldwide in 2017. Lung, colon and breast cancers kill more. Others like uterine, thyroid and testicular cancers kill less. Even if you are one of the lucky ones who’s not been at close quarters with this nasty motherf@&%$, you probably have an aunt or an uncle, or you know someone who's grandma had cancer (and maybe didn't make it). It’s a fairly common disease. No wonder that Hollywood's glitterati are not exempt from falling prey to this voracious hunter.

For example: Hugh Jackman had skin cancer, Ben Stiller, Robert de Niro and Colin Powell had prostate cancer, Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer had throat cancer, Cynthia Nixon, Anastasia, Olivia Newton-John, Christine Applegate, Sheryl Crow, Rita Wilson, Kylie Minogue and Shannen Doherty (and I could literally go on and on and on, hell, even Queen Bey's dad had breast cancer!) all had or have breast cancer. Some of these celebrity cancer patients die. It's less shocking when the dead celebrity is older. John McCain (81 y/o, brain). Gloria Vanderbilt (95 y/o, stomach). Rep. John Lewis (80 y/o, prostate). Aretha Franklin (76 y/o, pancreas). David Bowie (69 y/o, liver). Alan Rickman (69 y/o, pancreas). Our society has a certain tendency to dismiss the old, something that has become uncomfortably obvious during the COVID-19 pandemic. No big deal if the disease killed an elderly person, after all, they were weak and frail, whereas we are young and strong, and invincible. But every now and then, a young warrior will end up in cancer Valhalla, leading to shock, disbelief, and to many cancer patients and survivors - PTSD and more trauma.

On 28 August, Chadwick Boseman's family announced that the Black Panther star, who ignited Black pride worldwide and inspired so many kids who had never seen a superhero that looked like them, had died at forty-three from colon cancer which he had been privately battling for the past four years. The cancer layman was shocked and thought - how? why? but he was so young! The cancer survivor or patient was also shocked but thought - holy mother of god, I'm next. First, we started comparing our cancers - locations, types, staging. Then we compared therapies received and visible side effects sustained (did we lose more hair? was ours more aggressive?). Then we compared anything else that could have been a factor in his untimely demise - age, activity levels, stress, race. In short, the hamsters in our brains spun their wheels until utter exhaustion by trying to compare the incomparable to give ourselves comfort that we're not next on the hitlist. You may think this is a gross overreaction, but what you have to understand is that once you've met the big C, your brain gets rewired. You know that it doesn't care if you're young, strong healthy, funny and volunteer at the shelter. It can strike you and strike you hard at any moment.

I remember reading in 2011 that Steve Jobs had died of pancreatic cancer at fifty-six. So young I thought, he could have done so much more. Well, but he had a really bad cancer, and he still lived a few years after diagnosis, so he was lucky. (Sidebar: I have to LOL at this one right now - frankly, even if I die of breast cancer thirty years post diagnosis, I'll be pissed as fuck!) Fast forward almost decade. Earlier this summer, I was vacationing in France's version of California. One day, I was indulging in my usual, shameful morning habit - checking the Daily Mail for celebrity gossip and photos (I know, I know, I went to Harvard and am a liberal, the irony is not lost on me). Splattered all across the cover page were pictures of the Travolta family with the words "TRAVOLTA WIFE DEAD AT 54 FROM BREAST CANCER".

Every time a celebrity (or anyone) dies of breast cancer, I feel like someone has walked over my grave. Kelly Preston's death lingered heavily on my shoulders for weeks. She was only 54. She was rich, she would have received the best treatment. Fine, she's a Scientologist, but apart from mainstream psychology, they don't eschew modern medicine. So, what happened? Did she find it too late? Did she wait too long to seek treatment? Did she do chemo? Did she do enough chemo? Did she refuse a mastectomy? Did she prioritize societal views on femininity over her life? What type of breast cancer did she have? Was it genetic? After having had zero interest in the woman for my entire adult life, I found myself compulsively googling her, looking at her last public outings, trying to figure out if she had a wig on, if she still had both breasts. My logic: maybe if she didn't lose her hair to chemo, she didn't have chemo or not enough of it, and that's why the cancer spread, maybe she didn't have a mastectomy and that's why she died, but I lost all my hair and I had the worst chemo, and I cut my boob off like it was nothing, therefore my treatment cured me and I won't have a recurrence and I am not going to die (you can see how this all snowballs real fast).

The truth is that no one apart from their medical team and immediate family, no one likely knows the full details of any given cancer patient’s diagnosis and treatment. Cancers are vastly different, even within the same location category. For instance, depending on the classification, there are around ten types of breast cancers that are then divided into subtypes, grades, and stages. Treatment and outcomes depend on what type and subtype of cancer you have, how it's graded and what stage it's at. So, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to compare yourself to Kelly Preston or Chadwick Boseman or whomever, because you do not know, you cannot know how similar their cases were to yours. Yet, that is exactly what we do. We ask ourselves - why me? why not me? Why am I not dead? Is it just because I'm not dead YET?

On 30 July, two years to the day that I had my last chemo session, I headed to the hospital for an MRI guided biopsy to check out a suspicious mass that had showed up in my remaining breast. I thank all the gods, the Old Gods and the New, that I got my results a couple of days before Boseman's death became public. "BLACK PANTHER STAR DEAD AT 43 FROM CANCER" is kind of the last thing you want to see when waiting for your biopsy results (thanks again, Daily Mail!). It's not easy reading about someone dying of the same illness you have, especially when it's all over the news. Inadvertently, you feel like it's a dress rehearsal for you, only yours will (at best) make it to your company's website or a friend’s Instagram story. The public picks apart the person, they revel in the gory details, the tragedy, the humanity, while you focus on the particulars of an illness you have no real information about.

Much has been said about Boseman's decision not to go public with his diagnosis and the fact that he filmed Back Panther and many other movies while undergoing treatment. Let me say this: the man was an absolute warrior for taking on such hard work while in treatment. Boseman should be celebrated for the strength that he showed while so vulnerable, not for the fact that he did not "burden others" with his diagnosis. Treatment for colon cancer is incredibly taxing. Most of us who've gone through chemo know the horrible gastrointestinal side effects it has - you either shit too much or can't shit enough, your stomach spits out fire, some days you eat like a horse only to want to puke out your insides the next. Either way you are in horrid pain. Now add to that multiple surgical interventions and likely radiation that causes internal scarring in a vital organ that has to work all day every day. The man had gumption. You know why he kept it private? Because he did not want his career to end, because he did not want to be seen as a tragic figure. Because he did not want people to wait for him to die. It's hard to carry your diagnosis on your sleeve. Some of us don't have a choice. We are bald and bloated, and browless. Our joints ache and we can't show up at work every day. Others have treatments that destroy them on the inside but keep their outsides intact. Whatever happens to us, we each have the right to handle it the way we want to handle it. I was very public about my cancer and it wasn't always easy. I could have done without some of the "OMG, my mom's friend just died of exactly what you have" stories, or the awkward silences and tearful stares. But that's what worked for me. Everyone should do whatever works for them.

In a 2018 Daily Show interview with Trevor Noah, Boseman said:

“Everybody is the hero in their own story. You should be the hero in your own story. You should be. You should see yourself conquering the dramatic action of whatever you’re trying to do, so when you get to the crisis, you know how to deal with it. You should be able to do that.”

For my fellow cancer survivors and patients: whoever just died of the same thing you have, whatever the statistics, however good or bad they are, you, YOU are the hero of your own story, not that friend of a friend who didn't make it, not that celebrity who died very publicly. It's YOU. And you have one job - stay above the mortality line. Yes, it's scary, believe me, I know, but Batman didn't know he would beat the Joker, Harry Potter did not know he would beat Voldemort, and frankly, the odds were definitely not on their side. Maybe Tom, Dick, and Kelly and Chadwick died of cancer. That does not mean you will. Maybe you will lose your battle. That's a distinct possibility. But maybe you'll win and die of a heart attack like normal people. Point is, your story has nothing to do with anyone else's. You have to be your own Wonder Woman, your own Black Panther, your own Superman. You have to fight like your favorite hero - to win, not knowing whether you will. Because that's the only way you can move forward without constantly looking over your shoulder in fear.

For everyone else: if Boseman's death has shown you anything, let it be that cancer doesn't give a fuck about whether you're young, rich, famous or a hero to a global community. It just doesn't. Part of why Boseman got colon cancer may be genetics (it's more common in Black people), part of it may be lifestyle, and part of it is certainly bad luck. Learn your family history, see what your own personal risks are and know your own damn body. Instead of seeing your body as a temple, think of it as a crowded train station - if you see something, say something. For most cancers, the odds of survival skyrocket with early detection. So, don't ignore that blood in your poop or that weird mole. Feel up your boobs and squeeze your testicles so the odds may be ever in your favor.

Rest in Power, CB.

And fuck you, 2020.