"Consider that thou dost not even understand whether men are doing wrong or not, for many things are done with a certain reference to circumstance. And, in short, a man must learn a great deal to enable him to pass a correct judgment on another man's acts. ~ Marcus Aurelius
Warning: If profanity offends you, stop now.
Want to know what offends me? Continuing conversations with my co-workers about Elizabeth Edwards. Not only does it offend me, it enrages me. The owner of my company just called me to advise me again that he doesn't believe Elizabeth Edwards should be out campaigning for her husband.
I muzzled my rage and told him, in a reasonable tone of voice, that I've given her circumstances a great deal of thought. I don't judge other people trying to endure cancer, especially when it's clear that ultimately they will not survive. Even if it seems like they will survive, no one and I mean no one, has the right to make those judgments. Especially when you have not experienced the disease yourself. I don't mean just reading about it or watching documentaries about it or even knowing someone who has it. When you have walked the walk, then and only then, do you have the smallest scintilla of right to criticize others who are just trying to get through the fucking day. How ever they can.
"Well, I just think it's a matter of priorities. They have children, you know." he said.
No. Really? They have children? What would you have her do, sit around her house all day, waiting to die while her children crumble? You don't know. Maybe you would do it differently, but here again, you don't have fucking cancer. So shut up.
What would I do if I knew with certainty that death by cancer was going to severely limit my time with my children? I have no idea. I know I used to have a lot of ideas about how to get through the struggle, even shortly after my diagnosis. You don't know until you get there. I don't know what I would do. How can so many people in my office be so deluded as to think they know? Well, aside from being judgmental assholes, of course.
If you don't like John Edwards, I don't give a fuck. Campaign against him. Vote against him. I don't have a horse in this race. Don't call me up to argue with me about his "arrogant campaign tactics." Allow me to repeat myself: I don't give a happy goddamn about John Edwards. He doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning the nomination, in my opinion. People do not contribute to political campaigns out of pity, in my opinion. (This is politics--anyone can have an opinion as to the mechanics and outcomes of political campaigns.) Who the hell are those people? Find some for me, provide me with some reputable sources of information on that score and I might be willing to change my mind. That really isn't the point. Judging someone who's dying of breast cancer, who's going to endure an enormous amount of pain (including the certainty that your children, young and adult, will have to live their lives without their mother--that's the point.
Furthermore, could you just stop talking to me about this? I'm emotionally ravaged by two years of doing whatever I had to do to get through it, sometimes sixty seconds at a time, because that's all I could manage. I have this weird thing going on under my arm. Everyone here knows that and, even though I don't wander around with a worried look on my face, cut me some fucking slack, could you? I expend an enormous amount of energy every day trying to keep my own internal debate at bay. "Oh of course it's fine. Silly me," alternating with, "Fuck! This is how it happened the first time. Why is there pain and swelling? Why is there that hard mass?" I do not have the extra energy to stuff all of that back down just because my co-workers think it's their right and duty to express their ignorant opinions. To me. If you'd like to talk about it, if you think you must, talk to someone else.
I've asked that people not talk to me about it. I've asked politely and patiently. I've told them it makes me anxious. I've walked away when they ignore me. I sincerely hope that no one here (or anywhere) has to find out what it feels like to actually experience this disease. In these circumstances, I say that with a certain amount of bitterness. When and if my esteemed co-workers wake up to their own cancer diagnosis, they can come to their own conclusions about the behavior of everyone else with the diagnosis.
Until then, fuck off.
