Battle?

I've often heard people refer to someone who has died from cancer with such statements as, " So-and-so lost their however-many-year battle with cancer..."

"Battle"? Like in a war? I guess I get that. I do feel like I'm in a fight for my life, but battle doesn't seem like the right kind of fight. A battle is planned, strategized, had some motive to even begin. I even associate a sense of honor or pride with battle. And though now, with my team of doctors, there is a degree of planning and strategizing that does liken it more to a battle, there is no pride, no honor.

A battle, for me, conjures images of idealistic young soldiers of a bygone era, neatly dressed in their uniforms, dying for liberty. Or fearless Samurai, in full armour, skilfully and fiercely fighting and dying dutifully, with integrity. It's a little hard for me to compare these romanticized ideas of warfare to a disgustingly devastating biological anomaly like cancer.

If I had to pick a better analogous "fight" to describe cancer I would compare it to domestic violence. Now having never experienced domestic abuse, I don't truly know if my analogy is even accurate or appropriate. But then again, I have never been to battle either, and people throw that word around like confetti.

I was attacked. Not by an enemy with a motive or vendetta. Not by a stranger out on the street, in a bad neighborhood. But at home, by someone I trusted, someone I took care of even, loved, felt safe with, my own body.

There are a few people that may learn how they got cancer. Or there are others who fit the mold of someone predisposed to get cancer. And in those cases they can blame lifestyle, or exposure to carcinogens, or genetics. I fit none of those categories. I've tried. Doctors won't buy it. There is no one, right now, that can explain, or even has a good idea, why a 27 year old, leading a healthy active lifestyle, with no prolonged exposure to dangerous carcinogens, or genetic predisposition wakes up one day to find she has stage IV cancer.

My body attacked me. It's the one place I couldn't escape; my body, my home. That is why I liken it to domestic violence. Because no matter what you do to distance yourself from a dangerous relationship, you're still connected to that person in someway. They were your partner, your confidant, maybe they're even the father of your children, and now you fear them. You try to remove yourself from the dangerous situation, get protection, file a restraining order... find doctors you trust, have surgery, start treatment.

You try to start to rebuild your life, but always knowing he's out there, possibly stalking, planning, you never feel quite safe. You wonder what he might have been doing while you were trying to fix yourself... going in for a scan, or a blood test, waiting for the results to see if cancer has been abiding by it's restraining order, or if it's been one step behind you the whole time.

And maybe, you have a case where he goes to prison/remission, and you feel a little safer knowing he's not roaming the streets. But maybe that's not your case. And he's still out there. And he is planning something. And then one day that mother fucker is waiting for you when you get home, and he beats you to death.

They don't call that losing a battle... that's called fucking murder.