At times I think I gave myself cancer. Really. I used to pray for God to strike me dead a lot. I was too scared for suicide. I don’t like razors or seeing my own blood. Terrified of needles and the water. Wouldn’t want to botch a hang job or ‘bad accident’ putting myself in a wheelchair to be placed in permanent care at some creepy facility creating an even worse fate than death (Care facilities and their management are another entirely scary and morbid subject). I think my disease is not cancer but depression and poor self image.

But if I did indeed give myself cancer (which I believe more than the following) then maybe I cured myself, too. My past project TRANS, http://www.tc.umn.edu/~jeffr035/, is a series of ways of attempting to heal my body using art/art therapy. Since my treatment I have felt better physically than I ever have in real time. I suppose all this has been a true test of how much faith I have in myself, or at least positive faith.

I can’t remember much how I felt being diagnosed, except being pleasantly relieved to see the nurse walk in post-diagnosis with a birthday cake. It tasted good. A chocolate cake with vanilla icing, from a microwave box, I believe. What I do remember most about the entire experience was the previous morning during a biosy to determine if I had a hernia or what. It was when a strangely surprised and grim sounding “hmmmmmm” came from my surgeons mouth as he cut a small slit above my right hip (I had to be awake the entire procedure). Apparently I was bursting from the seams with swollen lymph nodes all throughout my lower abdomen, like I was smuggling grapes in my intestines. After the surgery, he shook my hand and said “Good luck” with a worried look. I should have skipped my doctors appointment the next day and gotten completely snookered at some bar rather than sit for 30 minutes in a stale room only to be told that I had cancer and it was pretty bad. Oh, and eat cake.
Since then I have received one type of medicine only and with minimal side effects so I can carry on as if everything is normal. And I think that’s where the problem lies. I feel guilt about my success and think my projects deal more with creating avenues for others to try, hopefully striking a chord and doing something good with my life. I don’t think I can fully believe in the usefulness of my project until I have other patients involved, getting their feedback thereby proving to myself that I have control over my mental health and physical well being. So if anything, I would say cancer makes you selfish.