“if you are reading this, i am dead.” this was the first line of a post that i came across on linkedin this week. it was the account of a woman who had had
cholangiocarcinoma, also known as bile duct cancer. a rare cancer, cholangiocarcinoma has a poor prognosis because symptoms often don’t appear until it has already spread to other parts of the body. there is also no known cause, although
according to mayo clinic, possible risk factors include chronic liver disease, a liver parasite, age, smoking, diabetes and inherited conditions, such as cystic fibrosis.
in other words, it’s not much more than really crappy luck that puts you at risk for developing this killer disease — so basically, everyone is in danger. and yet, in her note, published by someone else, after she heartbreakingly describes her life as being filled with joy and love and purpose — a life that she “loved” (the caps were hers) with a “beloved fur baby” and paul (not his real name), who was clearly her everything and who she wished would, “live a good life, because he deserved it” — she felt the need to add that her disease was not her fault.
i wondered who it was that put that thought in her head — they deserve a punch in the nose. i know nothing about her, but the comment reminded me of all the silly — no, stupid — things that people have thoughtlessly said to me and others living with an illness. like the misguided “friend” who, after hearing about my leukemia diagnosis, commented that the plastic containers i used to store food were carcinogenic, and the father-in-law of a neighbour with lung cancer who asked if he smoked, and the colleague whose fitness-trainer sister connected his skin cancer to not wearing sunblock. blame and the resulting guilt and regret can stick to you — even as you face death, apparently.