Tragedy from Another Angle

Another week, another senseless act of gun violence.

This is a common occurrence in America and shouldn't surprise anyone. Americans deal with their interpersonal problems by grabbing a gun and shooting somebody. Maybe we are able to shoot the person who has provoked our ire, maybe we are not.

Each time after a life is taken by a person with a gun, we hear the same ridiculous conversation taking place among the chatterheads that dominate political discourse in this country, and it never gets us anywhere.

With that in mind, I want to completely ignore the problem that we have with guns and explore another ubiquitous killer of human beings: cancer. Every day, roughly 1,600 Americans die of cancer. I have lost people close to me to cancer, and chances are that you have, too.

My maternal grandfather died of leukemia three years ago. It was a punishing, debilitating disease that wrecked and ruined his body and mind. He was a large, solid, and strong man in life, but by the time the cancer had finished with him, he was 130 pounds and too weak to even drink the water that he so desperately wanted. We would put a wet sponge to his lips so that they wouldn't crack and bleed.

I'm imagining a conversation with a political pundit that mirrors the one that inevitably occurs after a gun murder takes place:

Me: Three years ago, my grandfather died of cancer. It was a terrible thing to see him die that way, and I wish that there was something that we could have done to prevent it.

Pundit (slamming the table with his fist): I am tired of everybody blaming cancer for these unavoidable deaths! It is an outrage that every time somebody dies of what may or may not have been cancer, we rush to judgment and turn this somber period into a game of political one-upsmanship and everybody points their finger at cancer. It's disgusting! It's un-American. It's a communist plot, I tell ya. Are you a Maoist?

Me: Wait, what? What else should we blame my grandfather's death on? He died of leukemia. It was a good diagnosis. His oncologist was treating him for leukemia.

Pundit (turning red and frothing at the mouth): Oncologist? I don't know what that is, but it sounds elitist. What, did he go to France for medical treatment? Was he puffing some grass? Did he have a naked shaman do a rain dance to cure him? Do you speak Arabic? Were you born in Kenya?

Me: I have no idea what you're talking about. An oncologist is a doctor who specializes in cancer. She treats people who have cancer. It's a noble profession.

Pundit (putting brass knuckles on his hands): A cowboy is a noble profession. A matador is a noble profession, though the name's kinda fruity. A roughneck working an oil derrick, that's a noble profession. You notice what all three of these professions have in common?

Me: Uh, they don't offer pensions?

Pundit (sharpening his Bowie knife): They're not oncologists! I don't care what some elitist, Ivy League educated doctor says to me. If I'm feeling sick, I throw on a leech or two, take a shot of whiskey mixed with rhino blood, and I'm tip-top again. Let me tell you something about these so-called cancer tragedies: the problem isn't too much cancer. The problem is not enough cancer!

Me: You want more cancer? How would that help?

Pundit (loading silver bullets into his six-shooter): When cancer is outlawed, only outlaws have cancer.

Me: I'm not sure that makes sense. Wouldn't that be a net positive, if only outlaws had cancer?

Pundit (loading a shell into his mortar): You shut your mouth, hippie! I've had enough of you. Let me explain this to you in a way that your green-tea-soaked brain can comprehend, you lily-livered fascist, communist, Muslim-lover.

Me: Those terms don't really go together, but I can see you're on a roll. Please, continue.

Pundit (brandishing a blood-stained machete): The only way to fight cancer is with even more cancer. Let's assume for a moment that your grandfather really did have leukemia.

Me: That's a good assumption, considering that he did have leukemia.

Pundit (sharpening his samurai sword): Silence, or I'll have your head. The only way to fight cancer is with cancer that's even more deadly. I want to infect cancer patients with strains of cancer that are so poisonous and deadly that the cancer that's killing them will be obliterated instantly. That's how we have to go about this. More cancer!

Me: But then wouldn't these patients just be infected with stronger and more virulent strains of cancer? Doesn't this leave them in a worse position than they're in now?

Pundit (accidentally shooting himself in the foot): Ow! That really hurt! Then we'll just invent even stronger strains of cancer that will kill those already-strong strains of cancer. It will be an arms race, and if there's one thing that America's good at, it's participating in arms races. Now let's move out, soldiers. On to Little Bighorn! We'll ride those Cubans down and create a republic that the rest of the world will envy! Forward!