Someone I used to work with died last week. We weren’t close and hadn’t kept in touch but it was still sad and shocking to hear the news. He was young, super fit and healthy just a couple of years back when we worked together. A clean-living triathlete.
When I found out I thought maybe he’d been involved in an accident, some kind of traffic collision. In the city it’s one of the more common causes of premature death. Or maybe one of those completely out-of-the-blue heart conditions, the kind that take people during marathons and football games. In the moment between hearing the news and hearing what happened, an accident is what I expected to hear.
It wasn’t an accident and what I’m about to say will sound strange. In spite of the trauma, an accident might have been easier.
He was diagnosed with lymphoma in July and spent the past few months in a hospice. Nine months from diagnosis to death. His world and that of his family undone in the space of three seasons; autumn, winter, spring. His wife and young daughter must be devastated and I can’t help thinking it’s really sad. Sad for him and sad for them. They’ll have some gruelling memories to deal with before the good ones find a way back in.
24 hours ago one of our news channels made a big deal of cancer survival rates. The report was positively beaming about 50% of people in England and Wales now living for ten years post-diagnosis. Cancer no longer needs to be seen as a death sentence is what the story said. The same story reported a one in two chance of living (dying) within 10 years of diagnosis as a vast improvement on the 1970’s position. Back then 24% could expect to live for 10 years.
News of a co-workers death from cancer in less than year just one day after this inappropriately upbeat national TV story seems hopelessly ironic. I don’t deny the numbers reflect some progress for the better, but I can’t shake the thought that creeping from 24 to 50% ten-year survival during the course of almost 45 years is extremely slow. Life threateningly slow. The kind of progress that earns a ‘must try harder’ comment on an end of term report.
It wasn’t an accident that we invented the large hadron collider, wi-fi, hybrid cars and protease inhibitors in the last 25 years. We verified the existence of dark matter and down-graded Pluto to a dwarf planet too. But when it comes to cancer we’re supposed to be pleased by a 50% ten-year survival statistic that’s taken 40+ years to achieve? It’s a statistic that means 50% of people, including my ex-colleague, still can’t expect to see their kids grow up, have kids of their own or spend time with their grandchildren.