It's Our Fault

(But That's Not the Whole Story)

Having my immediate family living in separate homes, an hour apart, means I spend a lot of time in the car. Mostly, I do not mind driving.

Depending on how far out I am from my last infusion, or if I have a cold or my period, the ride is usually filled with one of a few things: phone calls with friends or family, insurance or social security conversations, music, audio memoirs, or public media.

The last time I chose a memoir, I listened to Leslie MotherFucking Jones. When I finished, I switched over to public media and heard a conversation on NPR between an anchor and an essayist. He had taken the position that the rise in natural disasters, the increase in younger late-stage cancer diagnoses, and the accelerating climate crises are not random. He believes the Earth is fighting back. Fighting for her life.

To my surprise, the idea brought me a deep and lasting peace. Since hearing it, I have moved with more ease, almost as if something inside me finally recognized its own reflection.

Early in this melanoma diagnosis, a friend asked how I planned to relate to the cancer. Whether I would invite it in or perpetually tell it to fuck off. I did not know then, but I do now.

My answer is neither.

I honor this cancer as one more sign of a failing human experiment.

That is not a judgment of individual people. Many of us tried, some even tried (and are still trying) very hard. But the comparison about who tried the most is the wrong conversation. It has gotten us exactly where we are: on the edge of collapse. Whether we want to admit it or not, the weather and I are telling the same story. We are one system.

I have never run an oil company or built an empire on child labor, but I have driven gasoline cars since I was a teenager. I have thrown away working things because the thought of cleaning or donating them felt too overwhelming. I have contributed to the harm, just as every person who has ever been given the chance to live here has.

I am complicit in the planet’s suffering. And she, like me, will go to great lengths to protect whatever wonder and wisdom remain.

I know I did not cause this cancer. But now, I know, my body understood before my mind caught up: WE DID. Not directed at me personally, but as the most invasive species on the planet, we did cause this. All of this.

Melanoma becomes one more way for the Earth to try to save herself. I do not begrudge her that.

Maybe that is why I feel more connected than ever to the identity of a Cancer Shark. Sharks, like nature, have been here since the earliest pages of life. They have survived extinctions, changes, and losses that would erase anything weaker.

We survive what is next.
Even, and perhaps especially, when it is awful.