Hungover? Nope, just "The Truth About Cancer."

I woke up this morning with that wonderful hungover feeling where you swear you'll never drink alcohol again. My eyes were puffy, my head was pounding, and my throat was sore from dehydration. Alas, I did not overindulge in pints of Guinness at our local pub last night. Nope. I watched the PBS special "The Truth About Cancer". And it wrecked me.

But in the early spring light of the morning after, even I could see that it was an incredible program. What strikes me most, now that I can think straight without reaching for the box of tissues, is the honesty and candor with which Linda Garmon, the writer and director, approached this most terrifying of topics. She didn't glamorize it and she didn't militarize it, as many people have chosen to cope with cancer in the limelight. Instead, she simply and candidly and heartwrenchingly filmed four families dealing with the disease.

One of these families was hers. Garmon's husband Larry was diagnosed with mesothelioma after being exposed to asbestos decades earlier. Linda and Larry decided to film their cancer journey, at first believing (as most of us who are faced with cancer do) that the story would have a happy ending.

My eyes first welled up with footage of Linda and Larry lounging in their bed. Witnessing the intimacy between them and the obvious joy they experienced just by being around each other (despite the fact that they were filling out medical forms), while knowing that Larry was not going to survive his cancer was just too much for me to handle. I immediately started thinking about my boyfriend, and what if we were - or are, someday - in that same horrible place... too much.

Because that's one of the crappiest things about cancer: it happens to really good people. I mean, it happens to everyone, of course - including really good, lovely, smart, happy people leading fulfilling lives and doing good things for the world. And what they get in return for putting all that good karma out into the universe is cancer? That. Sucks. I know firsthand that it sucks, because it happened to my stepdad. It's a crappy, crappy deal and the thought of having to go through it again - in the worst case, with my boyfriend - completely broke me down.

Nevertheless, I am so grateful that Linda Garmon made this film. Her work shows an enormous amount of courage in creating the most accurate picture of what it is like to go through cancer that I have ever witnessed besides my family's own experience. And now that I have been able to digest the show, the swelling in my eyelids has gone down, and I am almost fully rehydrated, I am left with a profound appreciation for the show and have almost fully recovered my usual positive, optimistic, balanced worldview.

Last night, I was taken aback by my fear. After all I have done as a cancer advocate, and after all the work I am doing now to learn about cancer, how is it that I am still so deeply and completely afraid of it? How can the mere thought of my boyfriend and I someday being faced with the disease cripple me emotionally and keep me crying into the wee hours of the morning?

There are no answers. There are no answers to those questions, and there are no answers to many of the other questions surrounding cancer. That's why people are still suffering. That's why we have no cure, and why we probably will never find one. We will never completely conquer cancer. Among the millions and zillions of cells that make up our bodies will always be a naughty few who mutate. As long as one single mutation occurs, cancer still exists.

But I am living a better life because of the existence of cancer. That is the silver lining of the disease. And just like the disease itself, that silver lining will always be there. I know that I am living a more honest, genuine, forthright, appreciative, courageous, loving, thoughtful, and inspired life because of John, because of cancer, and because of John and cancer. So, focus on that. I'm trying.