That's all well and good. But since Kate and I were both very low risks (neither of us have the cancer gene) the doctors have no answers as to why it hit us. Which doesn't stop us from coming up with causes anyways.
Working on your thesis definitely causes cancer. The first time Kate hit her thesis hard, she found her breast cancer. She finished her thesis last month, and sure enough - her dermatologist found a spot of skin cancer (stage 0) on her leg and had to scrape it off. (It's gone now - not all cancers are created equal.)
Quitting your job causes cancer.
Not camper vans. Camper vans cannot possibly cause cancer.
It's an unsettling place - not knowing why it hit me in the first place, and so unable to forecast if it will happen again, I've learned to live with the uncertainty. I keep my focus on the days I have, not the days I don't.
I find myself chomping at the bit because I need to work. Chances aren't good I will live to see eighty, but I might. And because I might, I can't yet call it quits. Work isn't a bad place, they're good to me there and I like what I do, it's just that there are so many things I'd rather be doing, and I am afraid, so afraid I will never get an opportunity to do them.
At the same time I want so badly to move on, I find myself shying away from making plans for the future. I have a tentative timetable for leaving, but a huge blank frame regarding what happens after I leave.
I've been struggling with my inability to plan - planning is not generally one of my roadblocks. Before I do almost anything, I've always had a Plan A, Plan B, and just in case, Plan E. I think I've found the key to my newfound reluctance to look at the future.
You guessed it. Making retirement plans causes cancer. And I'm not ready to deal with my cancer again.
I'm going to have to learn to get past this one.
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