Cancer did not make me lose my ability to reason

I wrote this as a comment in the Pharyngula thread "Jerk of the Day," which is about George Berkin's disgusting Christian joy over Christopher Hitchen's cancer diagnosis. Since I haven't had time to write anything new for a few days, I thought I'd repost my comments here:

When I found out I had breast cancer, I did not suddenly reject reason and start believing in an invisible sky guy who had a mysterious plan for me that included cancer.

The only faith I had was in the expertise of my doctors.

I was really, really provoked when friends and relatives kept assuring me that they were "praying for" me.

I let my husband and kids know that if I were in the hospital and a chaplain (or anyone else who wanted to comfort me with prayer or "good news" about god) ever attempted to enter my room while they were there, they needed to push that person back into the hallway (and yell blasphemous remarks as they did so), because if they didn't, I'd be forced to crawl out of my bed, and beat the god-shill with my bedpan. 

I also made clear that I want no prayer, hymns, and any other god-mentioning at my funeral, but I also noted that the funeral was for them, not for me, because I would be--you know--dead, so wouldn't know and couldn't care what happened at the funeral. Still, I hope that they would tell funny stories about me and drink a lot of margaritas. And I believe that that's more likely to happen than mass and recitation of the rosary, given that I have raised two godless children and am married to the most apathetic Protestant ever.

It looks like I'm going to be fine, and my doctors tell me I am unlikely to die of breast cancer (which only leaves everything else I can possibly die from.)

And while all my friends are patting themselves on the back that their "prayers were answered" and god cured me, I only praise my doctors and the other health care providers who used their skills and knowledge to obtain a good result for me.

To woo, or not to woo

My friend Abbie invited me to go with her to a Spa Day that's a fundraiser for the non-profit group Cancer Support Foundation, Inc.

At first, I thought, "Sure, sounds good. $20 for a day of pampering." I imagined a nice massage, a manicure, a facial. And, in addition, I'd be supporting a non-profit group helping cancer patients.

Then I checked to see what was actually being offered at the Baltimore Spa Day event and found it heavy with woo. 

Yeah, the list includes makeovers, facials, and seated massages, but those are outnumbered by the woo:
Reflexology
Foot Detox
Acupuncture
Shiatsu
Reiki
Vibroacoustic Harp Therapy
Quantum-Touch®
Heart-Centered Healing 

After reading that, I was definitely "not going." But since then, I've started to have second thoughts. I've never tried any of these types of woo. Maybe I should go for the experience if for no other reason than it would give me something to blog about. And I do like the idea of investigating woo in a more personal way. 

Plus, then when woo-believers ask me, "Well, did you ever try it?" instead of just trying to explain why my personal anecdotal experience wouldn't provide reliable evidence about the effectiveness of woo, I could say, "Yes, I have, and my personal anecdotal experience doesn't provide reliable evidence about the effectiveness of woo."

So, for a moment, I was seriously considered going.

But then I checked the Maryland Charities Database for information on the Cancer Support Foundation, Inc., which appears to be based in Howard County, and found that it spends 30% of its income on "management and general expenses" which would appear to give it a "0" score in that area under Charity Navigator's evaluation ratings method, so now I'm strongly leaning against going.

Bad enough to donate for woo, but worse to donate for woo to a less-than-exemplary non-profit.

Facebook Follies: Praying for a cancer cure

One of the downsides to Facebook, in my opinion, is that through some of my friends' Facebook posts, I've started to learn more about their religious and political views, and beliefs in woo, than I knew before. That makes me question my ability to select compatible friends. And it tends to make me like these friends less, sometimes, much less, than I did before.

I tend not to post the comments in response that I'd like to, because these mostly are people that I value as friends, and have redeeming values that cancel out our areas of disagreement, but I do respond in my head.

The latest status update from my very religious Catholic friend Jeannie ends: "Dear God, I pray for the cure of cancer." She then asked me and her other friends to copy and paste her update and post it as mine.

In my head: If God didn't want people to have cancer, he wouldn't give it to them. In fact, he wouldn't have created cancer or allow it to exist if he were a truly almighty and loving God. But he is either not almighty or not loving, or both, because he allows people to suffer terribly and die because of cancer.

Yeah, I know, "God works in mysterious ways, and his plan isn't easy for us to understand, and we suffer because of original sin (committed by two--or possibly more than two, as explained to me by a self-described 'theologically sophisticated' Catholic believer not long ago--people thousands of years ago. A sin, by the way, that the all-knowing God always knew these sinners would commit, yet let them commit it. Yeah, loving guy, that God.)"

And, if God has an eternal plan, is he going to change his plan with regard to cancer just because you and other people ask him to?

Don't you think other people have prayed before for a cancer cure? God didn't answer their prayers. What makes your prayers so special God's going to answer yours?

And as far as repeating your status update as mine: "Uh, no."

P.S. I don't believe in any God, but if I did, I wouldn't choose to believe in your sadistic one.

Someone isn't looking out for me

I badly needed a haircut, but I hadn't felt up to getting one for a while. But today I went to my long-time stylist, Suzie, who I hadn't seen since before my surgery. She asked how I was, and since she didn't seem to remember my previously telling her about the series of events, over a number of months, that eventually led to my cancer diagnosis, I repeated the story.

I told her about the doctors who used their expertise and skill to give me good advice, and my decision at each step to follow the doctors' recommended course of action, even when they all told me that, based on the information they had at the time, the odds that I had cancer were small. So, I told Suzie, the cancer diagnosis was a surprise, even to my doctors, and that the fact that it was found at all was somewhat serendipitous--my surgeon, who thought he was operating on me to remove a benign growth and some precancerous cells, also happened to excise the cancer cells that the previous needle biopsy had missed.

At the conclusion of my story, Suzie chirped cheerfully, "Someone was looking out for you!"

"If 'Someone' was really 'looking out' for me, I wouldn't have cancer in the first place," I countered.

I could see from Suzie's face that she tried to make sense of my comment, but I never found out if she really grasped my meaning.

Prayers, prayers, and more prayers

Lately, I've had lots of people telling me that they're praying for me, even more frequently than when I decided to stop going to church, or when people find out that I--gasp--don't believe in god.

This prayerfest on my behalf is in reaction to my recent breast cancer diagnosis.

So, at a time when I need and would welcome the support of my friends, they're irritating the heck out of me by telling me that they're "praying for me." Sigh. Although I guess it could be worse; they're not praying to god to hasten my departure for the eternal torture of hell.

But I really am having trouble finding a mentally and emotionally satisfying response to this outpouring of prayers from my friends, plus assorted acquaintances and relatives, especially those who know that I am a non-believer.

How can I tell my friends I think their beliefs are looney-tunes, and not hurt their feelings? But on the other hand, my just smiling and accepting with gratitude their prayer offers feels so wrong.

I appreciate the fact that they think they're doing something extremely important for my benefit--asking their god to re-think this whole cancer thing. But I don't appreciate the fact that my friends think that their engaging in primitive superstitious nonsense on my behalf is something that I would, um, appreciate.

Sometimes I respond to them, "Thanks for thinking of me." But, really, if they are thinking about me, how about giving me a call to cheer me up, instead of sending pleading messages into the void on my behalf to...no one. Calling me to chat really does benefit me; calling god to chat does nothing.

On other occasions, I respond about the offer of prayers, "I guess it can't hurt." But that isn't really true, as my opinion of these friends takes a hit with every mention of prayer. Sometimes I wonder how I can keep being friends with people who truly believe in such silliness as a god who listens and answers special requests for help--except when he doesn't, of course.

But what I really want to say to all my praying friends is: "OK. You obviously believe that you're doing something special and wonderful for me by praying for me, but if you must pray, is there some reason you can't keep the fact that you're praying for me to yourself? Because I'd rather not know that you engage in such craziness."

I guess their telling me that they're praying for me is supposed to comfort me, knowing that help from god is--potentially--if he wills it--on the way. Except if it isn't.

And I have the urge, so far controlled, to grab my friends (one at a time, not en mass) by the shoulders, give them a good shake, and scream, "What is wrong with you?!"

What I also find irritating is my suspicion that if my cancer treatments are successful, my friends will give their god the credit, not my oncologists, surgeon, and other doctors who do exist and provide authentic help.

I long for more rational friends, but rational people seem to be a rarity, vastly outnumbered by those who embrace irrationality.