Eloquent and passionate, Caitlin Breedlove's cancer-focused memoir is rooted in her activism. It's often said that cancer does not discriminate. But some groups are more likely to suffer from cancer, and some are more likely to die from the disease. And we know classism and racism increase exposure to some carcinogens, including pesticides, corroded public water systems, and workplace toxins. Diagnosed with a deadly form of ovarian cancer in her 30s, Caitlin Breedlove draws on lessons offered by her political work, early motherhood, and her values in All Cancer, Near Death, New Life. With the lens—and heart—of an organizer, she chronicles harms caused by our profit-driven health care system; explores the rigors of single parenting while living with acute, chronic illness; and reveals her challenges with addiction. And like Audre Lorde (The Cancer Journals) and Barbara Ehrenreich (Brightsided) Breedlove calls out the insidious impact of "toxic positivity" on women who live with cancer. As she shares her individual journey, Breedlove connects it to broader struggles for health and social justice. The result is a intensely powerful narrative, centering experiences elided in other narratives.
Hard to rate this one. Normally 4 stars for me means I would recommend it to anyone, but I don't think I would. I can say that I'll be hanging on to this to reread if I ever get cancer (kinehora). The kinehora feels extra appropriate since there is a lot of eastern European.... spiritually?? There is some real beauty in this book. Also some real horror. Might make anyone think twice about chemo.
“I write for myself, and I write for the ones who can’t and would want me to do so. I write for her because she put off going to the doctor when she saw the signs; she was too busy caring for others. I write for him, who put off going to the doctor, because they would call him a freak for even having ovaries. I write for the woman who wanted to go to a doctor, bleeding month after month through her pants but was too broke, without insurance, and working every waking moment of her damn life.”
Caitlin Breedlove writes a candid account of her cancer journey; the book she says she would have liked to have read during her treatment. Something different from the “saccharine, so positive, pink-ribboned, white, straight, suburban” accounts that she has encountered before, the type of Literature that “sugarcoat things that are not and should not taste sweet”. Her perspective is that of a queer white woman, daughter of immigrants, who subscribes to her ancestral slavic pagan faith. Her treatment includes strong doses of taxol, a drug synthesized from extracts of the European yew, a tree abundant in Breedlove’s ancestral homeland, well known for its poison. Breedlove discusses advocating for adequate (but addictive) pain management and her cycles of withdrawal with every round of chemotherapy. She speaks of the pain, nausea, drug-induced highs, and all the implications of her diagnosis and treatment. And weaves in commentary on capitalism, broken social systems and the dualities that often govern our decisions. But she also speaks about the things that tethers her her to the earth, her reasons for choosing life, and her resolution to live a new, different life on the other side of her treatment. Of hope.
Unflinching and honest, I was captivated by this memoir and will share it widely. Favorite passages include:
“our deaths, our near deaths, our salvation, and our new lives are all catalysts for transformation in which we have some choice, some power, even when we feel we do not.” (p. 5)
“we live in a time when people are so scared to build that they critique for destruction not construction.” (P. 60)
“…none of us are prepared to lead. No one knows what they are doing, no matter our competence or experience. The time we live in carries every wound and scar and harm from our human past forward into the present, a time unlike any in human history. So how would any of us know exactly what to do or how to do it?” (P.79)
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
This was a hard hitting, passionate, queer feminist memoir about the authors journey through cancer. I appreciated the nuance around class, racism, health access and addiction especially. The spirituality narratives didn't connect with me completely but I see their value nonetheless.
This was exceptional. Lyrical and loud and quiet and painful. I read it in sips, savoring and needing to take space and breaks between. I had the extreme pleasure of hearing Caitlin interviewed at my local bookstore earlier this month, and I don't think it's hyperbole to say there was magic there.