Cancer face. I currently reside in a geriatric prison in Virginia, where this symptom of that terrible disease is a common sight. Previously invisible jawlines miraculously transmogrify into Brad Pitt-like gonions. How can skin so floppy and loose be pulled into such a taut, sallow pallor in just a matter of months?
Such is the life-sucking power of cancer, the leading cause of illness-related death in U.S. prisons.
The facial emaciation rivals any plastic surgeon’s scalpel, perhaps more so because nobody’s ever going to say to someone who is clearly ill, “Oh, you’ve had work done!” Cancer face is the Grim Reaper flashing his brights in your rearview mirror.
Chuck Pagano was the head coach of the Indianapolis Colts from 2012 to 2017, when he got cancer face. He’s cured now, and the jowls are back in full swing, a testament perhaps to the fine medical care the wealthy can access.
I haven’t seen much of that kind of turnaround at my prison. I hardly ever see anyone in prison outlive cancer face. It happens, but only rarely. I’ve seen one positive outcome for colon cancer and several for prostate.
An acquaintance of mine whom I’ll call Gary — I’ve changed people’s names in this story out of respect for their diagnoses and privacy — has been fighting Stage 4 cancer for three years. He’s had cancer face the last 18 months. No way he’s ever going to see 2025, but this time last year I thought he’d be gone by now. Maybe he’ll prove me wrong again.
Prison health services seem to be designed to drag their feet, thus ensuring that a lot of costly cancer treatments are never needed. I’ve seen this firsthand.
A buddy of mine, Cooke, lost over 65 pounds. Medical staff kept telling him he had a stomach virus. Eventually, over a year later, they diagnosed his pancreatic and liver cancer. By then it was too late for any treatment, so he just received palliative care. Early diagnosis is the most critical element in achieving positive cancer outcomes, which is perhaps why I’ve seen so few happy endings in 25 years of incarceration.
Jeff had cancer face for over six months. After griping about his symptoms for half a year, and experiencing significant weight loss, he finally came back from the hospital with a fatal diagnosis. They still made him walk to and from the chow hall for his meals.
I wrote an official complaint to the prison on his behalf. They moved him over to an assisted living unit within a week. He’s been waiting for medical parole.
The state of Virginia was merciful a few years ago. I remember them giving medical parole to a man who was serving 20 years for selling weed. He didn’t even last 24 hours as a free man before he died.
A man called Bad Company was a unique cancer face case. Paradoxically, he got his nickname because he was actually a good fellow to be around. Go figure. He was 73 years old with a life sentence, and came to prison around the age of 58. Then he got diagnosed with colon cancer last year. He stamped “terminal” on the diagnosis by refusing chemo and surgery.
The man cherished every moment in our noisy dorm, grateful to be among friends. The only fear I ever saw in his eyes was when the nurse informed him he had to be moved to the infirmary.
“Why can’t I die here?” he asked. He tried to go out on his own terms, but they wouldn’t let him.
Dying among friends in prison is apparently against protocol. He died 10 days later, but at least one of the nurses, who is normally seen as cold-hearted, sat with him and held his hand as he made his final departure.
