Just a warning before I start talking properly, this article is about That Dragon Cancer. For those not familiar with it, it tells the story of a family and their struggles against cancer. They share memories of their son, Joel, such as when he went into remission, to their last few days with him. It is a heart-wrenching tale of love and loss, especially to anyone who has lost a loved one to cancer. If you have lost someone and that wound is still fresh, I suggest not reading this article. I know personally how painful those reminders can be, and I do not wish to cause that pain in others.
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To those of you who are still here, let’s talk. In the UK, one in two people will get cancer in their lifetime. Nearly everyone has either lost someone to cancer or knows someone who has. It has become one of these things that we just accept as inevitable, like taxes or rain. Yet, the devastating impact it can have on every aspect of your life – as either as the sufferer or an observer, isn’t something we should roll over and accept.
In the early summer of 2015, I lost my grandmother to cancer. Though I only really got to see her a couple of times a year due to the distance between Edinburgh and wherever I was living at the time, she had a profound impact on who I was as a person. To this day she remains one of the kindest people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I see her in the birds in the trees and the squirrels roaming the Cardiff parks, I hear her encouragement whenever I struggle, I see her in my mum’s eyes and in my own. It doesn’t feel like four years since I last saw her, yet the calendar doesn’t lie to me.
It’s not all sad though. My grandmother beat cancer once. Breast cancer tried to beat her, but she conquered it. I’d never have gotten the chance to get to know her otherwise. I have so many warm memories of her – encouraging me to pursue computing even though she had no idea what I was talking about, helping me finish a puzzle on the floor of the living room. When she knew she couldn’t beat cancer the second time, she made the decision to live out the rest of her life the best way she knew – with her family. I didn’t get to spend those last days with her, I wish that I could’ve, but I was in the middle of exam season, blissfully unaware of what was going on.
The last memory of someone is the one that sticks with you the most. We visited her in the hospital just before Hogmanay (it’s New Year’s for Scotland basically). Even now I can still recall every sign on the doors I passed, every passing conversation between the doctors and nurses, even the smell of disinfectant lingers in the back of my nose as I write this. Though my gran was all skin and bone at this point, the light in her eyes hadn’t faded. I don’t think anything could’ve broken that woman’s spirit; not whilst there were still birds to fade and nature to explore.
She could see how nervous I was, so started chatting away about what I’d been up to and what comics I was reading, drawing me out of my shell slowly. I remember leaving the room clutching a piece of paper, on which I had drawn a diagram of the code I was working on and she had drawn a rough sketch of an old piece of farm equipment she used to use, back when her, papa, my aunt and my mum all lived on their chicken farm. I don’t know what happened to that drawing, I think it might’ve gotten lost in a suitcase or mixed up with some paperwork. I wish I still had it, as a reminder.
That Dragon Cancer isn’t like any game I’ve ever played. You go into the game knowing what will happen, knowing that Joel isn’t going to make it and you are an observer, looking in and catching glimpses of tidal wave of emotions that the family goes through. It is a tale of love and loss, joy and hope, pain and fear. It’s not there to provide a moral or some philosophical point to ruminate on, it’s just there to tell you the story of Joel and his family, no matter how hard it may be to hear. Of course, you root for them, praying that somehow, they will triumph and find their happy ending, smiling wide at every happy giggle that comes from Joel and every peaceful moment the family get amidst the storm that rages around them.
The scene that hit me the most, one that I feel everyone should play through or at least watch, is the doctor’s office scene. For any of us who have ever had to sit in a doctor’s room and hear the words that they wished would never be spoken, this scene speaks volumes. You start by spinning a toy that makes different farm animal noises and jokes, to make Joel laugh, a bittersweet feeling when the doctor begins to speak. You hear how the chemotherapy has failed, how this wonderful little boy has so little time left to live, and that toy becomes a vessel to hearing the tormented inner monologues of each person present – from the doctors to the suffering parents.
The music and the visuals in this game are what ties it together. They can each be harrowing and beautiful, perfectly encapsulating the emotions of the scene and drawing you into it completely. You forget for a time that you are playing a game, instead living the tale of Joel through the eyes of his family – allowing their hope, joy and grief to become your own. For those of you who have lost someone, it feels like an echo chamber, reflecting all those feelings back at you. Your memories dart in, between piano chords and scene transitions.
The game reminds you not just of the loss, but of the joy and happiness that those we have lost brought to us. This is a lesson that I feel can apply to more than just cancer, be that loss through accidents or mental health conditions or just old age. Losing someone does not diminish their impact on the world and on who we are. I wouldn’t be studying computing now without my grandmother. Birdsong wouldn’t make me smile; I’d never pause to smell the freshly bloomed flowers. I am who I am because of her and because of all the people I’ve lost, as well as those who are still such a major part of my life.
Although it is a narrative piece, involving little “gameplay” on the part of the player, there are little minigames that you can play in each scene – such as steering Joel away from the tumours. One scene has you wandering through a hospital reading the messages sent in by the game’s supporters, telling their stories of love and loss and fear and hope and grief. If you spend any time with this game, I guarantee that most of it will be spent wandering those hallways, reading every card possible and catching a glimpse of the lives of those touched by this disease. This game’s power doesn’t just come from Joel’s storyline, it comes from the fact that this story is not uncommon. So many people experience their own version of Joel’s life, be that with their siblings or grandparents or close friends.
I can see myself in the shoes of Joel’s family. Sometimes, I’m the dad, trying desperately to fight back against something so much bigger than myself, falling deeper into the dark ocean when I fail. Other times, I’m the mother – praying that some higher power will realise that this disease needs stopping, that so many good people could be saved if someone just intervened. In these situations, we fight for control over something we can never control, grasping for a sense of purpose or something, anything we can do to make it better. We try to fight an enemy that we feel we can never defeat.
Joel fought and won time and time again, despite all the tumours and the pain, he kept fighting and winning. Yet, he couldn’t win forever. After a long time of fighting, the little warrior was given peace. Despite all the pain and the grief that the Green family went through and are still going through, they chose to make a game. A game that highlighted the amazing moments Joel brought to their life and the devasting impact the disease can have on a family. They chose to raise awareness, to create hope and to remind people that cancer can be beaten. Hopefully, in the future, we will find a cure. We will be able to stop any family going through the agony of losing a child to this monster, allowing a little boy like Joel to grow up happy and healthy – as all children deserve to.
To anyone going through this, you are not alone. To anyone who knows someone who is, be there for them. Sometimes when we feel as if we are drowning, we need to be thrown a rope, to pull ourselves out of that abyss before it consumes us. If you can, donate to cancer research, take part in the Race For Life (like my wonderful mother did last weekend 😊) or just be a shoulder for those who need it.
Thank you to Joel and his family, for telling your story.
– CaitlinRC