Brain Cancer Claims Horror Maestro Wes Craven At 76

New submitter JamesA writes: Wes Craven, the famed writer-director of horror films known for the Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream movies, died Sunday after a battle with brain cancer. He was 76. Though he's far less known as a novelist than for his various horror film jobs (writer, director, producer, actor ...), Craven also wrote a few books; I can't vouch for "Coming of Rage," but "Fountain Society" is pretty solid speculative fiction. Wikipedia notes that Craven also "designed the Halloween 2008 logo for Google, and was the second celebrity personality to take over the YouTube homepage on Halloween."

Comments

The 120 yr Limit

[jwillis84]

Interesting he passed at 76, for men aroun 75 seems to be the break even point where your 50/50 to living to the next year.

There are some fantastic developments in Brain Cancer treatments coming a just a few years, but they might not be effective once you get past 75 yr old.

They focus more on tagging the Cancer cells such that the bodies Immune system will focus on those cells and demolish them. The use of the Polio vaccine on 60 minutes comes to mind, but there have been others.

Several studies have focused on the seemingly mystical statistic that no one currently alive will live past 120 years old.. the simplist and most well thought out reason is the Immune system simply gives out, or shuts itself off. After that if Cancer doesn't kill you then something like Pneumonia will. Assuming of course you don't die of Little Debbies overdose or a Sugar induced Coronary... well I guess that's a psychological illness manefest physically... not breaking the carb addiction until its too late.. like smoking. Funny how lifes stressors and Seretonin levels can lead to additctions.. food or otherwise.. and ultimately to a shortened life span.

Re:The 120 yr Limit

[adolf]

My Jr. High music teacher died from brain cancer. He was brilliant, highly-skilled, and excellent with showing kids their vocal potential. He remembered everyone; name, rank, serial. And he never gave up on any of them.

One of the more painful memories I have, ever, is of meeting this man a few years later, at work: He's browsing movies, and I'm coming back from a long day of installing satellite dishes -- my first "real" job.

I'm all "Mr. [ZZZ], how are you? I haven't seen you in awhile."

And he's all "Uh, hi. Yes! Yes, I remember you! You're uhm, Jason? No that's not it. Andy? No no. I'm very sorry, but they tell me I've got brain cancer and it's really hard to remember..."

Me: "Can I help?"

"No, no, they say I've still got 72% of my brain left. I've got brain cancer, haven't you heard? Let's see, uh, I know I know you and I'm very embarrassed that I can't name you."

At this point, I let the then-old-to-me damaged dude (45-50-ish) know my name, which still drew a blank. It was difficult excusing myself from that situation, and apparent that the missing 28% was inclusive of all of his genuinely-beloved students. He died a year or two later. Mein herz brennt -- I used to could talk to the guy about anything.

I mean, FFS: My grand-dad died from Parkinson's, which is a terrible fucking way to die when it gets stretched to multiple years of uselessness: You still know everything, but you can't do anything about it. (He was an engineer, but couldn't communicate his ideas at all. One scribbled note, discarded by the nurses because they'd since moved/re-adjusted him and no longer cared, said "Neck hurts." By the time I got there, they didn't care about my interpretation. He cried, which was perhaps the best he could do, paralyzed and unable to speak but having successfully had his written complaint understood only to be ultimately ignored).

My other grand-dad died from a bad stroke, leading to other strokes. This is also a terrible fucking way to die, especially it also involves years of uselessness. (He was a salesman and a wildly successful realtor and a lot of other first-party things, but couldn't reach the people he used to know after the first real stroke)

Fuck all brain diseases, in general. But brain cancer? Sheesh Fuck that one in particular. Brain cancer is silly-crazy-scary. Shell-of-a-ghost-of-a-human scary. I wish we could fix that one. At least my grand-dads knew who I was.

(I'd tell you about the staph infection my school-teacher aunt got in her own brain, but she's mostly better, ish: She used to know everything, and she's sure that she still does, but she's a bit more reserved about relaying that than she used to be.)

Re: The 120 yr Limit

[ph1ll]

I've just finished nursing a loved one with glioblastoma. It's frikken awful but it was short (the medium survival rate is about 14 months. My loved one went in 9). I think Parkinson's, Alzheimer's etc are far worse because they go on for years. My loved one didn't realize she was dying at the end as it severely impairs cognition. I hope anybody who has a loved one with brain cancer takes some comfort from this.