Big C: A Cancer Journey Lived, Not Survived

I had this strange thought the other day as I was scrolling through Facebook: "Big C."
Wait a second. *Big C*?
What an odd way to refer to cancer. Not that it matters much to me, as I'm among the lucky ones who've never had to face it. But I remember my grandfather's cancer journey; he called it "the C word," as if it was Voldemort or something. I also know that many people refer to it as "the beast," or "the disease."
But why? Why do we give this terrible disease such menacing names? Is it because we're afraid of it? Or is it because we want to minimize its impact by making it sound less threatening?
I'm not sure what the answer is. But I do know that I prefer to call it by its proper name: cancer. Because it is what it is—a disease that has the power to destroy lives.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to downplay the seriousness of cancer or make light of it. I know that it's a tough battle, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I just think that we should be honest about it—it's not some mythical monster, it's a disease that can be beaten.
Of course, we should still be mindful of the words we use. We shouldn't use words that will scare people or make them feel uncomfortable. But we also shouldn't use words that will make them think that cancer is something to be feared.