I have a secret fear about cancer I wish to share with you.
During the early seventies, I slept in the torpedo room of an attack sub for up to a week or more at the time. As I slept, my back would be up against, and over, nuclear-tipped anti-submarine rockets, or ASROCs, for six to eight hours at the stretch. I would also lounge and read there when not working and when not in the mess hall with no place else to go in a crowded boat. When my front side was toward the rockets, and looking behind the canvas, I could see the white warheads with the red atomic inscriptions on them, one right there, such as the back of my head pressed against it while I slept.
When I think of those days, I occasionally think of, but not dwell upon, the likelihood of cancer caused by spurious radiation from those warheads and various other places in the boat I visited. This thought [or fear], alone, concerns me sometimes.
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