6 Things I Learned from Beating Cancer
Thursday, June 19, 2014 — So, it’s been a long road, and the final leg begins tomorrow. In December 2013 I found out the golfball-sized lump above my right clavicle was Classical Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I eventually learned it was still in an early stage and curable. Eleven grueling chemo-therapy treatments and several months later, I am cancer-free and heading into my final treatment, which is tomorrow.
I have learned so much. While this has been the fight of my life, I see it very much as a gift. If I could go back and magically make it so that it never happened, I honestly don’t think I would. Granted, I’m lucky, I will come out of this strong and cured. But the lessons and perspectives I’ve gained from this experience have changed me. Here’s how.
1. Life is short; just say ‘no’ to bull$#!+.
One of my favorite comedians, Louis CK, was on Letterman telling a story of wisdom he’s acquired in his "46 revolutions around the sun." He talked about a confrontation with a stressed-out mom while boarding a flight for a business trip to California. (Skip to the 5:25 mark)
Rather than engaging in a fight or shrugging his shoulders and acquiescing, he quite simply got off the plane. When confronted with BS, he rose above the fray and removed himself from the situation.
What’s more, Louie did not concern himself with what he missed because of that decision: "Whatever I had to do over there didn’t get done, and it doesn’t matter."
His reaction sums up what I’ve learned through my journey: Life is just too damn short for BS. When you find out you have cancer, your finite and fragile mortality is made clear and tangibly real. There is no escape when the reaper comes a’knockin’.
When you truly, truly assimilate that reality into your worldview, things change. One of the first things to go was my tolerance for BS. Perhaps you might have noticed, but bullshit is everywhere. It is all around us, flourishing like little shit-flowers that multiply with abundance as the winds of shit carry the little shit-pollen all around us. But ultimately, shit-flowers still smell like bullshit.
A zero-tolerance policy on BS equips you to handle any situation, particularly if things don’t go your way. As Louie says, "If you can survive disappointment, nothing can beat you."
2. Anything is possible, with a little help from your friends.
We humans are social creatures. We are evolutionarily hardwired to crave connection and affection from others.
I’ll be honest, a lot of this would have been easier with a life partner backing me up. But I proved I don’t need to be coddled or taken care of to survive a major life challenge — I have the strength to face it down on my own. But the thing is, I wasn’t alone. I was able to do it because of amazing family and friends who insisted I lean on them.
One of the toughest lessons I learned through this is how to accept a hand, and that I am worthy of others’ help.
At every step of the way, people were there for me. Whether it was going to terrifying doctor appointments, Cards Against Humanity during chemo infusions, rides, dinners, helping with my chores, going on walks, or just keeping me company, people who care about me stepped up. It’s oh so humbling to see people take action — beyond just words — to show you how much they really care.
One friend set up a sign-up system for people to offer rides and meals. And, boy, did people sign up. Friends were there for me at the most difficult moments, as I was not alone for a single chemo infusion. Friends helped organize my bills, and have contributed money to actually pay for them. Some friends are even working to organize a fundraiser. (Thursday, July 24 at the Rendezvous!)
All I can say is, thank you. This woulda truly sucked without you.
3. Attitude matters, and could be the difference between life and death.
At one infusion, curious about how those around me handle the treatments, I remarked to a nurse, "The patients who come here must cover a wide spectrum of where they’re at emotionally." She responded, absolutely, and that their attitudes largely determine how well they do with the treatment. "I’ve seen it all. Those who are negative and wonder, ‘why me?,’ tend to not do so well with the treatments. Those who are positive tend to respond a lot better."
I have certainly tried to be part of the latter camp. Of course, it helps knowing my odds of survival and ultimate cure were good. Once I found out that I was in an early stage, it wasn’t a case of constantly having to directly face down death. But I have met individuals who live that way, and I cannot describe with mere words how much courage that takes.
But I have had many low moments. Chemo is no joke, it kicks your ass. Back in the day it used to be a lot worse, and they’ve gotten better at mitigating the impacts of the side effects. But believe me, they’re still there. I have had my dark moments, and I think it’s important to allow yourself to have those moments. But you cannot wallow there for too long. You have to pick yourself up and get out of the house and breath in the (semi-)fresh air and go interact with strangers on a bluff overlooking Downtown Seattle as you play your guitar.
To stay positive, I decided along the way that I wanted to stay engaged and active, as much as my body would physically allow. Looking back, I realized I did many, many things:
» Kept up with my son, JackyBoy, the best I could. Proud to say that, through it all, my treatments largely did not impact the amount of time I’ve been able to spend with him. We’ve done many important things, from building our Legos arsenal to exploring Seattle.
» Played a few gigs with my band Theory of Change. Got us ready to head into the studio to start recording our first album! (Working title: “We Shall Not Be Disturbed.”)
» Wrote a policy brief on the $15 minimum wage ordinance, and helped pump out a few other reports on things like health care disparities and student debt.
» Organized and helped run a retreat for a civic engagement org, APACE.
» Contributed financial analysis as a Board member of an environmental justice group, Got Green.
» And even managed to play in a few soccer games.
Probably other stuff I’m missing. But I kept active, as exhausting as it was, which, I believe, put me in the right frame of mind. But all this leads me to my next lesson:
Before I got sick, I was living an insanely unsustainable lifestyle. I don’t know what caused the cancer, but my lifestyle certainly did not help. I was working not-stop, my calendar was completely full — to the point that an evening with nothing planned felt like a waste.
I’ve learned that it is vital that we create space in our lives for ourselves, and those empty evenings are far from a waste of time; they are in fact life-giving moments to stop, take a breath, and reconnect with yourself.
As Taoist philosopher Lao Tzu said, "Doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing."
I’ve cited this article before, and I’ll do it again, because it really hit home for me.
"It wasn’t until I left a stressful work situation and took some time to travel in South America for a few months that I learned the difference between being busy 'doing nothing' and just ‘doing nothing.’
"It was there that I was challenged to just be, as I was traveling by myself, didn’t have any work to bury myself in, and there was no TV or phone to distract myself with.
"It was scary at first to be alone with my own thoughts and feelings and I actually felt anxious, as I experienced sadness, anger, and worry without any way to divert my attention from them. However, as those feelings came up I was able to deal with them and release them, and that was what allowed me to feel rested and recharged."
I know what you’re thinking. I’m basically contradicting my last point. But while I have tried to stay active through my treatments, I’ve simultaneously embraced the philosophy of doing nothing. Life is about finding an appropriate balance, and doing nothing has a much greater prominence in the mix.
When you say yes to one thing, you say no to something else. When you create space in your life for nothing, unexpected surprises will reveal themselves to you. For me, it has happened time and time again.
5. Make friends — doctors, nurses, technicians and fellow patients are your allies.
It was my first treatment. I had no idea what to expect, and, quite frankly, it was very scary. It was relatively early in the whole journey, and I was still in shock from it all.
She was this bright shining star who was happy, positive, and confident. She’s been at this for years, with no end in sight. But you wouldn’t know it from talking to her.
Kelly (pictured, center) was in the chair in the area next to me, and we got to chatting.
Since then, she’s made it a point to track me down at every treatment, offering me a glimmer of sunlight to lift me up.
She knew every nurse there — not just their name, but she knew about their kids, their passions, their loves.
Watching her reminded me that, while they wear latex gloves to treat you and they go to great lengths to maintain a sterile environment, it was vital to build connections around us and to remember to constantly introduce the human element into the treatment process.
This is not just for your own sanity. When the insurance company wants to delay an important test, it helps to be on a first-name basis with your oncologist’s top nurse. You will need them to go to bat for you somewhere along the line, and you don’t want to only be nice when you need something from them.
Normally, I would have received my treatment today, but I pushed it back a day so I could attend Jack’s preschool graduation. But I made sure to stop by and pay Kelly a visit, to hopefully offer her a glimmer of sunshine into her day.
The kindness that she has put out into the universe will be returned to her. I plan to keep paying her regular visits as she continues her treatments. And to make the most of the gift that I’m receiving, that I get to end my treatments.
6. Be persistent; don’t be paralyzed by fear.
After I received an initial diagnosis in December, I was in utter shock. In an instant, my whole world was turned upside-down. When I got the call from my doctor and heard the C-word, everything started spinning. I began thinking about the possibility that Jack would grow up without his daddy. I was rocked to my very core.
But, I knew there was more I needed to find out. I didn’t know what stage I was in. I knew that if it was still early, my chances were excellent. But if it was late in the game, the fight would be much more difficult.
I needed to find out exactly how far along this disease was. To do so, I needed a PET/CT scan. It was right around Christmas, and I had to get my insurer’s approval before I could even schedule the scan.
So I took to the phone and had several frustrating conversations before I was finally able to schedule the scan for the day after Christmas.
I felt that time was of the essence. I was nervous about chemo’s side effects, but I felt strongly that I would start treatment tomorrow if I could — I wanted to get the show on the road. Because, the longer we put it off, the more the disease spreads.
I didn’t let my shock, feet-dragging insurers, or my fear of chemo stop me from getting done what needed to get done.
So, that’s my story. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. I don’t think it’s fully even set in yet. When I first started this journey, it was terrifying, and I had a lot to learn. Failure is a waste if you don’t learn the lesson — that applies here. This experience would have been a waste if I did not learn these lessons. I hope they’re lessons that can help you on your own life journey as well.
I’ll see you out there, hopefully playing guitar on a bluff overlooking Seattle. Peace, love, empathy.
