March 26, 2024

I have shared a great deal over the course of the past, nearly, three years. This week a reminder popped up that Tuesday was the 1000th day since my diagnosis. 1000 days. I woke up early and witnessed a miracle. The sun rose.

I've been thinking about what it means to be a "survivor" or a "warrior" or a "bad ass" (as we refer to one another in my support groups.) I hosted a little retreat over the weekend for some of the chapter members of Man Up To Cancer.  I'd met a couple of them in person but this was essentially four guys with one thing in common, willing to share and listen.  The conversations were deep and lasted late into the night...well, actually early into the morning! One of these fellows had his chemo treatment in the morning and met up with us for lunch on the way to Truckee. I'm not sure how he would describe himself, maybe "survivor" or "warrior", but in my book this is the very definition of "bad ass".

As you may have read in my last post I have been struggling with the physical limitations associated with some neuropathy which has caused "drop foot". I've been seeing an acupuncturist and attending water aerobics for about a month. The symptoms have improved, but the thing that has improved most is my mental health. Being active again has helped so much. I'm truly grateful for the physical improvement, but even more so for the increased energy and ability to laugh and engage with others. It's been a long winter.

So let's talk about what it means to be a "survivor". I was in the pool last week and while trying to have my limbs follow the (fairly simple) directions to do some combination moves, I had to laugh. I couldn't get the moves right. I realized that in December and January I had to use a cane when I got out of bed in the morning. I shared with the group that in the past three years I've had open heart surgery, a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted, cancer surgery, radiation therapy, on-going daily chemo therapy, my wife had cancer, and my daughter had cancer. Just being able to be in the pool means I'm a survivor.

Through the prayers of many, and God's hand working through the modern marvels of science, I'm still upright and taking nourishment. I don't think of myself as a warrior. Sometimes while joking with the brothers in Man Up To Cancer or The PC Tribe, I'll joke about being a bad ass. But frankly, it feels like those titles belong to some of the others. Some are young and just starting out in their careers, or starting their families. They've had to quit their jobs, give up on planning a family, many have lost their jobs and medical insurance. Some have lost their wives. I sit here surrounded by my family and friends who love, care and pray for me. I'm able to work, as I can, to feel like I'm still contributing, and my condition is stable (for the time being). 

Yes, I'm a survivor. I was having lunch with my buddy Kevin a few weeks ago. As I was updating him on the latest I realized I was grinning from ear-to-ear. I paused, pointed at my face and said "look at this, Kevin. I'm smiling." He said "I know. I can tell you are doing better". I am feeling better. I shared with the group over the weekend that one of the greatest blessings of this disease is that I am "more 'me' than I have ever been." I'm not sure how to explain that, except that I've had a major reorganization of priorities in life. Perhaps we can discuss it over a glass, or three, of wine sometime. I would like that.

Perhaps a better definition would be a Conqueror. While this disease may never completely leave my body, I know the truth. And the truth is this: It will never win.

I'm going to leave you with, perhaps, one of my favorite passages. It's fitting with Easter just around the corner.