Healing
Those who have been touched by cancer--patient or family member--are compelled to do a lot of thinking. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you already know I've done a fair share of my own during the past six months. Recently, while navigating to and from my daily radiation sessions, I have had time to make a mental inventory of what I have learned as a cancer patient.
Here are my personal lessons:
1. No matter where you stand in your diagnosis, Stage 4 or Stage 1, living with prostate cancer can sometimes suck..., but, it certainly beats the alternative. No one invited this unwanted guest to our party, but we'll deal with it. I'd rather enjoy the celebration with a few challenges than to have missed the party.
2. I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of missing those I love and being there for them. No, I am not being morbid. This is a simple realization and important distinction I plan to carry with me for the rest of my life. I suppose my faith and spiritual foundation are stronger than I might have guessed. If I am wrong on what might come next, the only downside I can see is a nice long sleep. However, it's the idea of not being with those I know and love and sharing with them that gives me pause. The solution to this quandary is to at least try and do my best for them everyday of my life. Simple, yes. However, I would never have seen it with such clarity otherwise.
3. While cancer shouldn't define me, it remains an undeniable part of who I have become. This disease has imparted an influence that will forever be a part of my existence. (Heck, some marriages don't last six months...) I won't annul myself from this part of my life. I will continue to acknowledge it and talk about it whenever I feel the need. I will also listen to any fellow patient or family member when they need an ear.
4. People aren't comfortable with cancer until you are. They can't offer compassion when you need it until you ask for it--if that's what you need. If the "C" word paralyzes patients, I believe the effect on others can be ten-fold. Some stutter or stammer. Others fall into awkward silence. Worse yet, some may choose to deny there is anything wrong with you. As the central player in the film, a cancer patient needs to let others know what he or she is going through and how much or little discussion they need. To not do so risks isolation by default.
5. Women in menopause deserve a medal of honor. New to this whole man-o-pause thing, I don't know how our sisters in humanity have dealt so admirably with this phenomenon throughout the ages. Add it to the whole "Super-mom" set of expectations that our generation has imposed on many women and it's a mystery millions haven't already combusted instantaneously--hot flashes or not.
6. Using the term "survivor" is a personal choice. I have met some former cancer patients who refuse to assume this distinction. It's often applied to any patient who is currently battling the disease. That's okay too. In my mind I do not yet qualify for the title. In five years, when I hear the words "cancer-free" applied to me, I will gladly accept it. I will have earned it. As I said, it's a personal thing.
7. Silver linings and lemonade from lemons do exist. This might sound hackneyed, but I have certainly found my share of linings and enjoyed a great many glasses of refreshing lemonade along the way. I think having cancer just has a way of letting you see things differently and you can find these blessings more easily.
8. The world is a better place than the evening news leads you to believe. Working with compassionate care givers, feeling the love and hearing the concern of friends and family, and meeting so many others in the same position as me has reminded me that there are more good and wonderful people in this world than not. It's easy to forget when we live life in status quo mode.
9. LST (Laughter Stimulation Therapy) should be standard for all patients regardless of their ailment. I love to laugh. I always knew this about myself, but the upside of hormone therapy is when the mood swing defaults to the hysterical. I have had several wonderfully out-of-control laughing jags in the past few weeks. I hope to never lose these and appreciate the endorphins they release.
10. Modesty and privacy are highly overrated. In the past six months I have had my private parts poked, prodded, tugged, removed, sliced, swabbed, injected, inserted with things--even clamped...YES, CLAMPED, all in view of numerous medical professionals. Yes, it takes some getting used to, but if giving up some privacy will allow me to grow old and someday share some golden retirement days with my wife and family, have at it. Groping for a cure--I'm all for it.
Here are my personal lessons:
1. No matter where you stand in your diagnosis, Stage 4 or Stage 1, living with prostate cancer can sometimes suck..., but, it certainly beats the alternative. No one invited this unwanted guest to our party, but we'll deal with it. I'd rather enjoy the celebration with a few challenges than to have missed the party.
2. I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of missing those I love and being there for them. No, I am not being morbid. This is a simple realization and important distinction I plan to carry with me for the rest of my life. I suppose my faith and spiritual foundation are stronger than I might have guessed. If I am wrong on what might come next, the only downside I can see is a nice long sleep. However, it's the idea of not being with those I know and love and sharing with them that gives me pause. The solution to this quandary is to at least try and do my best for them everyday of my life. Simple, yes. However, I would never have seen it with such clarity otherwise.
3. While cancer shouldn't define me, it remains an undeniable part of who I have become. This disease has imparted an influence that will forever be a part of my existence. (Heck, some marriages don't last six months...) I won't annul myself from this part of my life. I will continue to acknowledge it and talk about it whenever I feel the need. I will also listen to any fellow patient or family member when they need an ear.
4. People aren't comfortable with cancer until you are. They can't offer compassion when you need it until you ask for it--if that's what you need. If the "C" word paralyzes patients, I believe the effect on others can be ten-fold. Some stutter or stammer. Others fall into awkward silence. Worse yet, some may choose to deny there is anything wrong with you. As the central player in the film, a cancer patient needs to let others know what he or she is going through and how much or little discussion they need. To not do so risks isolation by default.
5. Women in menopause deserve a medal of honor. New to this whole man-o-pause thing, I don't know how our sisters in humanity have dealt so admirably with this phenomenon throughout the ages. Add it to the whole "Super-mom" set of expectations that our generation has imposed on many women and it's a mystery millions haven't already combusted instantaneously--hot flashes or not.
6. Using the term "survivor" is a personal choice. I have met some former cancer patients who refuse to assume this distinction. It's often applied to any patient who is currently battling the disease. That's okay too. In my mind I do not yet qualify for the title. In five years, when I hear the words "cancer-free" applied to me, I will gladly accept it. I will have earned it. As I said, it's a personal thing.
7. Silver linings and lemonade from lemons do exist. This might sound hackneyed, but I have certainly found my share of linings and enjoyed a great many glasses of refreshing lemonade along the way. I think having cancer just has a way of letting you see things differently and you can find these blessings more easily.
8. The world is a better place than the evening news leads you to believe. Working with compassionate care givers, feeling the love and hearing the concern of friends and family, and meeting so many others in the same position as me has reminded me that there are more good and wonderful people in this world than not. It's easy to forget when we live life in status quo mode.
9. LST (Laughter Stimulation Therapy) should be standard for all patients regardless of their ailment. I love to laugh. I always knew this about myself, but the upside of hormone therapy is when the mood swing defaults to the hysterical. I have had several wonderfully out-of-control laughing jags in the past few weeks. I hope to never lose these and appreciate the endorphins they release.
10. Modesty and privacy are highly overrated. In the past six months I have had my private parts poked, prodded, tugged, removed, sliced, swabbed, injected, inserted with things--even clamped...YES, CLAMPED, all in view of numerous medical professionals. Yes, it takes some getting used to, but if giving up some privacy will allow me to grow old and someday share some golden retirement days with my wife and family, have at it. Groping for a cure--I'm all for it.