Riding The Wave – Multiple Myeloma

“Every man dies – Not every man really lives.” – William Ross Wallace

As we have all watched and heard about the disaster in Japan of such proportion its hard to get my mind around just how devastating this disaster has been in its size and scope. Intellectually I think I get it, but I find myself thinking a lot about what it must be like for those living it.

One news story told of a survivor on a piece of rooftop floating out in the ocean 10 miles from the shoreline. Amazing.

But what I also find myself thinking about is how “we” can get ourselves into a bit of victim mentality about our cancer. I hesitate often to share my deepest thoughts about this as I am empathetic to those who do feel devastated by their very personal tragedy of cancer, or their loved one. Perhaps because I lost my father so early in my life and learned a very difficult lesson about how life can seem so unfair at a young age. I admit it was and in someways still is, a defining moment in my life. An event that many lessons and viewpoints are still teaching me, even today.

One philosopher said, “Death is proof we have lived.” Pragmatically speaking, we will all die. When, where and how is the unknown data, but the fact that we will, is indisputable.

When Dave was diagnosed it turned our world upside down. The fragility of our life slammed us square between the eyes in a very unexpected way. Let’s face it, we don’t, or certainly I don’t, live my days with death looming over me. When we were hit with Multiple Myeloma, the shadow of death suddenly was looming over us. I didn’t like it. Why is it that cancer scares us so? What is it about “cancer” that does this? I mean what about a stroke? Heart Disease and other incurable conditions? They don’t seem to have the same fear factor. I struggled to find a way to put it in perspective. Not to minimize it, but to cope with it. Staring down my fears as they came. Much like an earthquake followed by a tsunami, there was the impact, the devastation, then the after shocks, then the anxiety and stress rolling over me at times that made it hard to breathe. Was I going to be sitting on the side of the road staring at the devastation, helplessly paralyzed by it, or was I going to be the Red Cross and move forward in my own survival and also help Dave with his? Was I going to be at cause or at effect? These were the things that I wrestled with.

He could have been in a car accident, he could have survived but been paralyzed. We could have experienced any number of tragedies other than cancer. Would it really have been any different? What makes cancer seem so different?

As I watched, like the rest of the world, the 24/7 news cycle on what was happening in Japan I couldn’t help but ponder these questions again and feel somehow lucky. You’ve probably heard the saying about when listening to another man’s problems you begin to think yours aren’t so bad?

My parents taught me that you never truly know what you are capable of doing until you are staring it in the face, and that I should never doubt my abilities to confront whatever it might be head on, confidently. They were quite right. “I don’t know how they do it,” is often expressed when talking about another family’s tragedy, from the outside looking in. The truth is, until you are in it, you just don’t know. And when you are, you can surprise yourself with how you do deal with it, cope with it, manage it. I for one am inspired daily by those battling Myeloma and the strength of their caregivers. We share a lot of the same anxieties and worries. In that, somehow we feel normal, a sense of relief, knowing others are thinking and struggling with the same things. It can provide solace and comfort, at least it has for me. We are not alone. We have a shared reality.

Putting it all into perspective, balanced with the honest truth of feeling devastated, somehow made it easier for me to get through my days. Knowing that whatever the day brought I would survive, delivered for me, a calmness, a focus. Certainly it would do no good for me to be anxiety ridden and worrying about what might happen. If I did that, I would have little left emotionally to deal with what was, or be supportive to Dave in his moments of fear and worry. To be able to assure our children to continue with their lives and their education and let me worry about their father.

As with many people who face their own mortality and live to tell about it, Dave and I, in many ways, are happier than we have ever been. We laugh a great deal about things that use to anger us terribly. Suddenly getting the garbage out or forgetting to wipe off one’s feet before entering the house, seem appropriately trivial in the big scheme of things. All those things we all know, but have never fully embraced about what is truly important in life. We get it now and it is very liberating. Lance Armstrong said in his book that if he could choose not to have cancer but would have to be the guy he was before, he would choose the cancer. He likes himself and who he is far better now, having gone through his experience. I feel incredibly blessed that Dave has lived long enough with his disease that we have been able to enjoy being this side of it in a way we wouldn’t have had it been something more devastating, like a sudden death. I try not to feel regret about the years wasted on the trivial, but to be grateful we finally have arrived to that serenity we strive for but seem to struggle attaining.

“To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone and a funnybone.” – Reba McEntire

It should go without saying, that arriving at this “perspective” was, and in someways still is, a work in progress.

Tags: death, earthquake, japan, life, nuclear plant, serenity, tsunami