Remembering Normal

“If you start to take Vienna – take Vienna!!”

Napoleon Bonaparte – on keeping focused on a goal, applying overwhelming force, and not getting distracted.

 

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Please check out my formal journal at CURE Magazine, a world wide publication found in every oncologist's office. They have asked me to share my transplant experience. I also encourage you to read this post: How My Cancer Might Save Your Life. It's a quick read, and if you pay close attention, you'll be a different person afterwards. 100% guaranteed, or triple your money back. I also highly recommend TJ & Jen Sharpe's blog, mainly about melanoma but useful for all cancer patients, Patient 1

June 11, 2015 Transplant Day +111

I've now finished my two days worth of +90 workups, spread over a couple of weeks. "Normally" (that will be today's theme) I would have been living over in Tampa until Day 90, and had all that work done before I came home. Just for those interested, in the two days I had psyc workup, CT scans, more blood work than usual, a pulmonary function test (checking out my lungs), another bone marrow biopsy, more lab work, two doctor visits, and was supposed to have an eye exam. That last one didn't happen, due to a major backup in the eye clinic. Otherwise, all results so far are A+++++, (still waiting for the biopsy results).

There's always a surprise in this business. Last week, the doc told me I wasn't getting enough sun! After living like a vampire, in total fear of the sun for months, only going out before 10 or after 4, and then with long sleeves, big hat, and whole body sunscreen even under the long clothing (denim leaks UV. Who knew?), he tells me the reason my Vitamin D is low, even with handfuls of supplements, is no sunlight. I now have an Rx for 15-20 minutes of sun a day. We're way beyond logic here, so we just roll with it. Nice to be able to go down to the mailbox without having to don The Full Armor Of Dracula!

The Good Doc Ayala keeps telling me how far ahead of the curve I am. While also reminding me anything can happen. Which continues the dichotomy that is cancer. (See Cancer Is A Binary Number). Almost every writer who gets cancer posts an article about the duality of life with cancer, living a normal existence while also in a parallel universe, life is a sort of slow motion train wreck, with each step taking weeks or months. Planning for tomorrow, while also planning for there not to be a tomorrow.

The other standard post all cancer victims/writers do is about "The New Normal." (Just today I saw this article). After taking Vienna the first time I lived for 5 years with a graph stuck to my bookcase at work, showing the relapse rates vs time, and marking off each year I stayed "above average." Agonizing over my retirement account, while staring into the possibility of a dramatically shortened life span. Celebrating each family milestone, weddings, graduations, vacations, by appreciating the fact that, without remission, I'd be missing them.

What I wasn't quite ready for were the feeling I'm having now. We're all used to the "big event" feeling. Months or years getting ready for a "life event" like a wedding, retirement, or major vacation culminate in a huge success, then it's "what's next?" After my first round with cancer, 17 months of treatment between 2005 and 2007, there was always the spectre of relapse in front of me. We hoarded vacation days against the need to bridge disability time; held off home improvements and vacations to build a cash reserve for expenses, and lived the dual life I mention above. Planning for a long life with a long retirement, while at the same time, planning for a relapse, another transplant, and the possibility of failure.

Well, now, I'm cured! Almost certainly. And the "almost" is close enough to "certainty" that we're able to focus only on one path forward, the good one. Which leaves me with a habit I have to break. 9 years of thinking two ways, with limited horizons and a negative pall on long term plans, is over. Yet, my daily drive to work takes me right by my local cancer center, so its a constant reminder of the lurking beast, always out there. That pesky "almost."

The doctor who first found my cancer, herself a lymphoma survivor, told me it was five years before a whole day went by when she didn't think about it at least once. I suspect I won't even make it that soon, but I've decided that's not necessarily a bad thing. Major events in our lives, good and bad, shape who we are and what we do. Cancer is a part of my life experience, and overall I'm a far better person for it. While I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, (which I actually don't have many of, at least from my side of things), the lessons I've learned have grown me in great and wonderful ways.

Thus, the theme of my missionary efforts. It's not just winning battles, it's how you fight the war. In a rapid change of metaphors, it really does matter how you play the game, win or lose. People have asked me how I stay so calm in adversarial work situations. Well, my perspective has changed. Little in my daily job is a life or death matter. Much of it doesn't affect the greater outcome, launching humans into space safely. Where it does matter, its about getting the right thing done, not winning over someone else. And mostly, in life, work, play, family, and community, it's about the people.

And that's what cancer has really taught me. It's about the people. Little else truly matters in the long run.