LIVESTRONG

Where do I begin? I am just home from the inaugural Livestrong Summit held in Austin, Texas, and in the past three days I have undergone more than it appeared possible to do in a mere seventy two hours. I have experienced inspiration and humility and awe, often in chunks that seemed too large to be swallowed in one piece. Many of the people I have met over this weekend just past made me absolutely thrilled to be a part of this group. I listened to amazing tales of strength, perseverance, and hope, all coming from everyday people very much like myself. These people and I all shared a common bond, which is that we have all experienced cancer in one of its' myriad forms. Another thing we had in common is that not one of us has surrendered to this disease.

 

During the convention I listened to accounts from other survivors which left me with a feeling of wonder, and often the sensation I experienced was incredulity. There was the man that refused to give up when told he only had months to live, ultimately consulting eight doctors before finally talking to a ninth doctor that finally offered a solution. There was the woman who practically had to beg her doctor to do a biopsy of a lump in her breast, after being told not to worry, that she was too young to have breast cancer. I had thought a biopsy was done as a matter of course, so little do I know. Then, there was the man with whom I had dinner on Saturday night, that mentioned during our conversation that he had been undergoing chemotherapy now for three years, and had in fact experienced his last chemo session just before leaving for the summit. These are only a small portion of the personal encounters with cancer shared with me in Austin, but they represent the kind of attitude and sense of purpose present in every person with whom I talked. The word 'surrender' was simply not in these people's vocabulary.

 

Even more inspiring were the experiences shared by those people that shoulder so much of the burden borne by a cancer patient, the caregivers. These are people that make room in lives already filled with families and careers, and face the physical and spiritual challenges that come from giving care and goodness to someone they love. The value of the support provided by these people is incalculable, and often their lives are forever transformed by the experience. Caregivers enable a cancer survivor to face their disease with the knowledge that they are not alone. They supply love and give of themselves so unselfishly that they provide choices when often it seems there are no choices left, and when the person in their care can no longer remain in this world, they will hold their hand and enable them to face their journey into the next world with comfort and dignity. Given a choice between being a survivor or being a caregiver, I believe I would choose to be a survivor. I am not sure I would have the strength to be a caregiver.

 

The Summit...

 

Kind of a pilgrimage for me, a chance to actually see Lance Armstrong in the flesh. This guy is the first thing I thought of when informed that I have cancer. As the summit was held in Texas, the trip alone was worth taking for a Michigan boy in mid October. Shirt sleeve weather all weekend, and I left with a knowledge that folks in Texas sure do love their air conditioning! Many people would walk to the hall in their shirts and put their jacket on upon entering the exhibition hall. Check in was a breeze. Give your name and you were handed a tote filled with information and supplies for the weekend, along with an ID badge. Then you got to wander around and introduce yourself to folks and share stories. Tables were set up with good things to drink and all kinds of munchies, which helped a great deal when you had been up since four AM and trotting through airports trying not to miss your flight. Happily, I met a lady who lived in Austin, and got the scoop on a couple of good places to eat while in town.

 

At three o'clock we all headed into the exhibition hall for the opening session, where after the opening ceremony we heard first from Lance himself. The man challenged us to actually work during the summit, to try and see just what we could accomplish. Next up were two very good speakers. Dr. Antonia Novella, our first female Surgeon General here in the U. S. Dr. Novella talked about "The Power of Cancer Survivors as Advocates."

 

 

 

 

 

Four years & counting

An anniversary for me today. I am a cancer survivor. Four years ago an oncologist looked me in the eye and gave me some unhappy news. This woman that had walked into the examination room where I waited for her weeks earlier and introduced herself to me as the Queen of Lumps informed me that I have non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Not only this, but there are two different types, B and T, and it was discovered that I have both. The icing on my particular cake was that the disease had metastasized, a fancy word that pretty much means "spread". Two different bone marrow samples had both tested positive, meaning that I was at stage four of the disease. This doctor explained to me that by the time this cancer has made a home within your bones, chances are that it has spread throughout your lymphatic system, and may also be present in major organs, as well.

How completely odd that the world does not come grinding to a halt when these words are delivered. I like to envision myself as a strong person, but being told you have cancer knocks the toughness right out of you. The sense of shock should be enough to sweep your feet right off from underneath you, yet I somehow remained standing. The news itself is breathtaking, but my lungs kept on working, in and out, in and out. My reaction at the time was that a forty five year old male should not have to be thinking of writing a will. I had expected that if I ever faced death at a young age, it would be more as a result of my lifestyle, rather than my health...possibly because some knot head ran a light and nailed me on my motorcycle.

What the diagnosis meant to me was that at this stage of the game my choices were pretty limited. Surgery as a solution was out, as by the time enough had been hacked off to eliminate the cancer there would not be a lot left. Radiation was also out, as the amount required as a cure would cook me like a hotdog in a microwave, while making sure that my last few days on earth were as miserable as possible. Consequently, I walked out of the cancer center that day staring down the barrel of chemotherapy. At that time I was facing fifteen sessions, one per day, five straight days of treatment followed by a breather for the rest of that month, to give my body a chance to deal with the poisons being introducedinto it. This eventually became a total of thirty sessions stretched out over six months, and my treatment began being called "intensive." 

Really, if ever there was a "right" time to become a cancer patient, the twenty first century is that time. Advances in dealing with the disease are made almost on a minute-by-minute basis, and I believe that I am alive today specifically because knowledge of cancer as well as of treatment continue to move forward at a rapid pace. Some day soon cancer may be ranked along with polio as something you are more likely to see in a history book, but that day will only matter for those of us around to see it arrive.