December 20th, 2015

Tomorrow I'll be in New York City for an ultrasound of my stomach. The last set of scans came back somewhat inconclusive, and it seems I have a buildup of fluid in my abdomen. We'll know more tomorrow, but the plan is to drain it, a simple procedure compared to everything else I've had done. The scans also highlighted two spots of interest, both at the bottom of my lungs, likely inflammation from radiation, but we won't know with much certainty until I have more scans in a month. For now, we continue to live scan-to-scan, waiting and hoping for conclusively cancer-free results.

It seems fitting that we spend this Advent season waiting for good news, news that will usher in a brighter future. Advent is, after all, about waiting for the arrival of the Messiah, the deliverer who will establish God's kingdom here on Earth.  Waiting for a God who enters into the messiness and uncertainty of this world, and looking for a tomorrow made better by God’s presence in it, seem especially fitting activities as I wait for definitively clear scans, whether or not I ever get them.

December 14th, 2015

When we got the diagnosis over a year ago now, I took the news much better than a lot of other people. Better than anyone, honestly. While, as I have talked about before, some of this is due to my generally carefree nature, I attribute a good part of this that to the fact that I, not someone I love, would have to go through it all. It would be far worse to have to watch someone else I care about enduring round after round of chemo, surgery followed by surgery, followed by still more surgeries, and  truly nasty radiation treatment. On the other side of the coin, several people have expressed to me that they wish it was them, not me, going through it all. It is, I think, a natural reaction when we see people we care about suffering. We want to take it from them, to carry their burden and give them some respite from their trials. I would never let someone I care about take my cancer from me, even if that were possible.

In so many ways, I am grateful that it is me, not other people I know and love, going through this. For one, my body seems to handle craziness well, and to look at me now you would likely never guess what I've gone through this past year. My hair and beard are back, and I look rather fit and healthy, on the whole. I know that not everyone is so robust or able to handle such stress--mental and physical--without it taking a more serious toll on their bodies and their baseline level of health. I may be down about 50 pounds from where I was before this whole ordeal began, but it just makes me look like a runner, rather than a...whatever I looked like before. Couch potato, maybe? I haven't had any serious or trying long-term effects from my treatment this past year. That just isn't true for a lot of people going through this type of treatment, for various reasons. One of those reasons must be that, for whatever reason, I heal quickly. For that, I am immensely grateful.

But my thankfulness that it is me and not my wife, or brother, or sisters, or any number of other people going through this extends well beyond the practicality of how my body has handled it all and come out as unscathed as possible. The mental anguish that others must have handled this past year is not something I  would care to deal with. I really doubt I would have remained half so calm and happy as I've been this past year were it my wife, not me, going through all the miserable treatments. That's why when people have expressed to me that they wish they could have this instead of me, I think 'well, that's really sweet, but I'd never let you.' Cancer treatment is not something I'd ever let someone I care about deal with, if I had the ability to go through it on their behalf.

Perhaps that’s how God feels. Perhaps for God it was so unbearable to see people muddling through their own mistakes that God came down to go through it all for us, giving us a way to be free from our wrongdoings and the suffering they can bring. Much like the people who have expressed that they wished they could take my cancer from me and go through the treatments themselves, God looked at humanity and could not help but become incarnate as a person, to go through the human experience of life, to endure the consequences of sin on our behalf. While it's impossible, of course, for any of us to actually take someone else's disease and go through their misery for them, it's comforting to have a God who can do much the same thing, and in fact already did.

December 6th, 2015

let's talk about thoughts and prayers. Personally, I think they're great. I want your thoughts and prayers. Just today someone told me they'd be thinking about me and praying for me. Cool! One of the ways we've made it through this past year is by the prayers, thoughts, and considerate deeds of others. Most people really aren't in a position to do much more than think of us and pray for us, and that already is more than I would ask of anyone. So there's nothing at all wrong with offering solidarity, thoughts, prayers, good vibes, or whatever other intangibles one wants to direct at another, whatever their situation. And I don't think anyone is making the argument that people shouldn't think of or pray for unfortunate circumstances, though it seems plenty of others believe this. The problem arises when thoughts and prayers are all people offer. But that's not quite right either. More specifically, the trouble comes when people who are in a position to offer more give only thoughts and prayers.

let me explain what I mean by this. This last spring, I didn't want you (unless you're reading this, Doctors Heaton and LaQuaglia) to do my surgeries. I did want you to remember that I was having surgery, and pray for it to go well. That's because you (probably) are not a surgeon. You aren't in a position to do more than think of and pray for me. But if my surgeons had said "we're thinking of you and praying for you," and then decided that was enough, and not to even try surgery, I would have been upset, and justifiably so. They at least should try something, right? There may not be a huge chance that the surgeries would be successful, and as I'm writing this we really don't know if there is any cancer left in me or not. Time will tell. We're thinking and praying for the best. But at least my surgeons tried in earnest to solve the problem, to use their talents, intellect, training, and station in life to keep cancer from killing me.

And that's the issue here in the U.S. regarding gun-related deaths. Too many people in places of political power who have the ability to do something, anything, to work towards decreasing the number of people killed every year are doing nothing, while offering thoughts and prayers as if that will solve it. It saddens me that nothing is being done in this area. I like to think everyone should be able to agree that we have too many gun-related deaths in this country, and we should do something about it. Between shootings and accidents, way too many lives are lost because of guns. It shouldn't be a radical sentiment to want to work towards solutions that prevent these unnecessary killings.

I really don't care what you think the right course of action is, and honestly I'm not here to argue one way or another about gun control, background checks, or any of that. The point I want to make is that we ought to hold a more honest, open-minded, and constructive discussion about what we can do. We need to acknowledge as a country that we have a serious problem, on a scale far greater than that in similar nations around the world. There must be something we can come up with, agree upon, or at least compromise on that can reduce the number of people killed by guns every year.

Too many people die of cancer too. If the powers that be only offered us their thoughts, prayers, and wishes for good health, there would be public outcry, and rightfully so. Instead, cancer research happens through a combination of funding from the government, individual donors, nonprofits, and pharmaceutical companies alike. Numerous hospitals, societies, organizations, companies, and associations are working on improving treatment options. Something is at least being done about cancer. It's high time we do something about gun-related deaths too.

Thoughts and prayers are fine, but not if that's all we get from people who should be doing more. After all, Jesus didn't say "I was naked and you thought about how cold that would be, and prayed that I would find clothes. I was hungry and you thought about how glad you were your own stomach was full, and prayed I'd find some food from that nearby dumpster. I was in jail and you thought about how hard it must be in prison, felt bad for me, and prayed I'd have visitors." It's pretty obvious to me that our politicians, at least those who profess to follow Jesus, need to do more than think and pray about gun violence. The truly uncomfortable part of this for me is that really, all of us can probably do more than think of and pray for someone in some situation somewhere. We need to be open to the ways we can and should help others. It might not be popular or easy to think like that, but it's what following Jesus requires. And it's something I'm sure I fail at every single day.

November 29th, 2015

Since it was Thanksgiving Day here in the United States this past week, I thought I'd make this post about a handful of the things for which I am most thankful. This definitely does not cover everything at all, but it's a good start at least. I am thankful for...

- My health. I could be in a whole lot worse shape and, all things considered, I really am doing great. Being healthy enough just to eat, drink, breathe, and use the bathroom normally is no longer something I take for granted, and the fact that I can still run, ride an exercise bike an hour a day (that's my goal at least), and in general stay active is a nice bonus too. 

- My family. My parents are the reason I have health insurance and went to Sloan Kettering instead of somewhere else, so for that alone I owe them my life, not that I didn't a hundred times over before. They've also done an incredible job simultaneously caring for their sick child and letting me be an adult living his own life. My siblings have helped make life as normal as possible this past year by visiting as often as they could and playing games with me of the board or video persuasion, depending on what I was up for. My In-laws deserve mention here too, for all their support, prayers, and kindness this past year. Extended family members deserve my thanks too, for the cards, care packages, encouraging emails, hundreds of snapchats, and dozens of other ways they have encouraged, loved, and supported me.

 - My wife gets her own paragraph here. She's been with me nearly 24/7 this past year, and that's quite an accomplishment. I don't even like spending 24/7 with myself. So the fact that she has just about always been there, ensuring that I eat, stay hydrated, and take my pills at the right times this past year deserves an award. She's also done hundreds of other tasks, many of which I really should have done myself, so that I can have less to do, be more comfortable, and spend more time lazing around, goofing off, and enjoying life when there's paperwork to be done.

 - My friends (and my friends' friends, and beyond). I certainly don't personally know all the people who have sent cards and packages, followed my journey on Facebook or Caring Bridge, prayed, emailed, and encouraged and supported me and my family throughout this past year. That so many people have stepped in to help me and my entire family out this past year has been a huge blessing to me and my wife, and I know to my parents and siblings as well.

 - God. Beyond my own carefree attitude and the love and support of so many people, there is one other source of help that has carried me through this past year. I would be remiss if I did not mention my faith or how it helped me, kept me calm, and gave me peace and the freedom not to worry. It is chiefly because of God's love, shown in so many ways, and often through so many people, that I endured the last year as happily as I did.

I know there are many more things not listed here for which I am thankful, and even more that I am not thankful for, but really should be. Through the craziness of the past year though, I have, thankfully, come to realize at least a little bit just how blessed my life really is, and how thankful I ought to be.

November 22nd, 2015

As I start to run low on reflections and insights from the past year, I will expand my focus to include current events and my thoughts thereon. Yes, this blog will still be about cancer, and the changed perspective on life it has given me. For one, anything I say or write or think will forever be marked by cancer's influence. But more specifically, I will still incorporate my memories and experiences with cancer here, and I will strive to find ways to use examples from this past year to support whatever I might be writing about here. The lessons I have learned and the experiences I have been through do not, I sincerely hope, pertain only to cancer. With that in mind, let's talk about refugees, and a bit about cancer.

I cannot continue to hold my tongue about Syria and the people fleeing that country. I have seen too many hateful, xenophobic, self-centered comments and opinions on the news and in my facebook feed to ignore. My desire for this blog is, ultimately, to voice my opinion about life and to share whatever wisdom I have to offer, or at least my attempts at being wise. Further, I hope to do all this in the name of furthering God's Kingdom here on earth, which in my mind primarily involves spreading God's love. So, to ignore a troubling amount of ignorance and hatred around me about any issue would be, I think irresponsible, and would keep this blog from living up to its potential. I don't delude myself into thinking I'll change anyone's mind here. I don't know if anything online can do that, after all. From what I can tell, just about anything online tends to breed polarization, rather than help uncover common ground. But I'll give this a try anyways.

At the Ronald McDonald House, and at the pediatric day hospital, I encountered numerous families from across the globe, who came to New York City with one goal in mind: to get the best possible care for their child.  As I see it, the situation regarding people fleeing Syria is no different. These are people who are doing whatever they can to just survive, much less to give their families, their children, a better life. The United States is a land of relative safety and stability, a nation founded in part on the idea that this should be a country of freedom and opportunity for all. Just like our hospitals, some of which are the very best in the world, are open and available for the rest of the world to come to for treatment, so too should this country be open to those who would seek refuge here.

I'm going to take a moment here to respond to one argument I've seen all too often. Many try to reason that we have too many problems here already without adding a bunch more people who need help. There are to many people here without homes, too many veterans receiving too little care, to take on the burden of helping more people, especially people from some other country. And yes, we spend too much on war, and not enough on caring for the people who fought those wars. There are too many people struggling with their housing situation in this land. But that doesn't mean we can't welcome those who need somewhere to go.

To say we cannot help others until we have solved all our problems is an extraordinarily troubling suggestion. By the same logic, we should turn away every desperate family from outside the country hoping against hope for effective treatment for their child's cancer, until every American is healed of whatever ails them. Following that argument, we might conclude that we can't research AIDS treatments until we have cured cancer. Or vice versa. Either one is ludicrous.  I hope everyone can agree that such decisions would be unethical by any reasonable moral standards. If you happen to have the best hospital in the world, you let the world go there for treatment. End of story. Likewise, if you have a stable, relatively safe country, you don't turn away people who want desperately to escape violence. You let them come. End of story. Maybe.

Now, I truly am not here to argue for any course of action on behalf of our government officials here in the United States. They have intelligence (to be clear, I mean information) that I do not, and as such they hopefully understand the situation far better than I do. They must weigh pros and cons from a perspective of national security and what is best for the country, while balancing that with their understanding of the proper role of the U.S. in the world. I understand that perhaps the proper response for the U.S. government may not be *gasp* synonymous with the most Christ-like response, whatever that may be. Perhaps the U.S. should not allow any refugees from Syria to come into the country, in an effort to avoid a terrorist attack here.

Or perhaps we should welcome everyone with open arms, and place a higher priority on our moral duty to our fellow humans, and on our self-proclaimed role as a leader of the free world than on maintaining artificial boundaries. Perhaps we should stop viewing the lives of U.S. citizens as more important than the lives of those fleeing warfare in their home country, wherever that may be. Ultimately, I cannot pretend I have a perfect answer for how the U.S. government should respond. I know what I'd like, and what I think is best, but I don't know that I'm qualified or informed enough to act like I have a perfect solution to the problem. Well, actually I know I'm not. So while I'm not going to say "our government must follow this course of action," I do have some  strong beliefs about how I personally must respond, and how I'd like to see the rest of the country, and the rest of the world, respond.

To me, as someone who tries to follow Christ's example, there is only one clear response to this situation that I can, in good conscience, support. Let them come. We must help them out as best as we are able. Jesus, who is, as far as I'm aware, the model for the Christian life, spoke a few times that I can recall off the top of my head about helping other people. He also backed his words up with actions. I don't recall any parable of "the righteous man who turned away someone in need" though. I can't remember any Sunday School stories where a man who was paralyzed had his friends lower him through a roof so he could see Jesus, only to have Jesus berate him for ruining the roof and yelling at his friends to pull him back up and send him on his way, back to wherever he came from.

I can think of a handful of relevant parables though, most obviously that of the Good Samaritan, that, to me, allow no room for any response but that of love and compassion for all other human beings. The Good Samaritan is an impressive story for several reasons. It is not the people we think it should be, who help the robbed and beaten man. It is, in fact, someone from a marginalized people group, someone who has been looked down on his entire life by the mainstream Jews of the day. This "Good Samaritan" helped someone from a people group that likely would never have helped him. He even paid with his own money to ensure that the robbed and beaten man received the care he needed. It made very little sense, in other words, from a practical perspective.

Yet Jesus told this story, with these carefully chosen details, and said it was an example of how to act, of how to love others. To me, then, it matters little if Daesh (ISIS) extremists may be sneaking in occasionally with the actual refugees from the horrific violence in Syria. It doesn't matter if there is a chance that by letting any and all Syrian refugees seek shelter here, we may also let in a few extremists with violent intent. Whether they would help or hurt us, love or hate us, we are to love them. And we definitely, definitely cannot risk being unloving to the victims of violence, for the sake of hating our enemies. So however you think the U.S. government should respond to this ongoing situation, consider what it means to follow Christ's teachings and examples, and ponder on what it means to love your neighbor. Friends and enemies alike.

November 15, 2015

They say don't sweat the small things in life. That might be sage advice for many; don't stress over the little things that really don't mean all that much, and your life will likely contain far less angst. Keeping minor inconveniences in perspective is certainly healthy, and building a lifestyle where anxiety is minimized is easier on you and the people around you. That's all well and good. I'm sure it works for lots of people, and that's great. But it doesn't work for me. I like to sweat the small things. I like to overreact to little annoyances, like a wrinkle in my shirt that lies uncomfortably against my back, or when I feel too hot, or any number of equally trivial, mildly bothersome conditions. Most of the things I like to get worked up over have to do with being physically uncomfortable, now that I think on it. They're silly little things, and I know it's silly to get upset over them. That's part of the fun, in fact. My shirt is wrinkled, I freak out, then I make fun of myself for freaking out. Freaking out about little things gives me a necessary outlet for expressing stress and frustration, and laughing at myself for getting worked up about minor inconveniences helps me keep them in perspective and remember that really, they are pretty meaningless. But meaningless as the things I stress about are, it is a helpful, useful practice for me.

By stressing out and sweating over the small stuff, I feel much more free to remain calm when it comes to serious matters. Everyone has stress, and everyone needs to express their frustrations and let off steam. Either we vent our frustrations in healthy ways or we erupt eventually. I choose to vent several times a day typically, never for very long, and never over anything important. It works for me. I believe it is more helpful to stay at ease and focus on what needs to be done when it comes to serious problems. I'd rather have the presence of mind and the clarity to react in the best possible way were I to, say, find myself in an impending car crash or with a morbid cancer diagnosis. I wouldn't want to freak out and panic if my ability to stay calm and drive well in an emergency situation could help minimize damage and injury. I wouldn't want to worry myself to death over my low chances of surviving my cancer. So I don't. For me, having an almost-constant supply of minor annoyances to stress about whenever I need to vent a little is extremely helpful and frees me of stress when it comes to the real problems in life.

Now, I certainly should not and can not give myself too much credit for this. I naturally am very laid back, and I, by whatever combination of nature and nurture, tend to not worry about, well, much at all. I'm not anxious or stressed by default, and I often live in a world where I happily ignore problems as much as I can and enjoy life, despite what might be going wrong around me. This can be really problematic when there are serious problems that require my attention, like getting a job or making other important decisions. It's also saved me and the people around me time and again throughout the past year. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I took my diagnosis better than anyone else. More on that next week, but I think a lot of that is just the way I am, through no credit of mine. So I really cannot say that my habit of worrying unduly over minor annoyances, giving me a healthy outlet to vent my frustrations, is how I managed to stay calm and happy this past year. A good part of that is just the way I am by default. And I certainly do not suggest that everyone try worrying about every little thing, in an attempt to live a more stress-free life. I do think that it is worth reconsidering the old adage though. Sometimes, sweating the small stuff is freeing, constructive, and healthy. For me at least, it helps me stay calm and focused when the big stuff comes my way.

November 8th, 2015

One of the lessons I have learned best this past year is to be less judgmental. I used to, more often than I'd like to admit, assume I knew enough about someone to scoff at them or talk disparagingly about them or their actions, just from a quick first impression. For example, I might see someone struggling to walk a clearly untrained dog and look down on them, judging them as a poor dog owner. Driving poorly around me was, and still is, a pretty good way to get me to judge you. Less problematically, I might see someone who looks healthy and assume they are, or I might assume someone is as rich or poor as they appear.

But it occurred to me one day as I was walking hand-in-hand with my wife that anyone could easily look at us and judge wrongly, and even be jealous of our lives. Nobody should be jealous of my life, after all. I have cancer, for crying out loud, and if anyone knew that, surely they'd pity me, not envy me. Clearly, assuming things about people based on just a first impression is dangerous and unhealthy. But I think there were really two lessons to learn there, because when I stop to think about it, there are actually plenty of potential reasons for others to be jealous of my life. For one, I am happy. A lot of people simply aren't, and while my life may not be perfect, and while I would willingly trade a great deal to be healthy and cancer-free for many, many years, I also have plenty for which I should be extremely grateful. Maybe it isn't so absurd after all, to think that someone might be jealous of my life. It's certainly food for thought, and a compelling reminder to appreciate the good in life, no matter how much bad there might be as well.

Returning to my main point here though. Thinking about what others might assume when looking at my wife and I highlighted, in my mind, the main problem with assuming you know anything about anyone just by looking at them. Looking at us, you would never know I spent the last year going through brutal cancer treatments. I look a bit too skinny, but I could easily pass for a long-distance runner, someone in great shape. At least, until anyone sees me try to run. For all appearances though, we look like a typical happy, healthy couple. And that really stuck with me. I don't know, from just looking at anyone, what their story may be, where they are in life, or why they're doing what they're doing.

Someone who looks healthy could be just like me, and have recently made it through a long period of hellish cancer treatment. They could even now have cancer that has yet to be discovered. Perhaps the reason they're on the phone while drifting out of their lane is that they're currently receiving terrible news over the phone as they drive. They could be poor as dirt, and wearing the one nice set of clothing they own as they head to an interview for a job they desperately need. Or conversely, they might be wealthy, and wearing grungy clothing because they're doing grungy, manual labor. They could be a professional dog trainer working with a troublesome dog for the very first time. Even the people in New York City that I cannot help but laugh at inside, who push their little dogs around in strollers, might have a reason for their apparent silliness. Maybe their dogs are old, and can only manage part of their normal walk now, so the stroller allows them to make it home without unduly stressing their arthritic joints. Who knows. The point is, without knowing someone's full story, without understanding the whole situation, it is impossible to say what is really going on, impossible to judge the people or the situation, even if it was my job to do so, which it really, really is not.

For me, it's a reminder to give people more grace, to not concern myself with all the things other people do that I might not agree with, or that I find annoying. They could have a good reason for their actions. They might not. It really doesn't matter. Unless I get to know someone and understand their circumstances, I cannot even begin to judge them fairly. And once I do know someone, once I understand everything they're going through, I really won't want to judge them at all.

November 2nd, 2015

Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote anything here. The last few weeks have been a bit tough, and I really have not felt up to writing, nor have I had the clarity of mind to come up with anything worth saying. Also my computer finally showed its age and no longer works. I'm very thankful for google drive, where I long-ago started saving everything of importance, knowing that my computer's days were numbered. Anyways, I'm hoping to get back to posting weekly here.

It is a strange thing, to have finished all my planned treatment (for now at least), and to feel worse than I have since last December or January, when treatment was just starting and things were pretty rough. I feel like I should feel all better, and be getting on with the things I want to do in life. Instead I spend 95% of the day just sitting there, trying to eat minuscule portions of food and keep it down, trying to kill time and get through another day, hoping that the next will be better. But I really cannot tell a difference from one day to the next. When I look back three or four days, I can tell I'm doing a little better, but certainly I make no discernible improvement over the course of just one day. It is a frustratingly slow process, one that makes me think of radiation as, in some ways, the worst part of my treatment this past year. Sure, chemo might have stronger effects, and make them known almost immediately. Yes, major abdominal surgery is tougher, though not for nearly as long. Radiation, by comparison, is an insidious and sneaky little bugger.

All I did was lie there on a table while a big fancy machine slowly circled me. It's not like I was cut open from sternum to pelvis, or pumped full of poison. I just had to hold still. Nothing even touched me. The first week or two I couldn't have even told you if the machine was really emitting radiation or if it was just a placebo. But now, over three weeks removed from the last day of radiation, I can tell you in no uncertain terms that yes, my insides were getting zapped. Compared to chemo, where a good night's sleep would often lesson the side-effects considerably, this healing process is agonizingly slow. Compared to one of my major surgeries, I now, three and a half weeks out, feel about the same as I would four or maybe five days removed from surgery. I'm eating the same amount of food, and feel about as sore in my stomach. At least with radiation there's no NG tube though, or staples, IVs, and epidurals to come out yet. So I try to be grateful for that, at least.

It all makes me wonder though what things in my life are like radiation therapy. As a preface, this is going to be a rather imperfect analogy. Chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation have all saved my life, and I am immensely grateful for the level of medical care I have received. I am really only talking here about treatments and their side-effects, not their long-term, life-saving effects.

So what, in life, is like radiation therapy? Certainly there are obvious chemos and surgeries in our lives, those blatantly unhealthy or destructive habits or practices we all have that can so clearly damage our lives, our relationships, our souls. Holding on to hatred, failing to forgive, becoming enslaved to money or food or power...These are not so difficult to see, even in our own lives, which are of course much harder to examine than the lives of others. These kinds of habits and their consequences are hard to miss. But what about the radiation therapy, the insidious, sneaky little buggers that we don't even realize are happening until there is obvious damage already done?

As my wife could tell you, mine is comfort, mingled with laziness. If it's easier to not go out of my way or do something thoughtful, 9 times out of 10 that's the course I'll take. If it's easier to sit and read or watch a movie for three hours than it is to talk to someone and invest in a relationship, that'll be what I do.There's certainly nothing wrong with reading a good book or spending a lazy Saturday afternoon watching college football. They definitely wouldn't compare, in most people's minds, to holding a grudge, or stopping at nothing to gain more power and influence, no matter how many people get trampled on your way up. And that is why such things are sneaky.

Like lying on a radiation table while a machine moves around you and nothing noticeable happens to your body, a lazy afternoon seems harmless. And, if it doesn't happen too often, it is harmless. If I had only gotten one or two days of radiation therapy, I would hardly have the same struggles I'm facing now, after 20 treatments. When we make habits of wasting time, or of putting merely acceptable activities in front of truly meaningful investments of our time, the long-term effects can be just as painful for us as the consequences of more obvious wrongdoings. While holding grudges can make one bitter, hateful, and unable to receive forgiveness from others or even oneself, habitually choosing to spend too much time on simply unobjectionable activities over genuinely meaningful ones can leave one's life just as empty. It's something I know I need to work on, though feeling genuinely unable to do much more than sit around all day is the perfect excuse for me to make every day a lazy one where I spend far too much time doing OK things, and nowhere near enough time doing anything meaningful. I'll work on it though. Tomorrow. When I'm feeling better. Or so I keep telling myself...

October 18th, 2015

I was really hoping to write a post this week, but I'm simply not doing well enough right now to think deeply or write anything of substance. Hopefully next week!

October 4th, 2015

Back in December of 2014, I was miserable more often than not. The “easy, low dose” chemo did NOT agree with me (at least, not nearly like the potent stuff did, for whatever reason). With all the various unpleasant side-effects and symptoms I went through, the low odds of my surviving this cancer seemed very, very believable. I decided to not let myself be too excited about anything in the future, especially anything more than a month or so away. Just getting through one day at a time was more than enough to handle.

So when I first heard they were making a new Jurassic Park movie, I wanted to be really excited, but I figured I wouldn't live to see the film. When I watched the trailer and heard the iconic soundtrack, I would try to temper my excitement somehow, telling myself that it probably wouldn’t be worth seeing, or something along those lines. That way I wouldn’t be too disappointed if I died before the film came out. Sounds logical, right? More sensically, I didn't want people to have one more trigger reminding them that I was gone, one more potentially fun activity--seeing Jurassic World--tainted by the idea that I was missing out on it, or that it would have been more fun if I were there sharing in it. Let’s be honest here, I’m pretty much the life of any party!

Then as winter turned to spring, and my first surgery went well, and then my second, and then I met Chris Pratt (and got an autographed velociraptor toy!!!), I decided it was OK to look forward to seeing Jurassic World. In truth, I was always super excited to see Jurassic World. I mean, DINOSAURS! What I really decided was to let myself look forward to it, to plan on going, and to tell everyone multiple times how much I wanted to see it the day it opened in theaters.

When opening day finally arrived, we ended up going with one of the larger gatherings of Wisconsin cousins in recent memory, and though the movie could have been better, it was still a lot of fun. And sorry to those cousins who couldn’t make it. We’ll have to watch it together next time we meet up. But the only reason we were able to get as many of us together as we did is because we planned ahead. Through that movie night, I've learned that I should never feel like I can’t make plans for the future, no matter how unpredictable it may seem.

This lesson probably applies to Christina and I right now more than it ever has or possibly ever will. We're nearing the end of planned medical treatment, and with this new phase of life comes a bewildering array of options. We don't know if or when my cancer will come back. We don't know how much we should invest in ourselves and getting back on our own two feet, or how to balance that with staying flexible and being prepared to go back to "hospital life", should Prometheus regrow like it's namesake's liver (if you didn't know, I named my cancer/tumors Prometheus). If all goes to plan, we'll be spending the next few months visiting people, from New York State to Florida to Arizona to Vancouver and probably a few places in between, like Nebraska and Michigan. We'll also be researching and applying to gradschools. We're looking for somewhere I can go for Creative Writing that also offers Occupational Therapy for Christina. It would be helpful if it's a place that offers a lot of stipends too :) We'll see. All the while, we cannot help but remember that anything we plan could easily get thrown out the window in a hurry.

The future is always incredibly uncertain. It is merely our circumstances that force us to realize, or enable us to forget, this harsh truth. So rather than forgoing looking ahead and dreaming about what might be for the sake of realism, we should make plans with an asterisk attached, an implied assumption that these plans only get a green light IF we stay alive, IF everything goes as we all hope, IF nothing earth-shattering happens between now and then. It really shouldn’t be a shocking lesson. Anyone’s plans can be easily smashed to bits by the uncertainty of life. Simply using a ladder or crossing a street could alter anyone's plans for the future, just as easily as cancer could. Living life carries an inherent risk of dying. It is only when we get comfortable that we forget just how delicate our lives really are.

September 20th, 2015

As a brief forward, if you feel that you have ever expressed the sentiment that “God is teaching a lesson through some hardship,” please don’t take this blog post personally. Some people may take comfort in such an idea. Just because I personally cannot does not mean that you should not feel free to express your own opinion, or comfort others in a way meaningful to them. Just don’t expect me to agree with you on this one.

When I reflect, as I did last week, on some of the lessons I have learned during my experiences with cancer and cancer treatments, I could easily fall prey to the frightful notion that God inflicts unpleasantries upon those who need to learn valuable life lessons. Thankfully I have not, or I could worry myself to death wondering what I should be learning, and hoping that I had learned it well enough to leave this past year, well, in the past. Under such a schema I would likely view any future relapse of cancer as a failing on my part, as my fault for not really learning whatever it was God was trying to teach me. Not only would that be terribly unhealthy and unhelpful for my own mental state, but it would lead me to a very warped view of God, or more accurately and much worse, to a view of a very warped God. A God who doles out cancer and other hardships just so we may learn something about the nature of life flies in the face of everything I know about God. It goes against logic and reason, against my own relationship with God, and against any teaching of Jesus’ that I know.

If God were to hand out hardships for the sake of personal growth, then we would be right to grumble about who gets how much. Surely someone like Donald Trump could do with a spot of affliction, for the sake of teaching him humility? Perhaps God only cares about some people then, and cares so much about them that God smites them with obstacles, out of some weird tough-love. As Tevye laments in Fiddler on the Roof, “We are your chosen people. But, once in a while, can’t you choose someone else?” As someone who believes that the redemptive work of Jesus was done for all humanity though, I find this idea troubling. Since Jesus came to expand God’s message of love to all people, no matter who or what they may be, it seems very unfair of God to bless some of us with hardships that make us better while letting others coast by in their immaturity. This, to me, is not unlike how unfair it would be if God made some people with Heaven in mind, while creating others merely to be fodder for the flames of Hell. (Sorry, church of my upbringing, no I’m not exactly Calvinist anymore, but no, you did not fail me!).

But this leads me to my other point. People don’t absolutely need hardships to grow. Plenty of great thinkers and mature, wonderful people have gotten by without cancer, famines, extreme poverty, or other afflictions, and have still been very decent, mature people. The obvious question to ask God, if you believe God causes hardships so we may grow, is “couldn’t you have taught me this an easier way?” And the answer is yes. I didn’t absolutely need cancer to learn what I have the past year. I certainly have learned much more—and far quicker than I otherwise might have—though. But one does not need to be so blatantly confronted with one’s mortality to gain a better perspective on life. Couldn’t a 16% chance of living 5 years after diagnosis have also taught me the same lessons equally as well as my 15% chance? Probably.

The darker side of the coin is that hardships do not always help people grow or mature. Plenty of people break under the strain of difficulties. Suicide, for some, seems to be the only escape. Others may begin downward spirals of increasingly selfish thought, learning to ask only “why me?” when they receive yet another piece of bad news. And it is certainly not my place to blame them. Sometimes life really is hard, and seems impossible. If the problems of seeing hardship in this world as punishment or a lesson from God are not yet clear, let me try a different tack.

Job, my favorite book in the Bible, says much about suffering, and is in my opinion far too-often overlooked. Job’s three friends are less-than-helpful in their attempts to rationalize and explain Job’s suffering. Rather than help their friend, they in fact add to his misery as he is forced to defend themselves against their attacks, their claims that he has brought disaster upon himself somehow. We learn though that everything afflicting Job is not some divine retribution for misdeeds, nor is it all a painful lesson. It simply happens. Another passage that you may find interesting, if Bible passages interest you, comes in Matthew 5:45. Apparently sunshine and rain happen, whether you deserve either or not. As nice as a personal weather system rewarding us for our good behavior and punishing us for our wrongdoings might be, that just isn’t how it works here on Earth.

The God I know and love has taught me many things through my trials of the past year. Many of the life lessons I learned (really, am still learning) could not have been taught more effectively than by my hardships of the last year. So can God use things like cancer to teach people lessons, to help them grow? Absolutely. No matter how dire our circumstances may seem, they are never beyond God’s capacity to work good in this world. Did I need cancer to learn the lessons I have learned this past year? Sorta, yeah. Could I have lived happily, and still matured some, without learning these lessons as vividly as I have? Yes, definitely. You see the beautiful balance here, I hope. God by no means causes our afflictions so that we might grow; rather, through our afflictions God grows us.

September 17th, 2015

Today is my birthday, one that last December I honestly did not think I would live to see. I recall spending my thinking time that month making peace with the idea of not living much longer, and I certainly did not expect to celebrate another birthday. I was never really looking forward to turning 24 anyways. Nothing special happens then. It'll be another year yet before I can rent a car in this country without paying a lot of extra money, and there's really nothing too special about being 24 that I can think of, no milestone or perk that comes with the age. I also never quite understood the idea of celebrating a birthday anyways, so it wasn't too hard for me to be OK with the idea of not having another one.

I have always loved celebrating my birthday, don't misunderstand me. Presents, attention, parties, cake, it was all fine by me. But I never really understood why we do it. It's not like I accomplished anything, I used to think. I didn't exactly choose to be born on this particular date, so why celebrate it? But now I understand better. I still don't think I've accomplished much by getting to this birthday--the doctors are the ones who should be celebrated--but there certainly is something worth celebrating on a birthday. Birthdays are about celebrating yet another year that someone has been privileged to be alive. Birthdays are about being grateful for the time we have been given with one another. Birthdays are about appreciating the gift of life, marking the slow, steady march of time across our lives, and being glad for every milestone we pass.

Some people dread birthdays and getting older. There are those who lie about their age, whose trepidation about going "over the hill" is palpable, who see each increase in the numerical value of their age as a curse, not a blessing. Maybe because I'm only 24, it is easy for me to call that foolish. I for one though will be happy, not heartbroken, if I reach my 40th birthday, or even my next one.

September 13th, 2015

Cancer sucks. It changed my life completely, and has opened my eyes to what true suffering is. And I consider myself very lucky, and only very rarely during my treatment have I really suffered. I’ve realized just how much more I could suffer, just how much worse, more painful, more difficult, and, most powerfully, how much more hopeless life could be. There are plenty of people with far more trying and painful medical conditions than mine. But there certainly have been times, namely when my pain meds have been switched or reduced too quickly, when I have felt it would be better to die than continue on in such a state. Never for more than an hour or two, but still. How anyone survives withdrawal from hard drugs is beyond me. Coming off hydromorphone too swiftly is more than I care to endure. Surgery recovery, severe intestinal cramping from medications, shingles, and a whole host of other crummy conditions resulting from cancer and/or my treatments have really helped me appreciate the times when I’m not in pain.

If you did not know, this time last year I was working as a teaching assistant, helping students who needed a little extra attention to excel in school. It was an incredibly rewarding job, and for one short month I thoroughly enjoyed work and the difference I was making in the lives of students with whom I worked. I also had the privilege of working at a ski area just fifteen minutes from our townhouse, and my wife and I made good use of the free skiing and snowboarding perks of that job. My wife found her niche at a continuing care center, working as an activities associate, helping plan and run programs for residents with early-stage dementia. We loved where we lived, and were starting to put down roots. Then cancer happened.

We quit our jobs and moved out of our townhouse when the cancer diagnosis made it clear we would be spending a lot of time in New York City. Saying goodbye to my crying students was, needless to say, far from easy, and Christina still misses the wonderful people she worked with, and exchanges letters with some of the residents still. Our plans for the future were scrapped, and our present was thrown into chaos and uncertainty.

The first couple months of treatment were nightmarish. The hospital system, Ronald McDonald House, and NYC were all unfamiliar to us. My anti-nausea meds we far from effective, and complications like C Diff even put treatment on hold for a bit. Dehydration made my kidney stent installation…I’m really not sure how to describe it. Fire and stinging and all manner of hellish misery came with that procedure, making me want to stop my liquid intake (to stop my output), which increased my dehydration, which increased the aforementioned fire, stinging, and all manner of hellish misery. I never enjoy the first time I try moving after major abdominal surgery, nor do I like having my mediport accessed, nor the weird pressure I feel in my left shoulder when I eat too much, thanks to my spleen removal and some silly connection between spleens and nerves in the left shoulder. I could go on. The point is, cancer has changed my life utterly, and I won’t pretend for a moment that it hasn’t been awful.

But as I alluded to last week, cancer does not merely bring pain and suffering, heartbreak and stress, and far too often death. Yes, cancer is horrible. Way too many children have very little hope to reach their next birthday thanks to cancer, and I grieve for them and their families. I have plenty of reason to hate it, and I certainly do. I would be remiss though if I did not stop to reflect upon all the ways I have been blessed through my experiences of the past year.

This last year has also given me time to see interesting things and have fun. I’ve written about a lot of the things I’ve gotten to do in NYC already, so I’ll make this next bit brief. Since I’ve had plenty of free time, I’ve been able to discover the wonderful (and time-sucking) world of minecraft. Alright, maybe that’s a bad example. Here are some real ones. I was able to finish writing a trilogy, a goal of mine for many years. Central park and numerous museums made—and still make—for some great outings. Sports events, the Bronx Zoo, and Broadway plays have all provided much-needed diversions from the routine of hospitals and treatments. I’ve been fortunate to have a good bit of time when I’m feeling well enough to make the most of being in New York City. Sights have been seen, and a diverse array of food has been eaten. But cancer has blessed my life in more profound ways than just fun activities and amusing pastimes.

I have grown closer to my wife, whose unfailing support, love, and care has made it worth keeping going on the really rough days. My parents have gone above and beyond, researching which hospital I should go to for treatment, yelling at the appropriate people to get my biopsy sent to the right hospital, making sure I have health insurance, and most impressively, finding that tricky balance between caring for their child and letting me be an adult and live as normal a life as possible. Their support has been such a blessing to me. I have been fortunate to have wonderful siblings as well, who have made the effort to spend as much time with me as possible and help in any way they can, and I’m better friends with all of them than ever before. The hours of board games we have played this past year haven’t been bad either. My in-laws have outdone themselves with their generous support and encouragement. They have visited us when they could, and sent cards and a sweet remote-control helicopter when they couldn't.  Beyond my immediate family, I have experienced a great deal of generosity from people I’ve known all my life and people I have never met. Care packages, cards, visits, giftcards, thoughts, and prayers are just some of the ways we have felt love and support from so many. I've made new friends and gotten back in touch with some from long ago. This last year has been a wonderful reminder of what it means to be rich in relationships.

To say it has been the best of years and the worst of years might be cliché, but it is true. There have been times, however brief, when I was ready to quit. There have been times, far more often than not, when I’d do anything to keep going. Sometimes I really hate cancer, and sometimes I really love what it has done for me. Sometimes both at once. I certainly owe cancer for my deeper appreciation of life and time spent with loved ones. Did I need cancer to learn these lessons? Is that why I got it? No, certainly not (I’ll talk about that next week). But has my experience with cancer helped me mature, and have a better perspective on life, a better understanding of God, and better relationships with the people I most care about? Yes. And for those reasons, I am thankful I got cancer. Even though I wish I never had.

September 6th, 2015

I mentioned earlier in this blog that my cancer diagnosis did not shake any world view of mine. I’d like to expound upon that now. As a brief foreword, I do not expect all of you to agree with me, and if you find you disagree with anything I say, by all means don’t change your mind. I am not writing here to convert anyone to my way of thinking, or to belittle ideas that differ from mine. I simply wish to share my beliefs, thoughts, and reflections; take them for whatever they may be worth. I ask only that you read what I have to say and consider it all thoughtfully before dismissing it.

Cancer is not evil. It may shock you that anyone, much less someone like me whose life has been profoundly impacted by the disease, might think that. But I do. Cancer, in my opinion, is no more evil than weather, or mountains, or trees, or anything else that can (and does) kill people. Cancer is simply a part of life on this good earth. Sure, it causes suffering and death. So do storms, avalanches, and falling tree limbs. So far as I am aware, nobody claims that clouds, snowy peaks, or aged trees are inherently evil, no matter the power of the hurricane, the depth of the snow which roars down a slope, or the size of the trunk which crashes down upon a home. It would be bizarre to say a natural process or event has moral value of any kind. Calling cancer evil seems, to me, equally strange. Cancer does not have a conscience. It cannot decide to be good or evil. It merely is.

Ah, but there is a difference, you may say. Weather, mountains, trees...these all can be beautiful or useful, or even both. These can be good! Well, no. Not in a moral sense of the word “good.” They may be to our liking at times, but that does not make them good. Comfort so often lulls us into sins of complacency, and as such I cannot in good conscience call comfort “good,” no matter how much I love being comfortable. By the same token, people may hate cancer, but this does not make it evil. It may bring only suffering and death (though this is not exactly true, but more on that next week). But cell division…that keeps us all alive, and allows us to heal. Not to mention grow hair. And what is cancer if not a hurricane of cell division? Cancer then is no more evil (or good) than any other part of this incredible and dynamic world in which we live. So long as extremes are avoided, nobody complains about weather or cell division. Only when imbalance enters the picture do we grumble.

I see cancer as a messy, ugly, but necessary byproduct of the ever-changing planet we find ourselves inhabiting. In a world of constant flux, where survival depends on constant adaptation, it is extremely fortunate that all living things have the capacity to change. Without that capacity, life on this earth would have ceased long ago, or would at least certainly be in serious jeopardy now as we face the uncertainties of a rapidly changing global climate. That the very blueprints for life—that is, DNA— can and do change, and rather often, makes me immensely grateful to God for having the audacity to create this universe as God did. It is a universe not ruled by an iron fist but guided by a gentle whisper.

If you have never seen The Lego Movie, I apologize for what will be a boring example, and also, spoiler alert! We find near the end of the film that the entire storyline is the product of a child’s imagination. This young boy's father plans to fix his incredible Lego creations in place with Krazy Glue so that his son can no longer play with the Legos and mess everything up. In the end though, the father realizes that Legos are meant to be played with, to be fashioned into something amazing, but only for a time before they are taken apart again. I could take this in a hundred directions, and I sense an Ash Wednesday sermon writing itself here. Building blocks you are, and to building blocks you shall return.

Returning to my point. God could have made a world held together with Krazy Glue, a spectacular world to be sure, but one where change is impossible, where God’s children cannot try to make things better, or fail and mess things up. Sure, it is thanks to a change in the DNA in some cell of mine that I have cancer. Some might say it is not worth the risk of cancer to live in a world with such wondrous capacity for change. It might not be worth having a world where we are free to choose to murder, so that we might also be free to choose to love. I certainly am tempted to think this at times. Thankfully, God is far wiser than we humans, and the world and universe(s) God made are all the more spectacular for their ability to change and adapt, exhibit God's continual creative power and skill, and allow us to work as co-creators with God. If cancer, the product of cell-division gone awry, is a necessary result of such a splendid and dynamic world, that is fine with me.

August 30th, 2015

Cancer looms ever-present in the background of my life. I cannot avoid it, for every single day my body reminds me at some point and in some way that I am not completely healthy, despite how I may act and feel. Multiple times each day, and many nights as well, some sensation—be it nausea, discomfort, or my high heart rate—puts me in my place, and tells me to appreciate every breath I take and every hour I have on this earth. On days when I feel completely fine, the sight of my ten-plus surgical scars acts as a strong reminder of just how incredibly fragile a hold I really have on life. I strive to make these reminders of my own mortality inspire me to enjoy each moment, to appreciate more what a gift it is to laugh, play board games, eat good food, and enjoy the company of loved ones.

And yet, I know that I am not nearly as thankful as I should be for my renewed lease on life. I should have died some time in February, by my reckoning. By that point the cancer would have taken hold of my lungs, or perhaps caused a kidney to rupture. I really can’t say which would have come first, or when exactly I would have died without treatment, but the cancer progressing to my lungs and blocking my kidneys from draining were the doctor’s chief concerns at first, so I tend to think that one of those would have done me in, without treatment. I remember the exact moment in March when it hit me that, had I been born even thirty years ago and only had access to the care available at the time, I would more than likely be dead already.

My wife Christina and I were walking back from Central Park, and we had only a few blocks to go before we reached the Ronald McDonald House where we have lived much of the past nine months. I don’t recall what first prompted my train of thought, but somehow I was imagining living in medieval Europe (as one does), and it occurred to me that applying leeches would have been the best that anyone then and there could have done for me. My thoughts quickly turned to advances in medical care, and I realized that, as someone who was scheduled to get a Phase I trial of an experimental treatment, even a year ago my chances might have been worse than they were today. As it is, I’ve gotten an extra six months of life so far, and still counting. I lived to see my two year anniversary. I should be filled with gratitude every moment that I live, for I am living on borrowed time.

 To be sure, I am immensely grateful for today’s level of knowledge about cancer, and the better-specified treatment regimens available. That my wife and I could quit our jobs and devote ourselves to getting the best care possible while I remain under my parent’s health insurance is an enormous blessing. Many people don’t have that option. The outpouring of love and support, from people I have known my whole life to people who have never met me in person, has been encouraging beyond description, and I cannot thank everyone enough for the dozens of ways they have shown exceptional generosity. There are far too many people on similar journeys without the kind of incredible support network I enjoy. I am truly thankful for the countless blessings that enrich my life. But still, hours go by where I forget to appreciate the simple fact that I am still alive. Days even pass when my discomfort is merely an annoyance, and the sight of my scars makes me think only of how badass I am now. If you saw my scars I’m sure you would agree. They’re pretty legit. But let’s get back to my point.

At the start of this ordeal, I resolved to make the most of every moment. I also decided that, if I had two weeks to live, I’d want them to be fun, but I’d also want them to be reasonably normal. So I do my best to live like I would without cancer, to not let it ruin my life, cripple me with fear and doubt, or make me do something crazy like forgo treatment and max out my credit card by travelling everywhere on my bucket list in the next month.  I also wanted to make sure I didn’t waste my time, and to do the things I knew I would regret leaving unfinished. So I spent as much time as I could, when I wasn’t on too many opiates, working to finish the fantasy trilogy I started in college. I went to museums, the Bronx Zoo, and dozens of other NYC attractions, regardless of how well or unwell I felt. But sometimes I fear that in trying to maintain normalcy, I neglect to appreciate life like I should. It is a constant balancing act, to live normally while remaining in a state of awe and thankfulness that I am still living. But in my experience, the most rewarding parts of life are those that require care and balance. I encourage anyone reading this to consider how better to balance worry-free living with an attitude of gratefulness. I certainly don’t have all the answers of how best to do this, but I can tell you that my life has been far richer since I started to make a conscious effort in this area.

August 23rd, 2015

I never struggled to accept my diagnosis—Desmoplastic Small Round Cell Tumor (DSRCT), a rare soft tissue sarcoma. Information was limited and sometimes conflicting, but by any reckoning the odds were bleak, and the treatment would have to be as aggressive as the cancer itself. It seemed doubtful that I would ever become cancer free. Even less likely was the prospect of remaining free from this tenacious disease, as it has a particularly nasty habit of coming back again and again. But I reasoned that if I had beaten the odds by getting this cancer in the first place, I could just beat them again. So far, we’re heading in the right direction. Chemo, surgery, and experimental radio-immunotherapy are all in the books. The only thing left in the planned course of treatment is radiation, which is scheduled for mid-September through the middle of October. But returning to my point here. I had no trouble accepting that this was my new life. In fact, I accepted it too well, at first.

I started to think of myself first and foremost as a cancer patient, with all the limitations I thought came inherently with such a title. Cancer patients don’t go out to eat. Cancer patients don’t go to Broadway plays. Cancer patients don’t go to museums. They don’t attend sporting events, they don’t visit parks, they don’t go to concerts, they don’t do anything. They sit around sick and tired all the time, barely able to eat, barely able to do more than watch TV. A combination of ignorance and laziness threatened to keep me in bed, to keep me from enjoying life to the fullest.

But I started to look around me and find that all this was simply not true. Children with just as much cancer as me didn’t seem to know the rules about being a cancer patient. I saw children going for rides on their IV poles, playing tag, making art, and shrieking with delight at the simple things in life. It barely mattered to them that they were cancer patients, at least not on their good days. And these kids were hooked up to hydration backpacks, or had feeding tubes snaking down their noses. If only I was young enough to not fully understand the gravity of the situation, like those kids. Then I could live life. But alas, I knew better, and I made my peace with what I figured my new life would involve. I watched a lot of Netflix that first month.

Then I met a great guy about my age, whose college plans took a backseat to osteosarcoma (mercifully just for one year!). A state championship-winning basketball player in high school, he told me casually about going to various basketball games at Madison Square Garden. On days when he received chemo, no less. Alright. Message received. Movies might (almost) only show cancer in two forms--the deadly killer that leaves everyone too weak to move, or the obstacle caught early and overcome by the “fighter” character—but this needn’t be the case. Even for those who understand their situation exactly. It’s entirely possible to have cancer not caught early, to have little chance at beating it, and to still fully enjoy the best that life has to offer.

So I went to an NFL game, and even ate a hotdog there. The first day of real, intense chemo, we went to a hockey game. We got there late and missed Sidney Crosby’s goal, but it was still fun.  The Lion King on Broadway was just as good the second time as the first, despite my not having very high blood counts, and technically not being allowed to be in a crowd. Perhaps the highlight for my wondrous wife and I was the five or six rangers games, including a playoff game, we got to attend. We are still immensely grateful for the generosity of whoever donated those tickets. Central Park continues to impress, as does the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which has taken three or four visits to see only about half of all it has on display. I’ve discovered favorite restaurants and places to walk, and a hundred ways to make the most of this craziness that is my life. I can’t thank the role models I’ve had here enough, be they three or twenty, for showing me what a cancer patient is, is not, and can be.

August 20th, 2015

Thus begins my blog. I can't promise anything profound here, merely the musings of a twenty-something male from Midwestern America doing the best he can to live life to the fullest while going through treatment for a pediatric cancer. Which, when I stop to think about it, are far from ordinary circumstances. But I'll let you judge whether or not my circumstances lead to any profound thoughts. So what is this blog going to be about? My life, in short. I hope to convey what I'm doing and thinking in a concise--and if I'm lucky a humorous and interesting--way. Let's get started then.

Today is an easy day. No bloodwork scheduled, no scans, no nothing. Just a half dozen different pills twice daily. Today marks the first time since May that my body is free of some kind of tube or dressing. Not even a band-aid (tm?), as of this afternoon! OK, to be fair, I still have a mediport, a device in my chest through which chemo and IV fluids can be administered, but that's under my skin and not accessed right now, so I'm not counting that. I don't have any staples or steri strips, because it's been over three weeks since my last surgery. Even the tube through which my experimental radio-immunotherapy was administered is gone, as of Monday. If you're curious, it was the size of a normal IV tube, and came out of my abdominal cavity to the left of my belly button. My left, not yours. If you weren't curious, I apologize for boring you.

There have been many easy days like today, and many very, very difficult days, but surprisingly few uneasy days. Let me explain that sentence. Today, and mercifully many other days, I am able to eat food, walk fine, go places, and in general feel fine. Many times throughout the course of my cancer treatment, this has not been the case. There have been days of chemo where I was too sick to eat. Worse were the days recovering from surgery where I would have traded body parts (those I have left, so not my spleen) to be allowed to eat, but the tube draining my stomach showed that my insides were still running in reverse. But whether it's a day like today, where my charming wife and I enjoyed lunch at a cute Mexican restaurant down the block, or a day where I'm sporting a brand new fifteen inch long scar from surgery, I have almost never felt uneasy, and never for more than a fleeting moment.

I know I can't speak for anyone else on this journey with me, but I have only rarely felt truly unsettled about this whole cancer thing. Have I looked forward to the various toxins that are chemotherapy? Hardly. Have I been excited when surgeons describe an upcoming procedure and recovery process? Not exactly. Am I nervous about starting radiation in a month? Yeah. But am I uneasy? Am I shaken and rattled? Have I fallen apart and questioned the fairness of life? No. Nothing I've seen or gone through this past year has rocked my worldview. If anything, it has only reinforced something I've known for a while, something the book of Job makes abundantly clear. Shit happens. It can happen to anyone. As far as I'm concerned, how "good" or "bad" your life turns out depends far more on your attitude than your circumstances. I have a great life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anyone else’s.

Until next time,

Morgan Bolt