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.