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.