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.