As much as humanly possible, I try to look at every situation from multiple perspectives. Perhaps it’s from my photography background, or my high-school journalism days, or some other combination thereof. Regardless, I often ask myself what can I learn from this? Call me hopelessly optimistic if you want, but I look for the silver lining. If I’m able to (and I’m certainly not able to 100% of the time) disassociate from the emotion of the immediate situation, there is almost always another angle to approach it from.
Cancer is the situation now. This is the darkest cloud to ever form in my sunny skies.
I could easily say that cancer sucks 100% and nobody would disagree with me. As the Bastille song questions, “How am I going to be an optimist about this?”
As cliché as sounds, it’s brought a sense of urgency to my life. Finding the balance between YOLO and I’ve got to pay for all this if I survive this has been an interesting mental calculation. Every cancer patient I’ve run into says to take it one day at a time. And it’s true — every time I try to look ahead too far all I get is soul-crushing anxiety.
Staying present is a non-stop effort. Focusing on what’s happening right now reveals the banal truth. I’m writing a journal entry. I’m talking to my therapist. I’m cuddling on the couch with my youngest son watching the Book of Boba Fett. Which is excellent, by the way.
Right now, I’m alive and in the hands of the cancer team at Orlando Health. I live within a short drive of two top-notch cancer institutes at two different hospital systems. There are people, who today, would have to drive hours to get the treatment I could easily ride my bicycle to.
My cancer team is staffed with excellent people, from the mop-haired guy at the check-in desk, to the technicians who strap me down and load me into the Tomotherapy machine every day, and the doctors who oversee it all. Physically, I’m the strongest and healthiest I’ve been since I was a Marine recruit, save for one little 3cm spot in my neck. Sorry, but I’m counting my blessings out loud.
If I add it all up, cancer is one negative variable in the long equation that is my life. It’s part of the calculus, but it’s not going to be the end result. Even if it kills me.