The Lucky Ones

Days after I was diagnosed I went to Barnes and Noble to wonder the isles of books and sip coffee, in an attempt to be "normal". I restrained as long as possible from ducking down the isle that held the books on cancer. Eventually I succumbed acknowledging the fact that nothing was "normal" anymore. I found the section entitled cancer/cancer information, it was surprisingly small. You would think that such a large book retailer would have countless volumes on the subject, or maybe it was my hope that I would find that magic book that would tell me it was all going to be ok. I didn't. Instead I found lots of pink books entitled "Boobs" or "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips". It was a bit disheartening, especially since I was a man, without breasts and sensing that anything with the words crazy, sexy, and cowgirl in the title really did not fit my situation or lifestyle either. With a cautious glance around to see if anyone was watching, I reluctantly pulled the "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips" book off the shelf and found my way awkwardly to a table. Careful to not display the title to chance shoppers I read the book cover to cover. Though a bit embarrassing it was a very good book, full of sound information and resources that seemed to be helpful, if not then, definitely at some point in the future. It provided a thorough overview of necessary topics ranging from wholefood diets, self image, treatment effects, and unique ways to celebrate the fact that you were bald and "beautiful". I would recommend the book to anyone as a great point of initial reference (even if you are not a woman or even a cowgirl). I did go away feeling a bit frustrated that there were not more resources available for men. I went home and searched the Internet. Still resources for men were few and far between. It seems that unless your cancer has something to do with breasts or prostrates, you are lumped (no pun intended) into a massive group of dissimilar cancers. Resources are available for other cancer patients, unfortunately without the fanfare and more straightforward access as Cancers of the "nether regions". I expressed this frustration to a friend who pointed me to Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike" I picked up a copy and quickly read through it. I liked it. It had a bit much detail focusing on cycling, but that was an aspect of the man that could obviously not be separated from the larger reality of his battle with cancer. There were portions though that left my mind spinning. Armstrong's description of his diagnosis and the roller coaster of emotions that ensued was painfully raw and hit the mark with a clarity and similarity I could not deny. I myself am walking those darkened and fearful paths as I write these very words. Out of all the pages a couple simple statements that he made resonated with me in a powerful way. Armstrong tells of a letter that he received. It was from a man he had never met before. He himself had battled cancer. He wrote Armstrong to acknowledge his support and positive thoughts. As he finished the letter he made a strange statement that confused Armstrong. He wrote, "you probably do not understand this right now, but we are the lucky ones". What? How is anyone with cancer lucky? It is devastating. It not only has the potential to steal your life, but also has the destructive potential to steal your Hope. Those words are haunting. Lucky? We are the lucky ones. This brotherhood of suffering is somehow lucky..........blessed? It is diametrically opposed to any sort of sane thinking that those outside of this brotherhood would agree with. It actually is an almost dangerous statement. As if you say it as you are waking off a cliff without a safety net. A statement such as that redefines everything. Life. Death. And even Hope. But as I walk this path, and simultaneously encounter life in all its beauty and harshness, I find myself agreeing. "We are the lucky ones". I am lucky. I say those words with a part of me screaming, "how dare you, how can you say that". But it is true. The perspective that cancer gives to life is unbelievable. It has the power to refine you. Your thoughts. Your direction. Your focus. It is as if you look at life for the first time. Everything is different. Nothing is the same. Everything is turned on edge, revealing a freshness and an urgency that is not seen outside of cancer. If this clarity does exist in our normal lives, it is missed. Overshadowed by the busyness of life. By worthless and empty pursuits. Another quote from Armstrong's book was this: "Cancer is not about dying, it is about living" What a statement. Most would argue against it. But those that walk this path find it to be true. Life after diagnosis becomes "alive". It becomes real. It is as if you can grasp it with your own hands, breath it in, consume it. Oh if I could have had this view earlier in life. I knew that it existed. I sensed it. I chased it. Through the mountains. Through relationships. In the woods and fields of my youth. It was a whisper in the words of poets. And a reflection on the horizon as the sun slipped out of view. But i did not catch it until cancer became my reference. My reality. We who are members of this brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering are the lucky ones, because now we can truly live. And Love. And Hope. And I dare to say Dream. They are painful dreams, haunted with the shadows of uncertainty, but they are vivid dreams. Passionate dreams. Dreams that leave your heart aching, your soul longing. We are released from the fear of death. Our finite lives are bared. We come face to face with our mortality and realize that life is looking back at us. Raw and uncertain. But ALIVE none the less. There were days before cancer that I despaired. At times despising my life. But now I am hungry to live. I long to live. Whether that time be long or short, I hold tight to life and all of its glorious agony.