My primary care physician called with the news: “I want to make an appointment for you to see an oncologist.” My heart sank. My wife Tina won her bout against breast cancer in 1997, but I’ve lost a brother, a niece, an aunt and many dear friends to cancer over the years. Moreover, I know several people currently dealing with various forms of cancer. Readers of this column no doubt have family members and friends who have joined the “Big C” club.
One appointment led to more appointments and more tests and more appointments and more tests and, boom, I’ve been diagnosed with Waldenstrom’s macroglobulinemia, a form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma (NHL).
My brother Tony died of Mantel cell lymphoma, one of about 70 different forms of NHL. He lived about three years after I gave him some of my bone marrow. We even had “Bone Marrow Brothers” T-shirts made, which included photos of us as young lads. On a side note, during his last two years Tony began studying up on major societal issues such as health care and tax policy and immigration reform. At one point he confessed, “The more I study these issues, the more liberal I get.”
I felt relieved after getting the official diagnosis and learning about the treatment regime. “I’ve got this,” I thought, and maybe I do. Or maybe not.
Getting “just a little old” means knowing ever more people who have had to face some kind of medical issue, ranging from cancer diagnoses to cataract surgery, ravaged shoulders to useless knees. Few of us will leave life untouched. In fact, none of us will.
On the brighter side, a cancer diagnosis tends to put things into perspective. Little blessings mean more — a cup of coffee in the morning or a good connection over a meal with a friend or a child’s laughter, most any time. Little irritations are, well, less irritating.
Three cheers for researchers working round the clock to develop more effective treatments for — or to eliminate cancer. And kudos to nurses and doctors who treat you like a real human being and make you feel special, even though they’ve seen your kind many times before. Make the most of each hour every day. And maintain a positive attitude. Even if you don’t “win” the battle against cancer or any other illness, at least you’ve helped yourself live life in a more meaningful, happier way.
I appreciate the thoughts of those who want to give help or advice re my situation. Actually, the best way you can help is to heed the words of poets John Donne (“No man is an island”) and Mary Oliver (“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”).
I’m writing this column after having had my first chemotherapy treatment. Eleven more treatments to go over the next six months. On the bright side, I’ll get a lot of reading in, since most of the remaining treatments last several hours. And I’ll have more time to just be calm and think about what really matters.
Over the last few years, I’ve said many times to close friends and family members, “Even if I died tomorrow, I would have no regrets. The world owes me nothing.” And I truly mean that. Having regrets gets you nowhere. Saying, “If only…” gets you nowhere. Saying, “I’ll be happy when…” gets you nowhere. After all, today is all we have. Today. This hour. This minute. And that’s good enough for me for now.
David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.
Comments are not available on this story.
Send questions/comments to the editors.
