Colorectal Cancer Blog

Journeys

My day started out with journeys. I walked from the office to a tea room to meet a survivor with an amazing story. He was diagnosed Stage III in his mid-40’s. No family history, misdiagnosed for a long time because if his age. He went through the standard fare of surgery and chemo, and had some problems with neuropathy along the way. 

So far this sounds like a depressingly familiar path, doesn’t it? Here is where it changes, though… The man I met is planning to ski to the South Pole! 

Here’s the deal. This November he will fly to Argentina and assemble with a couple of other people. They will be dropped off at the edge of Antarctica, from where they will ski over 700 miles, pulling behind them sleds weighing over 200 pounds. He is training now by doing 4 hour walks, pulling two car tires behind him. (You can imagine the comments he gets along the way....)

Journeys. A life-long dream. A trip through the world of cancer. An expedition to the South Pole. We met today because he wants to use this trip, and his story, to help spread the word about colorectal cancer. 

Now another journey. It was hot this morning and I was rushing as I walked to the tea room, worried I would be late. My path took me past the White House, but before I could get there I was stopped by security guards. All pedestrian and street traffic was shut down. We had to wait several minutes while the Presidential motorcade pulled out of the White House and passed by. 

Then it struck me: President Bush was on his way to the private funeral service for Tony Snow, who died last Saturday of colon cancer. 

I couldn’t escape the irony. The President in a line of cars and SUV’s and vans and motorcycles, traveling to offer sad farewells to a man who succumbed to colon cancer. And me, walking to a little shop to share a cup of tea with a man who will trek to the South Pole in defiance of the colon cancer he has beaten. 

Journeys. We cannot anticipate where the road of life will lead us. Unexpected challenges and delights wait for us around every bend. If we are very lucky, we will have the privilege of travelling with some companions along the way. And if we are smart we will cherish their company. 

I treasure the few conversations I had with Tony over the past few months. I treasure the chat I had over tea with the man who will do something unthinkable to most people. The two of them were fellow travelers along the cancer path, though they never met or knew each other. Heroes, both of them, who chose to define their life by what they could accomplish rather than by the limitations imposed on them by cancer. 

Maybe, after all, it is not so much where the path leads us that counts, but rather how we walk the path. If we walk with courage, with love, with generosity, with hope—as these two men have done—then we can look back on the journey of our life and know that we, too, in our own small way have walked the hero’s path. That we have chosen to rise above the twists and turnings along the way, however difficult they may be. And maybe best of all, we can make it through with the sure knowledge that we have never, ever walked alone. 

Tony Snow

Tony Snow died yesterday. He will be remembered as White House press secretary, and conservative journalist. I will remember him, though, as a courageous survivor and eternal optimist.

I cannot say with honesty that I knew Tony well. I did have the opportunity to speak with him on several occasions after he was diagnosed with a recurrence of colon cancer. He was interested in helping the Colon Cancer Alliance with a fundraising event, but we were never able to get it scheduled.

The man I encountered in those conversations was remarkable for his strength and honesty.  He was incredibly warm and personable. I happened to speak with him the day after his appearance on the Colbert Report. When I mentioned I had seen the show he asked, “How did I do?” As though a consummate professional needed any affirmation. I told him he came across well—not an easy feat on that particular show.

Battling colorectal cancer the second time around gave Tony new insights. He was absolutely committed to doing something to fight this disease, and was particularly interested in the challenges of obtaining and keeping insurance after a cancer diagnosis. He told me, “Right now I am on COBRA from the White House, and I don’t know what will be involved in getting insurance when that runs out. It is not really a problem for me, because I am sure I can work it out—but what do you do if you aren’t in the position of being former White House Press Secretary?”

He once told me he considered himself lucky. He had access to the best treatment teams, and his recurrence—at that time—was limited to the peritoneal cavity. But he also knew that the tumors were growing. He said, “Right now I feel good, and I am working out like a fiend so my body will be as strong as possible if things start getting worse.”

His words were strangely prophetic. Ultimately, working out, having the best treatment team, keeping a positive attitude—these things were not enough for him to prevail.

So we have lost another friend to the insatiable beast that is cancer. But from that friend we have been given the opportunity to remember the lessons that he lived out in his battle: hope cannot be defeated, even by death; those things that are truly important can never be taken away from us; what controls our body does not have to control us; even in our own struggles we must make room for compassion toward others.

Thank you, Tony, for these life-lessons. We miss you already.

Independence Day

We have just celebrated July 4, a holiday that makes us think about freedom. The Sousa marches, the displays of fireworks, images of patriotism—these all evoke in our minds the great champions of liberty. “Give me liberty or give me death!”

I grew up when the United States lived under the shadow of threat from the Soviet Union. School days were punctuated by bomb drills and by lessons on the horrors of the Soviet regime. “You have no freedom! They can lock you up with no trial! Their press is controlled by the government! They encourage their citizens to turn each other in for any rebellious thinking—even having children turn in their parents!”

I could never understand how people could live under such restriction, why they didn’t chaff at the harsh control and, in the end, rebel against the oppressors. When I was in high school, though, I heard a talk a by a man who had been a missionary in Russia. He told us that freedom means different things to different people. That in Russia, people looked to the government to take care of them. The principles of communism were that they didn’t have to pay for health care or worry about food or fret over whether they would have a job or not. For the people there, these were elements of freedom. And if that meant that they had to live under an authoritarian regime, then so be it.

In the United States, of course, we have different definitions of freedom. We live under the adage of Benjamin Franklin: “They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” 

So what does this have to do with colon cancer? I think it is about attitude. Some people are diagnosed with cancer and become absolute tigers. They read up on the disease, learn of every acceptable and alternative therapy, research the best doctors, get second opinions, and third, and fourth. Others give themselves into the hands of their physicians, obediently following the path laid out before them by doctors they trust.

Which way is right? Is either path wrong? I tend to be of the first camp, so it is easy for me to embrace the idea of fighting tooth and nail. I know, through the many, many patients who the Colon Cancer Alliance has touched, that some treatment paths lead to better outcomes. Minimally invasive surgery can shorten hospital stays and reduce complications. Using a stint to repair a colon resection may reduce the need for ostomy. Being treated in a cancer center that utilizes a true multi-disciplinary team approach offers the best chance for successful management of liver metastases. 

I must also admit, however, that treatment and care are about more than just science. We cannot underestimate the value of receiving care in a place that is familiar, that is located nearby, that is staffed by people you know. 

Everyone wants the very best care. It may well be true, though, that different people interpret differently what that means. Isn’t it nice to have the freedom to choose?

Tick Tock

Time is a challenge. 

When I was younger I loved the Harry Chapin song “Cat’s in the Cradle”. Some of you will remember that this is a ballad about a father who was incredibly proud of his son, yet never managed to find time to spend with him. The boy learns to walk while the father is gone on business. He asks his father to play ball with him, but the man is too busy. The years pass and now the father craves time with his son, but the young man has filled up his life with other things. The window of opportunity has passed. Now that I am older, I find myself identifying all too often with the father.

Over a week has gone by since I added to this blog. I start each day with good intentions of writing a few sentences, but then the day goes by. Proposals to write. Job applicants to interview. Calls to answer. You come in early and leave late, with a “to do” list that seems to grow by the day. Truly, time is a challenge. 

It makes me wonder how anyone has the time to have cancer. And cancer is, among many other things, very time consuming. Visits with the oncologist, and the surgeon, and the radiologist, and the nutritionist. Surgery and recovery. Sessions with the IV pole delivering the next round of chemo. Where do you fit it all in?

It’s all about priorities, isn’t it? We somehow find the time to do what is important. We fill our lives up to the brim with busy-ness and complain about our hectic schedule. Then something big comes along—like cancer—and everything changes. All of a sudden time is not the challenge it once was. The struggle of a hectic schedule pales in comparison to the battle for your life. 

I suppose that this is one of the lessons cancer can offer—to focus on what is truly important. Family. Friends. Beauty. Hope. Honesty. Peace. Cancer is a harsh, cruel teacher, though. I have met many people who value the lessons learned in battling cancer. But I have met no-one who would intentionally choose to learn those lessons at the feet of such a monstrous instructor.

Wouldn’t it be smarter if we could learn to balance out our days with things of worth, and do so without the tragedy that comes along with cancer? To measure out the minutes and hours of our days in way that makes room for the people we treasure and the activities we enjoy? 

Time is a challenge—and an opportunity. I think I will take the opportunity to learn these lessons now, today, before the next big crisis comes along. I will work on being less busy and more productive. I will start taking a few minutes to engage in the things I cherish. I commit myself to work on these things.

As soon as I can find the time….