Lesson 6 - Cancer Saves Lives

        I want to be very clear about something.

Cancer isn’t funny.

It is a horrible and deadly disease.  The only people who can make jokes about cancer are people who’ve actually had cancer.  They can because they have lived the disease and have therefore earned the right to say anything they want about it.  No one else gets that right and privilege unless it is conferred upon them by someone who has had it.

Ok, I realize that’s not some sort of official ruling.  It’s sort of an understood rule that I’ve tried to put words to, and possibly made up just now.  I tell you all that so that if I happen to seemingly make light of cancer in some way, you’ll understand the context and the ruling.

The ruling is stated above.

The context is… I’ve had cancer.

Twice.

No no, I’m fine.  I’m not currently dying.  In fact, I may be in the best shape of life.  Or at least close to it.

And I have cancer to thank for it.  

No, cancer didn’t make me healthy.  It didn’t give me superpowers.  I had to earn my health the hard way just like every one else.

Although that reminds me of a funny story.

Back in college, I played a lot of role playing games.  Dungeon & Dragons type of role playing, except we rarely played D&D.  What we played was the Marvel Super Heroes Role Playing Game.  Everyone makes a hero, gives him stats and powers, and then a GM (game master) runs you through a story based adventure or campaign.  I realize this has become the definition of nerdery and geekery, but hey, it’s a lot of fun, so don’t nock it till you’ve tried it.

Well, I made a bunch of different characters over the years we played, with different powers and stories.  But they all had one thing in common.  They all sucked.  Not because the characters were bad, but because it seems I had discovered one of my real super powers.  

The ability to role dice badly.

When the game relies on you being able to role dice well in order to do well, and you can role dice below average as a general rule, the game gets hard very quickly.

That was my first real life superpower that I discovered that I had.

The second was actually unintentionally predicted when I made my first character.

Twice.

I had never made a character before.  Well, I had made ONE before, so I guess this technically was my second.  But I don’t count the other one because it was made through random rolling instead of any sort of creative intent.

So, this SECOND character was tricky.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  I wanted something original.  I didn’t want to make another Spiderman or Captain America.  As we were tossing ideas around as a group we eventually started talking about what powers we would like to have in real life.  At this point the conversation becomes very philosophical.  What power would you have?  What would you do with it?  How would it affect the world and thought and Jesus and babies?  

Or any number of other semi ridiculous discussions.  And by “semi ridiculous”, I mean “totally sweet.”

Finally, one of us said, and I don’t remember which for sure, maybe me, “You know, if I ever had a power, it would probably be something really lame.”  At which point another of my friends said something to the effect of, “Ya, that’s probably more like it.  Your power (he said to me) would probably be the incredible ability to replicate your body’s cells at an increased and uncontrolled rate.  In real world terms, we’ll call that ‘Cancer’.”  

We all laughed.  Yes, this was technically before I had cancer and therefore violated the rule I outlined above.  But it was just so ridiculous and the power of irony was strong.  If I ever were to get a superpower, it would be a horrible and often deadly disease.

That was predictor number one, which was followed immediately by my friend and I going, “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.  What if your character has cancer, and…”  

And there it was.  History was made and one of the greatest characters I ever made was created.  

It was also predictor number two.

Now, don’t misunderstand.  I don’t actually believe these things were predicting my future as a cancer patient.  I’m not that nutty.  And if they were, I clearly didn’t pick up on it.

It did, however, become sort of a running joke amongst my friends.  They would all get cool powers, and I would be the guy who got cancer.

And it was pretty funny, not because cancer is funny, but because of the irony.  Because I was the guy who couldn’t roll dice well.  I could roll two 10 sided die, which gives me 1-100 in terms of possible results (as the game limited the rolls)… and I could roll them 10 times in a row.  In those ten times, 9 of them would be below 40 and 7 below 10.  That’s what we call “bad rolling.”

So, therefore, if any of us got shafted on the powers, it would be me.

It was the running joke.

Till one day my doctor told me I had cancer.  In that moment it stopped being funny.  I actually had one of my friends tell me how bad they felt that we had made the joke for all those years.

In the end, it’s still funny.  I can laugh and make fun of it now.  It doesn’t bother me anymore.  Life is life and it happens sometimes.  But at the time, it wasn’t so funny.  It suddenly became the awkward joke.  We tried to be cool about it, but it didn’t always work.  In fact the second time I was diagnosed with cancer I informed one of my friends by telling him, “So, hey.  Guess what?  My superpowers came back.”

He responded, “Oh ya?  Ha!  Good for you, bud.  (then long pause as the meaning sunk in)… Oh.  OOOOooohhh… oh… (awkward silence).”

It had seemed clever in my head.

What do I know?

It’s been almost four (seven now) years now since that second diagnosis.  And now, I can make jokes and he can make jokes.  The current joke is that I am the jar in which God keeps all his diseases.  “Tony, could you pass the herpes, please?  Thank you.”

No, I don’t have herpes.

It was really the only way we as friends could deal with the awful reality that one of us could die in some sort of untimely and horrible fashion.

And don’t get me started on the realities of chemotherapy.  It’s just… well, it’s just bad.

Instead, let’s talk about how cancer made me a better person.

I was living a relatively isolated life at the time.  My job made it easy for that to happen.  Neither my wife nor myself particularly liked that part of my work.  We were pretty out of touch and secluded from many of the people we used to know.

Once I was in chemo, however, I couldn’t work anymore.  I didn’t have the energy or strength.  At best, I could sit in front of my computer.  Which is when I decided to do a few things.  I started a MySpace page.  Then eventually a Facebook page.  I started a blog that shares the same name as this book.  In fact, this book wouldn’t exist at all had I not came down with the cancer.

Don’t you love it when people put the word “the” in front of a disease name that doesn’t grammatically require the word “the” there?  

It amuses me.

Anyway, I started getting in touch with all these people I hadn’t seen or talked to in years.  Hundreds of them.  And in the process I made some new friends as well.

I was writing in my blog because it allowed me to say what was on my mind and help some people at the same time.  Maybe not much, but a little.

I discovered that there were all these people who were hurting in life for one reason or another, and maybe they didn’t have cancer, but maybe their life was worse.

Through this whole process, I realized I was to able help people in ways I couldn’t have before.  I wouldn’t have known how.  What I should say, or what I shouldn’t say… being able to empathize even if I couldn’t sympathize… knowing how horrible disease could be…

Once I was strong enough, I started visiting the cancer center I was treated at.  I would talk to the patients.  Find out how they were doing, if there was anything I could do for them, or if they just needed someone to talk to.

Chemo completely screws with your head.  On top of having poison pumped through your body, you are dealing with all the emotional trauma of a life threatening illness.  For some of these people, it was a direct death sentence.  There are some people I used to visit with and take treatments with who didn’t make it.  

There was the 30 year old mother of three.

There was the 18 year old high school football star.

I lived and they didn’t.

I was forced to start seeing my life very differently.  I started seeing my purpose and place in the world differently.  My priorities shifted and juggled and changed.

I’m pretty sure cancer saved my life.

I’ve come to realize what a selfish person I had been before.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still selfish.  But I’m trying harder now.

I’ve also tried to stop lying to myself about who I am and what my place in life is.  My illusions were shattered.  I was always the healthy guy.  All the kids who did drugs in school are all healthy.  I was clean and sober my whole life and I got cancer.

Of course, it’s not that simple.  That’s one of the illusions that shattered.

If I hadn’t had cancer, I might not be as healthy as I am now.  I probably wouldn’t have tried very hard.  But now, every moment of good health matters.  Because now I know what bad health is like.  I don’t want to feel that again.

Although, I also know that I have no control over it.  I can be as healthy as I want, but it’s no guarantee.

And maybe that’s the greatest illusion that was shattered.  I have no control.

I have no control.

I have NO control.

Keep saying it.  Maybe it will sink in.  Everyone intellectually will agree that so much of life is out of our control.

But we really don’t believe it.  We have tricked ourselves for so long into thinking that we can control it all that we don’t know how to think any differently.

We think we need control.  We grasp at it with all our strength.  It’s how we deal with life and the things around us.  We create a view of the world that allows us to shape it any way we wish.  And while we do have a say over our lives and we can do so much more than we think, that’s not the part of our view that we cling to.

We cling to the part that brings comfort.  We cling to the illusion of safety.  We cling to illusion of comfort.  The illusion of happiness.  Things are so simple in our illusion.  The danger and risk are minimal.

Everyone remembers 9/11.  It was a horrible day.  So many people died needlessly.  There were so many things wrong with what happened, but do you know what most people took from that experience?

Flying is dangerous.

Seriously.  Flying is dangerous.

Specifically, flying is now MORE dangerous.

Tell me, did flying get more dangerous?  Or had the danger always been the same and now we just realized it wasn’t what we thought?

Those terrorists exploited dangers that had always been there.  Those dangers weren’t new.  They had just never been used that way.

Flying wasn’t and isn’t any more dangerous than it had been before.  We just started realizing that we didn’t know what we were talking about.

In the end, we are like the guy in the move The Matix who wanted to get put back in.  He saw reality for what it was and couldn’t handle it, so he fought to cling to his illusion by being put back in and having his memory erased so he wouldn’t have to know what reality was truly like.

Tell me, were the jokes we made about cancer in school suddenly more offensive when I had cancer?  Or were the jokes always of poor taste and WE changed?

Or maybe it’s not the jokes that were wrong, but maybe it was our perception of the reality surrounding the humor?

I’m not offended by my friends joking about my disease.  I joke about it all the time.  I’ve realized cancer is just a thing that happens that I have no control over.

But real cancer isn’t the tumor you grow in our body.

Real cancer is the illusion that grows in our mind.  It keeps us from seeing the way things really are.  It keeps us from finding the flaws in our world view.  It keeps us from even wanting to find the flaws in our world view.

It keeps us from wanting to change.

It keeps us from being honest with ourselves about ourselves and from desiring to do anything about it.  It deceives us into thinking everything is fine and there is nothing wrong, or that the things that are wrong are something pointless and irrelevant and not the real problems in our life and views.

It keeps us from seeing the truth.

The truth is, physical cancer could still kill me one day, but no matter what, it has already saved me.

The truth is, it’s not the physical cancer I fear(although I do) as much as the mental and spiritual cancer that will most certainly kill me if I don’t allow my self to see it and destroy it.

Lesson 5 - Sports Cars are Fast

Right.

So, listen.  At this point you are probably catching on to the fact that I like to state the obvious.

Captain Obvious.  That’s me.

Ha.  Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone was so aptly named?  Like, Commander Klepto.  Professor Halitosis.  Captain Vulnerable to Peanuts.

At the very least, comic books would be different.  But it sure would be useful in dating.  Captain Hammered McDrunken, or Princess Cottage Cheese Bum.

Ok, so, it’s probably better not to do that with our names.  We would make too many assumptions too quickly.  Because, really, nothing is ever how it appears to be at face value anyway.

It’s funny.  As people, we think we know all about something just by its name.  But there can be so many variations on an object or concept.  Let’s talk about cars.

Why?  Mostly because I like cars and, darn it, this is my book.

=)  (There is that emoticon again.  Persistent little bugger…)

You know how people say a person knows too little to be useful and just enough to be dangerous?  Did you know that saying was coined because of me?  Ok, so, that’s probably a lie.  Ok, I’m sure it’s a lie.  But that doesn’t make it apply any less.  Here is what I mean.

I grew up on muscle cars.  My dad was, and still is, really into old school hotrods and old cars in general.  Therefore, so was I.  I love them.  I wanted to own one.  (still do…)  I grew up in the garage with my dad turning the wrench on one project or another, dreaming about the day when I would get to be the guy behind the wheel of a car way to powerful for me to be driving.

The possibilities of trouble that lay before me were endless.

And then finally, the day came.  I got my driver’s license.  Oh the joy!  Oh the bliss!  Oh the horror!

Yes, horror.  If you were my parents, it was most definitely horror.  I mean, think about it.  Handing the keys to any car, especially a powerful one, to me, the kid who had dreamed about driving something fast and awesome all his life… it was sort of like taking a shiny new grenade, pulling the pin, and handing it to a toddler.

Well, the first car that I was allowed to drive on a regular basis as “my own”, was a 1978 Dodge Aspen ex-police car.  It had the whole squad car package.  Beefed up suspension, 360 cubic inch v8 with more power than I needed.  (admittedly, by today’s standards, it wasn’t that much power.  But still…)

I thought I was invincible.  I thought I knew everything about cars and driving.  And in my defense, I was quite knowledgeable for someone my age.  I knew all the facts and figures and how to work on them, and I wasn’t even a half bad driver.  Pretty good, even.  

The problem wasn’t my driving skill, however.

I used to go out on to barren roads and empty parking lots just to “test out” the car and “get used to its handling” and “do stupid crap.”  

I suppose we didn’t need to use code on that last one.

Well, there was this one road that I drove all the time.  It was a frontage road to the main highway that went past where I grew up.  It had a 55mph speed limit, but it had a tight curve near the end of it that was rated at 25mph.  But as every teenager knows, speed limits are merely suggestions (cough cough), and are meant to be ignored (please don’t take me to jail nice mister police man.)

I had practiced enough that I could toss that old squad car into fish tail turns and four wheel drifts.  I had learned how it handled and was pretty confident.  So, to test that out, I figured I could straighten that curve Dukes of Hazard style and live to brag about it.

Long story short, I hit that curve going close to 70mph.  And you know what happened? 

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing, except total and complete awesomeness.

I drifted that bad boy all the way through the curve like some sort of road racing demon of, um… road racing.

I didn’t crash, I didn’t get a ticket… it wasn’t even close.  In my mind, I had proven to myself that I was in fact the superior driver and that my superior understanding of cars and driving had won the day.

Fast forward a few months.

My mom had a fun little car.  It was a 1989 Dodge Shadow ES Turbo.  It really was a pretty fun little car.  Five speed, 150hp, and it handled like a go-kart.  Well, at least it did compared to that old heavy squad car I was driving.  It was lighter, peppier, and just more fun to drive.

One day while dropping off a friend at his home after school, I was going down that same road.  I decided I was going to show him how amazing my mom’s car was and, more importantly, how amazing my driving skills were.

We hit 120mph on the highway, got off, hit the frontage road, and where nearing triple digit speeds again.  However, I had the good sense to slow down for that curve.  I figured it like this.  That squad car made the curve at 70, and this car handled better.  Therefore, if I wanted, I should be able to take the curve faster.  However, I decided to slow it down to 55mph instead.  It was still crazy fast for that curve, but slower than before.  It should be a cake walk.

I threw that car into the curve and the next thing I knew was that we were upside down in a ditch hanging from our seat belts.  The car slid off the road (can we say I blew a tire?  For my ego?  Please?), hit the dirt embankment, and basically flipped corner to corner in some part barrel-roll, part end over end style of flipping.  Honestly, I’ll probably never know for sure what it looked like.  All I know is that car no longer exists.  It didn’t have a straight piece left on it.  Every window was broken.  Except for one, which my friend kicked out getting out of the car.  (that’s another story…)  Fortunately, though, we were fine.

Now, besides the fact that I’m stupid, what went wrong?  Was my analysis wrong?  Well, the Dodge Shadow was indeed the better handling car.  So if you are doing straight-forward logic, it should have worked.

What I didn’t account for was the fact that the Shadow was a front wheel drive car, and the Aspen a rear wheel drive car.  Anyone who knows anything about cars, knows that a front wheel drive car handles very differently than a rear wheel drive car.  That is where the flaw in my logic was.  I didn’t anticipate that fact.  I did not even know that fact.  For all my knowledge and “experience”, it had never occurred to me that it would matter.  It didn’t occur to me that which tires were providing the motion and struggling for traction would matter.  It never occurred to me that having the same tires steering AND driving the car, would cause grip to be different.  It never occurred to me that the car wouldn’t want to tail slide just like my other car.

Any truly experienced driver would know this.  I however, was not a truly experienced driver.  I just thought I was.

Unfortunately, reality and truth were sort of scaled and relative.

My facts were correct, but it didn’t occur to me that they were only correct within a certain context.  Fast for one car was even faster for another in certain situations.  Not that the speed was different, but the limits were.  The techniques for handling the limits were different.

As I’ve gotten older and driven other cars and faster cars, I’ve come to learn that fast and slow are relative to the vehicle.  If you are driving a Corvette, fast is pretty fast before it becomes too fast for the cars ability.  But if you are driving a boat like Buick slow can still be pretty fast when it comes to the cars ability.

It’s all about the context.

So is our world view.

Remember that from last chapter?  Our view is based on “facts.”  But the facts are sometimes relative.  They can be contextual.  A thing can be true, but not always true.

In America, giving someone the “thumbs up” gesture means “good job” or something similar.  But in some countries, the “thumbs up” is a very offensive gesture that definitely does not mean “good job.”

In one context it’s good, in another it’s very bad.

What facts do we use to shape our view of things?  What truths make up our perception of reality?  And, more importantly, how many of those truths are actually true?  And even more importantly, would we ever be willing to admit that any of those truths aren’t so true?

Without that flexibility, our world view will always be stunted, and therefore incomplete.  The only way to have that flexibility is through personal honesty.  The recognition that I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I’m full of poo.

That recognition is super important.  It’s that recognition that teaches me that my car accident had nothing to do with the Shadow handling different than the Aspen.  It wasn’t that the car was incapable.  It was that I was incapable.  A professional driver would have been just fine.  I was the problem.  I was the one who didn’t know better, but more importantly I was the one who would never admit that he didn’t know better.

If I had, I would have been able to alter my view and therefore my actions.  I would have been able to recognize the fallacy in my mind before it was too late.

I would have understood that fast cars can feel slow, and that sometimes slow is still way too fast.