Remembering When It Sucked

September 4th was my tenth anniversary from when I was initially diagnosed with stage three cancer. I have returned to Facebook after not being on it for the last four-plus years, and one of the things I got to look at is what I was posting during that time—memories through social media.

While it has been ten years since I was diagnosed, cancer still is in my thoughts almost every single day. When I was around ten years sober, I wasn’t thinking about drinking every single day, but my body gives me reminders several times a day that I had cancer and went through hell to have it killed inside of me.

It wasn’t until last year that I was given the cancer-free diagnosis and wouldn’t have to go every six months to have scans and tests to make sure that it hasn’t come back. Now, I only go to my regular doctor once a year, and if anything seems weird, I will do the scans and other tests. The only thing that comes with that is that it’s not if cancer comes back; it’s when it comes back.

For the first few years, cancer dominated my life. It was the only thing I could do: survive. Go to the doctor’s office or medical facility, follow directions, and then come back again. I would then wade through people’s advice and suggestions on what may have given me cancer, how what I was doing with medical professionals was wrong, and insane medical advice. This was when I realized that the internet wasn’t making anyone smarter but just making dumb people more confident.

After the surgeries, the chemo, and the constant visits to medical providers, I was then suddenly just out in the world after steering close to the end of life to have to return to normal living, which included pretending that my cancer experience had made me stronger. I had to return to work, making my job choices based on the kind of health insurance offered and just getting used to what was normal for me.

I had a hard time accepting that I wouldn’t return to my old way of life that I was living before my diagnosis. My body was not only treated with poison and opened up, but I got older. I wouldn’t ease into my forties; I slammed into it like a crash test dummy.

The chemo ran havoc on my mind, my ability to have clear thoughts, and my creativity, which almost seemed murdered by the chemicals. I tried doing a satirical daily meditation called the Cracked Pot Meditations to give me daily creative practice. I drew and wrote a book on my original Tarot. I still struggle with reading, writing, drawing, and playing music because my head seems so far from my heart.

But on I went, got into a relationship that ended in marriage and then ultimately a separation, had different jobs, and moved across the country to the East Coast where no one knew me when I had cancer. I was just the guy who had cancer in a time in a before unobservable time somewhere else. When there was a possibility of it coming back, I didn’t know if the people on the East Coast would take care of me like the people in Oregon did, and luckily, I never had to find out.

Ten years ago feels like a lifetime ago. I feel like I’ve lived more than one life since then. I don’t recognize the world through my new eyes, and sometimes, things are much harder to accept. I also still have this hope that I will feel okay again and not be in constant pain and brain fog all the time. Even with being a member of a gym, trying different diets, and even on medication, moving through the world can be very difficult.

I lived. I survived. I have been told I should be grateful for going through what I did. I try to, but it isn’t easy when it still affects my quality of life. Whatever strength I may have had going through cancer was going to doctor appointments and doing what the providers told me to do. You may be surprised how many people don’t listen to their doctors or go to their critical doctor appointments. We guys think it is to take care of ourselves, but to survive cancer or other fatal illnesses, we need to show up and be ready to follow instructions.

I don’t mean to sound too negative, but sometimes, our media shows how someone becomes a stronger person after cancer, and for a lot of us, that isn’t the case. People wore bracelets that made people believe that cancer was just like the flu: you were sick, and then you weren’t, and you could win a bike race or climb a mountain minutes later.

Whenever someone has just been diagnosed with cancer, I always tell them to watch out after it is all said and done. That is when the pain and anxiety settle in, and because you are past the sickness and the treatment, people aren’t right there anymore. I say, ask for help, seek therapy, seek community, seek anything that doesn’t leave you feeling alone. Medical trauma is as bad as any other trauma. It can affect every aspect of your life. It affects every aspect of my life to this day.

I am grateful for my life on this side of cancer. I’ve read about so many magical and memorable moments and met many great people since then. I wrote a book that I hope to publish—a lifelong dream! I have been able to use my experience to guide people through illnesses, helping them not feel so alone and knowing what to expect.

I am now living in Rhode Island. I never thought I would leave Oregon, and not that I was itching to; it’s usually nice to have a different experience and learn about a new world outside everything I grew comfortable with.

The two memories I hold dear from my cancer journey will always be when Jon had to go to the hospital to verify I wasn’t fucking with everyone and the moment that I was finally alone after getting diagnosed and crying such a deep sob that I thought I was drawing the emotions from the middle of the earth itself. And while it was a cry of sadness and fear, it also needed to come out of me because it was inside there for so long.

Here is to 10 years of cancer life. Thank you to everyone who stood by me, supported me, and walked with me. I know for a fact I wouldn’t have been able to do it alone. I feel like I will never repay that debt, but I’I’moing to try.