Man in the Mirror

Recently, I had the privilege of talking with a cancer survivor about his life - more like the life he envisions since going through his diagnosis in February and surgery. Prior to this conversation, I only knew him in passing. Still, I could sense his inner struggle. While my background isn't social work, my training as a longtime journalist, I suppose, taught me how to read people. Then again, who isn't struggling after a cancer diagnosis? No matter, I welcomed his request to talk with me about some ideas he had about changing careers. As I suspected, the conversation really wasn't about that at all. It was about the transformation that was occurring as a result of his cancer experience -- the transformation that so many cancer survivors go through if they are lucky enough to work (and live) through the physical and emotional agony that the disease stirs up.

While the process is often painful, many cancer survivors (and care givers) say it's worth the experience. Some go so far as to call it a "gift." I'm not so sure I could call it that, but I get it. I lost my mother, my mother-in-law and my sister-in law to cancer. And, I watched both my sister and my son struggle with it. Personal experience tells me that there is no good in cancer itself, but there are great things ahead for survivors and their loved ones whose senses are awakened by the experience. Facing mortality has a way of doing that.

For this 50-something father with two kids, the changes are under way. He told me he's ready to be happy but he has some obstacles in his way, namely a bad marriage and a high-stress job. He wants to run away from it all. He wants to chase the dreams that have been swimming around in his head for too long.

In a nutshell, this man is deperate for change even if it means he has to wipe his slate clean. "I want to be happy,'' he said. "I want to simplify my life. I want to help people.'''

I get it. And, I know that thousands of others who have walked the cancer path -- or any other life-altering experience -- get it, too. Life is short. But, not so short that it can't be filled with fun, laughter and personal rewards.

I have been lucky enough to come out of my son's cancer experience with a new sense of appreciation for my life and all who cross it. Years of exposure through my career as a newspaper journalist to crime, corruption, death, disaster and battles over petty things couldn't compare to my year in a pediatric cancer ward where dozens of children, including my own precious one-year-old son fought for their lives. More than a few did not win. I don't think I've witnessed anything more painful than watching a parent say goodbye to a child. (Nor have I witnessed anything more amazing than watching and feeling the energy in the room as a young boy descended into heaven.)

Fortunately, my story didn't end that way. Despite his rare kidney cancer, my son is now a happy, healthy 14-year-old. The impact of the experience, however, has lifelong repercussions. Even today, my eyes well up at hearing him laugh, watching him play baseball or putting a band-aid on his latest scrape. Still, I panic when he complains of leg pain, a headache or anything else that most parents would pass off as growing pains, stress, or the common cold.

I often wonder why I put myself smack dab in the middle of a cancer support community, where I am reminded daily of the nightmare my family went through. Some days are harder than others. Some days, we celebrate remissions, successful surgeries and non-cancer-related events that include weddings and births and marriages. Other days, we mourn, we cry, we try to cope because as much as we know about the sadness of cancer, the hurt and frustration are just as painful as they were the last time and the time before that . . .

Then, someone walks into my office -- someone who is struggling to make sense of his own nightmare. Like so many, he wants there to be some good from this. For some reason, our paths crossed. I can help him simply by listening, sharing my own experiences, and encouraging him to keep moving forward. And, I doubt he knows this, but he has already helped me. He's my reminder that I am in the right place right now.

My new friend still has quite a journey ahead of him. Cancer has changed him. It has made him evaluate the life he has been living for so many years. It has forced him to look in the mirror. And, slowly but surely, it will give him the courage to make choices that will enrich the rest of his life.

From someone who is still stumbling, my advice to him is "One step at a time.''