March 30, 2002: Happy Anniversary

Hi friends.

It's been a while since one of my updates, which I trust you have taken as good news, but I thought that I'd send out a quick note to you all since it was one year ago today (3/29) that I got that first fateful call from my GP's office telling me that he'd scheduled an appointment for me with an oncologist. In many ways it's been a hell of a year since then--but it's also been an amazing one, if for no other reason than this--the opportunity to share the journey with such an incredible, diverse and generous group of friends who have been a constant source of kindness, wisdom, affection and most of all, grace. I can't begin to say what you've meant to me--nor can I imagine how we would have gotten through the year without you. From the first, terrified, profanity-laced note that I sent to a couple of friends whom I knew were online that Thursday morning, through the first few rounds of chemo, to the moments of insight and opportunity with others in the halls of Paoli Memorial Hospital, to the stem cell transplant and the months of recovery that followed, the process of sending "updates" was critical to my survival and sanity.

Not that they were an intentional discipline, at first anyway. Far from it. As the first few of you will remember, the first genuine "cancer update" was really a plea for prayer--I'd come to the conclusion that there was no good reason to keep my need (and my fear) to myself, and that I might as well just ask those I trusted to pray--in whatever way you knew, however best you could. The first few notes were more of the same--please pray, here's what and why, etc. Pretty basic, and pretty desperate. In short--entirely appropriate given the circumstances. Your response was humbling--I was literally overwhelmed by your notes, by your thoughts and well-wishes and by your prayers. The situation didn't stop being frightening or overwhelming or even too great for us, but in the midst of it we began to feel bouyed up by your support. It was tangible, the sense that we were not, nor would we ever be, alone in this. And while we never for a moment thought that the cancer was anything but an evil nuisance, we began to sense God whispering to our hearts that he might be able to use this ordeal to do and make good.

Then something quite remarkable happened to me. As I was begging for my own life, I thought about a friend of mine who is gay, and wondered what would happen to him if he contracted AIDS and sent a blast email out to my list (or one like it) asking for prayer. I wondered if he would be as overwhelmed by support and love as I was. I wondered if our response to him might be different.

This took me further outside myself, and got me thinking about the many, many around the world who suffer far worse things I was going through and who suffer those things alone. I simply couldn't imagine it. I still can't. And so, in that moment of reflection just 6 days after my initial diagnosis, I wrote to you and said this: No need to preach here--I just invite you to think about that with me, and when you pray for me, remember too to pray for those on the margins of our society, those who have no family, no support, and no love.

Through the last 12 months this notion of praying for the voiceless--the "least the last and the lost"--became a theme for me, and for many of you too. And that kept me writing to you. These updates became a kind of therapy, an exercise of sorts, to get me outside of myself, even in the midst of the worst times. A few of them were very hard to write--in fact, a couple took a few days. There are a few I don't even remember writing--those from the middle of October when I was so sick after the transplant and they had me on both a morphine drip and a drug called "marinol" that is a derivative of pot. (I never smoked the stuff growing up, but the hospital variety made me both stupid and paranoid. But it didn't keep me from writing what are in retrospect pretty funny, awful notes.) And, of course, there were a few notes in late November (when they put me back in the hospital for what turned out to be Shingles) that carried about the widest range of emotions possible--at least the biggest swing I've ever felt. It was quite a ride, and feeling both obliged and welcome to share it with you was an enormous blessing to me.

Better still, I have kept almost all of your notes to me. You've been endlessly encouraging. But the ones I've actually read and re-read over and over are the ones in which you've told me how praying for these "others" has changed your lives. Those notes, more than any other one thing, held my soul in good stead, and represent something for which I'll be grateful for the rest of my life, however long that is. It was just one of countless ways in which God did indeed use this evil for his good.

And so, one year later I write to thank you for being such an encouragement, and to ask that you continue to pray for those without power or privilege or nurture whenever you think of me.

As for the details of my life right now, I'll be brief. I continue to grow stronger everyday, trying to get my body back in some kind of shape after more than a year of abuse. I've lost 55lbs since a year ago, 15 of that since the New Year--the result of a reduced appetite and, since late February, fairly regular exercise. I'm now down to what I weighed at 30--a nice, healthy 200lbs even--and have had to buy all new pants and have my suits altered. At my doctor's orders I took a short vacation down to Myrtle Beach to play a bit of golf and sit in hot tubs, all of which was tremendously beneficial, for both my body/mind and for Sheri--after a year of my being on the couch or in the hospital, she was happy to send me packing for a few days and have some time to herself.

On a deeply superficial and vain note, my hair has now grown back too--thicker and curlier on the back and sides, but still thin on top. Funny, that was perhaps the only miracle I was really, really hoping for. Last week I got it cut for the first time in a year. A nice, gentle, small victory.

More importantly, I've also gone off most of my pain medications, a good thing (as I don't have much pain anymore) but with some temporarily nasty side-effects, as I've spent most of March going through some kind of detox and withdrawl. This has been a bit frustrating, as I'd intended to do a fair amount of job-hunting and writing this month, but have instead spent a lot of time in the restless, half-daze of one who is sleeping 4 hours a night. The worst is over--thank God--and I'm now beginning to increase the pace of my work.

Sheri has taken to calling me "DT Man". Many of you ask how she is and have prayed for her as much as for me. She is doing well--but very, very busy with her work at the American Association for Cancer Research. Her stoicism and sheer force of will--along with her ability to help us focus episodically--kept us sane through the insanity of the last 12 months. She is, as you can imagine, quite weary after the past year, and anxious for a short vacation in late May. For her, it won't be soon enough. And in the meantime, I'm planning a couple opportunities to get out of the apartment again so that she can enjoy some time alone. (If any of you are feeling generous--and many of you have already been very generous to me--there are a few spas around here that I'd love to send her to for a day or two.)

April will be a month of job-hunting, and I expect to cast the net far and wide. We're really open to almost anything, and after the past year of confinement, I'm anxious for a little excitement too. Whatever and wherever God leads us--well, that's up to God. But I do know that if nothing else the last year has taught me a thing or two about the urgency of living life large--enjoying its beauty and kindness and richness--and the need to get at the things that matter most. So expect to see a book or two to be written in the next year or so--one based in large measure on the evolution of these cancer updates, and one that's been churning around for four or five years now to be called "How to be a Worldly Christian (and not go to Hell)". You can say a prayer for that process too--between the DTs and close to a year without a real routine, the discipline of daily work is slow coming.

And, of course, at the end of May I turn 40. I doubt I'll be getting a little red sports car or anything, but as a friend of mine said recently, "after the last year you should be happy to have a mid-life to crisis with, so quit your belly-aching and go out and enjoy yourself." We plan to do just that with a pretty big party--maybe a couple of them. A birthday I was dreading just 18 months ago is now a cause for major celebration. Another blessing, I guess.

Well, it's late and you should be in bed, so I'll close. This will be the last "cancer update" from me, God willing.

Again, thanks for your kindness, support and prayer. And remember those who too often are forgotten.

With much love.

dwight

E-mail Dwight | Back to Cancer Journal Index Page