Before proceeding, a large tangent is in order. I found out that my mom has been reading the dead tree edition of this blog, in the form of printouts from my sister. Like all moms, my mother worries constantly about me. Strangely though, she’s not as worried about the cancer as she is about the effects of cancer treatment. Do I really need to be on prednisone indefinitely? Will medical marijuana make me a junkie? I try to explain to her that these are actually small worries relative to the cancer itself, to no avail. Besides, these are all worries about what might happen in some relatively far off, uncertain future. What I need to do to make our conversations simpler is to give her something simpler and more immediate to worry about. For example...
Recently I climbed a ladder, stepped onto an ice dam, and shoveled the kitchen roof in Vermont. Yes, I mixed ladders and ice, but sadly was not able to work a chainsaw into this death defying feat. Hi Mom!
So I’m guessing by now mom isn’t the least bit worried about the future consequences of my cancer or its treatment, and is solely focused on the more immediate possibility of my accidental death. This is good, our focus is on the here and now and not some possible future infirmity. Hey look! I segued from mom to living in the moment!
And what a moment this was. Several years ago, I was very uncomfortable on ladders and never imagined I’d be walking around on a roof. However flying squirrels in the dormer and a leaking kitchen roof due to ice dams provided sufficient incentive to get comfortable. As a result, today with cancer and in my 50s I’m doing things that were beyond my imagination in my 40s, or my 30s or 20s for that matter. This is a very happy thought indeed.
To be fair to mom, I’m also exceptionally skilled at worrying about things in the far off future. Prior to my diagnosis I used to spend way too much time worrying about life at age 90. I’d worry about whether I’d still be able to drive, if I’d outlive my retirement savings, and how to cope if my wife got alzheimer’s. It would make me anxious and depressed and now it seems utterly naive that I’d worry about such things.
The lesson is that the secret to happiness is not looking too far ahead. If I look a few months or even a year ahead, I see myself completing chemotherapy, recovering from its effects, returning to work, and continuing to do many of the things I enjoy. This is a particularly encouraging time frame as it’s a period of healing, regaining the ability to do things, and possibly even discovering new things I previously could not do.
If I try to look much past a year ahead, things begin to get cloudy. Even after chemotherapy is complete I’ll still be on hormone therapy indefinitely, with all of its side effects. I might eventually achieve a full remission, or the cancer may make a comeback, I just don’t and can’t know. Suffice to say looking even further ahead and thinking about where I want to live in my 70s isn’t a good use of my time right now.
I’m increasingly focused on making the most of 2019, which should be a spectacular year. After all, I’m on an icy roof, shoveling snow, and successfully fighting back from not one, but two cancer diagnoses. How epic is that? I’ll worry about 2020 when it gets here.
Fun side note: Shovelling still bothers my back a bit. What to do when you’re on a roof and you want to ice your back? Let’s see, I’m surrounded by snow, perhaps if I lift up my coat, lie down in the snow, and ahhh… relief! I wonder what the neighbors driving by think when they see me apparently sleeping on the roof. Just call me Snoopy!
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