9 Years

Today is my diagnosiversary. I was diagnosed with Follicular Lymphoma 9 years ago today.

That means it's also the 7th anniversary of my first Rituxan treatment.

And, as always, I get a little reflective on my diagnosiversary. I think about where I have been and where I might be going. Bear with me.

**************************

I've been wrestling with a Big Question for 9 years now:  If getting cancer changes us, then who is it that we become?

Does cancer define who I am now? Am I Bob the Cancer Patient? Bob the Survivor? Bob the "Hero"?

Or is cancer just the thing that changes us, like a car that we drive to a new place. And now once we are here we can just leave it behind?

I guess that's possible (leaving it behind) for lots of cancer patients. But maybe not so much for someone with an indolent, incurable cancer. I didn't get a Complete Response 7 years ago. The Rituxan knocked it back, but there was still some showing up on the scan. And I haven't had a Complete Response for any of the scans I have gotten since then. As far as I know, I have always had at least a little cancer in me, for 9 years (at least).

I have thought about my cancer every day for 9 years, without exception. Not just cancer. My cancer.

Cancer has been a part of me, physically and mentally, for 9 years.

***************************

I write a lot. (Am I Bob the Blogger? Bob the Writer? Bob the Cancer Nerd?)

Not just the blog -- I write lots of other stuff, too. A couple of weeks ago, I came across an article that talked about creative writing -- fiction and poetry, stories and poems -- and how non-fiction (basically, stuff that isn't made up, like this blog) is not really valued by people who do "creative writing." Whether or not I agree with that article isn't important (and if you're really curious, the article is here, though you don't need to read it to get what I'm saying). 

The article got me thinking.  I don't write fiction or poetry. I'm not good at it. I write lots of non-fiction, though, like all of the stuff I write for the blog.

It was that term "non-fiction" that got me thinking. It got me thinking about Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. My blog is non-fiction about Non-Hodgkin's.

Ha. That's kind of cute, right?  But also kind of weird -- two things that I spend a lot of time thinking about, and they are defined by what they ARE NOT, instead of what they ARE.

Which brings me back to the Big Question: If getting cancer changes us, then who do we become? Are we defined by something we are?  Cancer patient?  Survivor?  Hero?

Or are we defined by something we are NOT? Healthy? Whole? Free from worry?

*****************************

It is true that I think about cancer every day.

But it's also true that I think about being a father. And a husband. And, most days, I think about being a writer, and a Red Sox fan, and a gardener. And lots of other things.

So if today is a day of reflection, and I'm looking back at 9 years, I'd say the lesson that comes to me is this: Cancer can't define us. We define who we are.

I don't think I could have said that 9 years ago. Or even 8, or 7. It takes some time and distance. And I've been blessed with both.

I can embrace the fact that I am a cancer patient, without letting it define who I am. I can't stop thinking about it, any more than I can stop thinking about being a husband and a father. But I tuck it away and take it out when I need it.

It's easy to let cancer be who we are, especially when we're first diagnosed. And it can be overwhelming. It can be define who we are (cancer patient) and who we are NOT (healthy and whole). That's when it gets bad. That's when you have to really think hard about something other than cancer. That's when you have to decide who you are going to be.

*****************************

I remember, long ago, soon after I had been diagnosed, having an odd conversation with someone about cancer. She had recently been to a cancer walk, or sponsored someone who walked. I forget. But she told me that she and a friend with cancer had been discussing her friend's status. She told me that her friend, who had recently celebrated 5 years in remission, had told her "When you have been cancer-free for 5 years, then you are a Cancer Survivor. Before that, you are a Cancer Victim."

I bugged me then, and it bugs me now, just thinking back about it. I might consider myself a lot of things -- Cancer Patient, Cancer Nerd, whatever -- but I sure as hell have never considered myself a victim. Self-victimization is an invitation to helplessness. And I'll never consider myself helpless.

That's the point of the blog, isn't it? Seek knowledge, and you can't possibly be a victim.

******************************

So, has cancer changed me? Of course.

Do I know who it has changed me into? Not really. I'm still becoming him. But a lot of who I am and become is going to be my choice.

I want to thank you all for finding the blog, and coming back again and again. As a writer, I can say it's been pretty fantastic to know that people are reading your words, and even better hearing that those words help some of you. That's made the last 9 years so much easier for me, and has certainly helped me figure out my role in all of this.

I wish you all the same 9 years of good health, plus many more.