My spirits are a bit low today. No particular reason other than feeling a bit caged in my hospital room. So instead of getting into some of the technicalities of my induction therapy, which I had planned on doing, I'm gonna ruminate.
A day or so after the diagnosis I began to see cancer as more than a disease. It still weighed heavily on me as a burden, but there was another perception materializing. A few years ago, I did a winter ascent of Gray's Peak in Colorado alone. Its not a very technical climb, nor would it be considered difficult for an experienced mountaineer, but it still carried with it enough risk to make me acutely aware of my own mortality. One moment reigns especially clear in my memory. There is a portion of the route about 1500 feet below the summit that traverses a very steep slope for a 1/4 mile or so. I stuck with the traverse for a while though I was feeling increasingly exposed. Looking down I could see the path of my potential fall, which would carry me a long way into the valley below. To make matters worse I still had my snowshoes on, which I should have replaced with crampons long before. Traversing a steep slope in snowshoes is fairly awkward, but it would not be safe to sit down where I was and change gear. Though wiped out and feeling the altitude, I made the decision that kicking steps straight up the mountain, rather than following this exposed traverse in snowshoes was a safer proposition. So that's what I did.
Now after my diagnosis I am aware once again of my own mortality. I see the road ahead of me as parallel to my ascent of Gray's Peak. At the outset of my climb I was pretty full of doubt, and honestly there was some fear. I hiked into the woods alone around 4:30 PM to an area I'd never been and set up my tent in the dark as a snow fell steadily. In the morning I'd be embarking on a route I'd never seen before, with the knowledge that there was risk of avalanche. Arriving from the relatively low altitude of Vermont only the day before, I wasn't sure how I'd feel at higher altitude. As I began the route the next morning, I had to wade through thigh deep snow, and was exhausted almost immediately. I was only guessing at times which way the route was supposed to go. On occasion I ventured way out of my way, unnecessarily expending energy. But as I gained altitude the route revealed itself. It became clear that completing it and summiting depended only on my will to succeed. I believe surviving cancer can be an equally challenging and perhaps satisfying journey. There is doubt, there is fear, and there are things beyond my control, but I still have control of my will. When the will is tested the true measure of a man is revealed.
I thought a lot about that climb in the early days of my diagnosis and resolved that I have the will to beat this thing, though there have been times when I've questioned myself. A few weeks ago I was sharing a hospital room with a man who was much sicker than I, our beds separated by only a then curtain. I overheard him explaining to his daughter that while she understood it was time to let him go, he still needed to convince his wife. He mused with satisfaction that he had lived a good life, raised his children, and felt no regrets. As I lay there with my head pounding from a chemo induced headache, feeling the weight of all that's happened, and gazing at the long stretch of road ahead, I felt envious. This man no longer was bound to life and the struggle to survive. He could leave it when he was ready; no strings attached. It would be easy. The nurses would give him all the painkillers he needed to slip quietly and comfortably into death. For me this was/is not an option. I'm still young. I have two little boys and plans to fulfill with my wife. My parents are still alive and I still have grandparents. But in the thick of feeling like shit its easy to envy a man with an easy way out. Now 3 weeks later, as I sit here pain free and feeling good, the envy is gone. I'm not sure what's become of my old roommate, but I hope everything is working out the way he wants it to. I am unfinished.
No comments:
Post a Comment