Fear No Evil

On an afternoon when I was tired, stressed, and late for a dinner date, it was just my luck to run into a happy, upbeat cancer patient who was starved for company. Roy wanted to talk, and talk he did.

It was my regular bi-weekly trip to the cancer unit. I had been directed to Roy’s room by a nurse who thought my visit could bring Roy some comfort. It was well-intentioned, but boy… did she read that one wrong. Roy didn’t need comfort. Roy needed an audience.

After my brief self-introduction, Roy, an exuberant 80-year-old, launched into a detailed explanation of his cancer, the diagnosis, the treatment plan, the doctors he had seen, his discussions with his family, the cafeteria menu, the house-cleaners’ schedule… I found a chair, pulled it up to his bed and forced myself not to nod off.

Eventually, I was able to disengage. I delivered him a complimentary copy of Alligator Wrestling in the Cancer Ward, the paperback with my picture on the back cover and my author’s signature inside, not so much to offer him encouragement as to make a reason to exit.

Optimism

Nothing wrong with Roy’s attitude. He was in better shape than I was. I reflected that he probably would survive for a good long time.

The visit reminded me of the value of a fighting spirit.

I offer a heartfelt Thank You to those of you who have contributed to the provision of Alligator Wrestling books for cancer patients and their caregivers in Wichita, Kansas. Roy is one of the recipients.

That book is summed up in a brief statement relevant to the cancer fight: If you lose the attitude war, you lose the war.

The numbers

The latest estimate is that 4 out of 10 Americans alive today will be diagnosed with some form of cancer over their lifetimes. This is up over 30% from previous decades. On its face, this is a discouraging statistic, however, the American Association for Cancer Research points out that survival is also much improved from 20 years ago. The overall cancer death rate has fallen by 1/3 in that timeframe.

In 1975, less than half of those diagnosed with cancer would survive 5 years past the diagnosis. As of 2019, nearly 70% will survive that long.

So… think about this: While more of us will be diagnosed with cancer, fewer of us will die from it.

The fight

You know what that means: Many people you know — you may be one, yourself — will face a battle with cancer which will NOT be fatal, but which MUST be fought. At some point, someone close to you will struggle with a killer disease from a hospital bed, with all the attendant nasty consequences of a ravaged immune system.

The increased number of cancer cases is in large part due to improved diagnostics and the social acceptance of getting tested at earlier ages. But the prevalence of cancer in America is almost certainly due to our destructive diet, sedentary lifestyle and rampant obesity.

Odd how the richest nation on earth is becoming the unhealthiest. I cannot help but reflect on the ominous prediction of Ecclesiastes 5:11. “As goods increase, so do those who consume them.”

In other words, as the guy gets richer, he gets fatter. It was one of my Mom’s favorite verses because of the dark humor.

Whatever the source, cancer is a killer. The threat of death is very real. However, new pharmaceuticals and new AI-assisted treatments, both with radiation and surgery, give hope to many. The key, as with any disease, is early detection and early intervention.

The perspective

That’s the technical side of a war waged by professionals against unseen cancer cells.

The spiritual side is a battle of the soul. When you are diagnosed, will you give in to the fear, or will you meet it face to face? I can assure you that fear lurks in every corner of every room in the cancer unit.

If your mind is defeated by the fear, your body is quite likely to be defeated by the cancer. I don’t know why this is the case, but it appears to be real. If you lose the attitude war, you lose the war.

Reflect on it: The same is true in every other arena of life: sports, diet, schoolwork, career, human relationships. Expecting failure is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

That is why I wrote Alligator Wrestling, and that is why I hand it out. And that is why I ask you to contribute copies. There is no shortage of cancer. There is only a shortage of an optimistic, fighting spirit.

The promotion

When I was a patient in that cancer unit, an enormous concern was what it would cost. I was on Medicare and knew that the big bills would be covered — thanks to those of you still working and contributing! — but even being unschooled in the ways of cancer, I recognized there would be on-going costs once I was dismissed.

I was not wrong about this. As I approached my departure date, despite numerous deadly delays from one medical disaster or another, the hospital Case Worker helped me understand the impact of the outpatient treatments I would still require. The cost was breath-taking: I was facing something like $40,000 in costs for chemotherapy and medications over the next 6 months.

As an outpatient, these would be my direct responsibility, nothing covered by insurance.

Quite fortunately, I had a card to play.

Two years earlier, either by dumb luck or by the grace of God, I had purchased an out-of-pocket cancer insurance policy. Most major carriers offer these. I figured I would never need it. Nevertheless, through the magic of payroll deduction, I had bought a policy covering cancer. Because the price came out of a paycheck, I didn’t really miss it.

Once hospitalized, I suddenly became intensely interested in the terms and conditions. Sleepless nights found me studying tiny font on a smartphone screen, hacking my way through coverage disclaimers. An enormous psychological weight was lifted from me as I realized that policy would handle most of the needs.

As it happened, I was able to avoid the worst cost-causers in the post-release treatments, and the policy payout basically replaced my lost wages.

Your situation may vary, but I encourage you to look into such a policy. That financial good news went a long way toward improving my outlook during the dark days of pain and suffering.

I don’t get paid for this promotion, though maybe I should.

The ask

If we could bottle Roy and distribute little vials of him, maybe that would help. But until we find a way to do that, putting a message of hope and optimism and gut-level determination in the hands of cancer patients — and their caregivers, who suffer worse — seems to be a work worth doing.

Make your contribution to Via Christi Foundation at the link below, or surf to alligator publishing slash via dash christi. Roy and I give you our sincere thanks. See you next time.