January 26, 2024
Last week’s post, “Dying is not the worst problem with cancer: It’s how you choose to live with it” (Jan 19, 2024) got so much response that I considered a follow-up might be in order.
I can take a hint, if it’s broad enough.
First, a war story, just to get things warmed up. It is an excerpt from my book Alligator Wrestling in the Cancer Ward, chapter 6.
My Dad served in the U.S. Navy, World War II. To illustrate the lessons of my fight with cancer (and to induce reluctant readers, particularly adult males, to read a soapy book about being sick) I included a war story in every chapter.
Dad was not in combat, so his stories are mostly about Navy bureaucracy and the challenges of managing wayward sailors with a war on. Good fodder for humor.
My brother pointed out that Dad’s stories are the best, because they can never be fact-checked.
Good point.
To fill out the book, I included stories from other sources. Each one is intended to drive home the point of the chapter it closes.
Some are more exciting than others.
The following is of an event told to Dad by a fellow sailor in San Diego about 1943. (Or 1944… some facts simply defy recovery at this point. It could not have been 1942 or 1945, so take your pick.)
San Diego, 1943
One day Dad ran into a fellow Chief Petty Officer who had a deep scar down the side of his hairline, above the ear. “Where'd you pick that up?” Dad asked.
The chief explained he had served on a destroyer during the landing on Tarawa, the first large-scale Marine beachhead of the war. The tides were unpredictable, and that morning the sea uncovered a coral reef some 500 yards offshore, usually concealed just beneath the waves. The landing craft, loaded with Marines, would have to contend with that reef on their way to the beach.
It was an opposed landing – Japanese defenders brought the Marines under heavy machine gun and artillery fire – and the tide happened to be low, unbeknownst to the Americans. The reef was submerged under barely 18 inches of water and, in some places, exposed entirely. The landing craft had a three-foot draft.
As dozens of landing craft got hung up on the reef, the chief explained, shells began to explode among them. The Japanese knew perfectly well where the reef was and had already registered their weapons at that distance. Machine gun fire raked the invaders.
“The Old Man got on the P.A.,” the chief continued, referring to the ship's captain. “He said, 'I want a chief and a Bosun's Mate in each motor launch. Go in and get those Marines; either take them into shore or bring them back here. But get them out of there!' So, I jumped into a boat with a sailor, and we headed for the reef.”
“And the scar?” Dad asked.
“After we got those guys into the launch with their equipment and delivered them to the beach, I finally figured out what was getting in my eyes. There was blood all over my face. I took a round along the side of my head, right above my ear.”
“Where was your tin hat?” Dad wanted to know.
“Back In my quarters below-decks, of course,” the chief said. “We were five miles offshore and the last thing I needed was a helmet.”
That's all I have of their conversation. One can only wonder – in awe – at the prospect of two sailors struggling to get 40 Marines with weapons and packs across the gunwale into a wooden motorboat under relentless artillery and machine gun fire. Then driving a quarter mile into that fire, and doing this repeatedly, to deliver sodden men to the beach until the job was done.
We do not always get to choose the trials we face; only how we face them.
Preparing for a disaster. Or for a beachhead.
In the uncertainties of life, we will face problems. From broken shoestrings to broken alternators to broken marriages to broken hearts, problems abound.
Problems don’t seem to care how moral you are, or how much in love you are, or much debt you have, or how badly you need this job.
Bad things happen.
People are trapped by evil times that fall unexpectedly upon them.
Ecclesiastes 9:12
In the event of a medical issue, you may die, and that’s the end of your responsibility. Too bad, but you won’t have to worry about it. You also will not be available to help, and you may saddle your survivors with insurmountable issues.
If you survive, you yourself will have the opportunity to work through your recovery. Your attention will be occupied with things like physical therapy, pill management, follow-up doctor appointments, clinic treatments, etc.
In your spare moments you can figure out how to resume household management and, perhaps, how to reacquire an income stream.
Here is a survival list which may help you manage the storm.
Select the items applicable to your situation, prioritize them, and:
TAKE ACTION. NOW.
BEFORE THE BAD THINGS HAPPEN.
1. Purchase an insurance policy.
Most of us think about life insurance, but I would like to expand your perspective. Yes, life insurance is a necessity to care for those you leave behind. The payoff is generally tax-free. Whether you choose term life or whole life is up to you and your financial advisor.
The insurance to which I refer is that which covers out-of-pocket expenses for unplanned medical events. The two plans I purchased, through the modern magic of payroll deduction, covered heart attack and cancer. At age 65, those two premiums together cost about $150 per month and covered both my wife and me.
This coverage does not pay your doctor or hospital or specialist; it pays you, merely for the act of receiving a diagnosis and treatment. When I was discharged from the hospital after a three-month stay, I was paid a sum that approximated the salary had lost for that period of time.
In terms of reducing my stress, it was a godsend. Granted, there were hoops to be jumped in order to document the case; faxes and letters and frustrating phone calls. That was mostly due to my inexperience with coverage and documentation issues.
Don’t wait to purchase the policy until you are diagnosed. I think they take a dim view of that.
2. Become a volunteer.
There is a considerable distance between thought and action. The more idealistic the thought, the further away the action.
There is absolutely no reason to volunteer anywhere, other than it being the right thing to do. The tangible benefit is that being part of a group that helps others is a valuable social context.
Consider this: You regularly volunteer at a place where you help serve others less fortunate: Hospital, children’s hospital, soup kitchen, church mission, whatever. Your peers — those who serve alongside you — are individuals who are drawn to a lifestyle of offering assistance.
Now: You or a loved one are unexpectedly hospitalized for some trauma or other. This peer group suddenly turns into your support network. Already in the mode of helping, and knowing you as a friend and co-worker, your needs become their service project.
3. Have regular checkups.
Technology has vastly improved your doctor’s ability to identify problems before they become problems. Early detection is crucial to early intervention. Quality of life is vastly improved by treating a threat before it becomes a lifestyle issue.
And yes, this includes the colonoscopy.
(I don’t like it either.)
4. Lose weight.
Nobody wants to hear it, but your post-op physical therapy is much more pleasant, effective and survivable if you did not carry an extra 80 pounds into the Emergency Room with you.
5. Organize the files.
When Dad died from a sudden heart attack at an out-of-town event with Mom, I made a middle-of-the-night trip to pick up Mom and take her home. When we walked into her house, there on the kitchen table sat a small, unremarkable steel file box.
Dad had filled it with all his current financial papers and contact information: Life insurance, bank accounts, loans, property deeds, car titles, birth certificates, funeral plots.
Leaving this on the kitchen table while they were away from home was his routine.
Mom broke down when she saw the file box, of course, but in the days that followed, it was an enormous relief to her. It was as much an act of Dad’s love for her — that crusty old Navy man! — as anything he had ever done.
6. Get your heart right with God.
I won’t belabor the issue. This is the one that many of us prefer not to think about. It requires some fairly brutal honesty with yourself, and maybe with a pastor or priest, to deal with this one effectively.
What if one day you must give account to the One Whom U.S. founder Samuel Adams called “the Supreme Ruler of the world”?
Rather than trusting your instincts on this one (in a vacuum), it might be worth seeing what others have concluded.
7. Do not suffer alone.
Words fail to describe the absolute misery of seeing one approach death alone. I am thankful that I see this on my cancer unit visits only rarely.
There are those among us who have no companion to walk alongside.
Make a short list of your friends, and spend the time and effort to maintain or re-kindle the fellowship.
What else?
This list only scratches the surface. You have probably already thought of other practical ways to prepare for the unexpected and the unwelcome.
Finally, I would appeal to you: Are there other tangible preparations we ought to make?
Put your brief thoughts in the Comments below.
Daniel the prophet, in about 500 BC, put it this way: “Stand firm, and take action!” (Daniel 11:32)
Besides you, there are 500 people who receive this letter. That’s not many as newsletters go. But your input may help someone else in ways you probably will never know.
Have a good weekend!
Preparing for cancer and other unthinkable disasters