The Number 1 Survival Skill

Except for the unbelievably excruciating pain and the almost-dying parts, it was an entertaining way to spend a summer.

The battleground was cancer.

My little piece of hell-in-a-hospital-bed is described in my book, Alligator Wrestling in the Cancer Ward. It details my 3-month stay in luxury accommodations at the local hospital.

Smart doctors, working air conditioning, good food, pretty nurses, a virtually unlimited Medicare budget; lots of expensive gadgets.

What’s not to like?

I would dearly love to offer advice on how to avoid Acute Myeloid Leukemia in the first place, but that is the one secret that remains elusive. One lesson I did extract, however, has changed my outlook on life fundamentally.

This lesson applies far beyond cancer. It applies to the inevitable insurmountable problem in your own life.

The idea is this:

Optimism is infectious, genuine or not.

I was recently asked about the role of optimism in my cancer ordeal. My answer was quick and pointed: It is crucial. I would go so far as to say it is the Number One survival skill.

What makes it so?

Confronted with an ordeal like terminal cancer, the reaction of family, close friends and loved ones is awkward and uncertain. One never quite knows what to say to The Afflicted One.

Far easier to simply deliver a casserole to the home than to engage in conversation. As the patient, however, I needed the assurance that there was a crowd cheering me on. Silence and loneliness breed despair.

I am not enough of a psychologist to explain why, but there is a physiological relationship between attitude and health. In my now-routine volunteer visits to that same cancer center, I have seen both positive attitudes and negative.

Hope is life, no hope is no life

A month ago I visited a terminal patient. Cancer had consumed her frail body. In her eyes and in her voice, there was no hope.

Without a spark of optimism, cancer kills twice: First the spirit, then the body.

If I am to die, I prefer that it happen only once.

From a hospital bed during my confinement, I knew there were scores of friends, family, co-workers and acquaintances who were aware of my situation. I knew they were shocked and bewildered — just as I was — by my cancer.

To encourage those whom I came to think of as my posse, I posted a social media update daily. In my messages, I took an optimistic tone.

It was just an act.

Fake optimism

Fact was, the first day I saw the oncologist, he explained the quite rare cancer variant into which I had stumbled.

He gave me two weeks to live.

Could I be optimistic with that kind of outlook? Of course not; only a fool would call that good news.

On the other hand, he hadn’t sent me home to die. He was going to try a chemotherapy treatment first.

Which meant there was a chance the IV fluids might hold some miracle juice. Which in turn meant one could construct a case for a good outcome. If you really stretched it.

So I stretched it.

I was honest about the cancer, but I hung a happy face on it and cracked wise on Caring Bridge dot org. That helped put the posse at ease. They began to reply on the app. Others joined the conversation.

There was heartbreak, to be sure, and heartfelt prayers on my behalf. But the mood of those watching was lifted by the daily posts.

Surprisingly, so was mine.

Act happy to be happy

By the time I left the hospital, 83 days after my arrival, there were 228 followers on Caring Bridge. It had slowly dawned on me that they expected a win. Once I started showing them how well I was coping (which, remember, was just an act), they actually expected me to survive.

I found that I could not let them down. My spirit began to take flight (tentative and halting) as I contemplated that eager crowd, anxious to cheer my victory.

I hung on. I gritted my teeth. I cursed a little. (Maybe more than a little.)

I took deep breaths, and at times, I watched the seconds tick by on my wristwatch, determined to survive for one more minute. Then one more. Then another.

And, unaccountably, I lived.

The posse was not to be denied.

Was it because of the optimism? Was it a miracle? Was it good science? Luck?

It doesn’t matter. It comes out the way it comes out.

One thing is certain: If you lose the attitude war, you lose the war. You may lose the war anyway… but maybe you won’t. Without the optimism, the spirit will die even if the body lives.

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