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Copyright © Louis Schmier and Atwood Publishing.
Date: Mon 12/13/2004 7:16 AM
Random Thought: I Am a Cancer Survivor
I went out walking in the brisk air late this morning. As the sun came up,
I stopped, and took the time to watch its beautiful rays stab at the bland
darkness. I sat down on the curb and looked around. I saw every detail,
felt every surface and texture, smelled every aroma, listened to every sound
around me. I haven't felt this intensely aware since I made that
life-changing climb up a north Georgia mountain cliff a tad over a decade
ago. Once again, I felt that sense of connectedness and a sense of meaning
and purpose of such intensity and truth that it almost hurt. I saw how
small and unimportant all my troubles are, how lucky I am to have another
day, to have another shot at realizing my hopes and dreams. Today is mine
to do with as I choose. Today is my garden to tend. For a moment I felt
sad for those who are "no-where." It is so much more exciting to be
"now-here." It's amazing how significant the placement of a hyphen can
make. So many of us cast our eyes on tomorrow, yearn for a sweeter time,
without seeing and tasting the sweetness of today.
I have cancer. It's prostate cancer. I had the biopsy done the day before
Thanksgiving and found out that I had it the Monday after Thanksgiving.
Many colleagues, acquaintances, and friends, not really knowing what to say,
subtlety frightened by the "Big 'C'," tell me "Oh, it's slow growing."
"You've caught it in it's earliest stages." "It's really nothing." "You'll
be okay." "It's not life threatening." "It's not much of an operation."
They mean well, truly mean well. They mean to be reassuring and consoling,
and for that I am appreciative of their caring. Even my doctor, my friend
of thirty years, meant well when he said, "Louis, face it. It was bound to
happen. You're getting old. But, it's curable." But, they really did not
know what to say. The truth is that this cancer is more than nothing and
much more than not much. Whether it is life threatening or not depends on
what they and I mean about "life," doesn't it. Almost everyone was talking
by my physically well-being. On the surface, physically, it means having a
major operation at the end of January; it means enduring four to six
additional weeks of recuperation; it means many long months of getting back
into physical shape; it means facing and possibly dealing with serious
potential short term or life-long physical consequences. For me, it means
staying in spiritual shape; it means confronting my true values; it means
deciding what is truly important; it means making sure that it doesn't
effect who I am; it means not letting my aging body dampen the enthusiasm of
the ageless "experienced teenager" within that body; it means not letting
getting older physically make me old emotionally and spiritually. The real
contest involving cancer I quickly have learned is, like everything else, is
not in my prostate; it's in my heart and soul. It's not just the issue of
will I live; it's more an issue of how well will I continue to live. It's
not just the cancer, then, it's me, all of me; it's my attitude towards
everything. Nothing would make me grow spiritually old quicker than the
constant thought that I am growing physically older; nothing would make me
sicker than the constant focus on this cancer. My body may have cancer, but
I'll be damn if I am going to let the cancer have me.
God, it would be so easy to moan and groan, to be angry, to be resentful,
to wonder "why me," to complain, to whine, to put ashes on my head, to wear
sackcloth. It's tempting to focus on the drizzles and clouds in our lives
and professions. Why do we find it so easy to complain and so difficult to
be thankful. What should I be thankful for with this cancer within me? How
about today for starters. I mean what moment isn't important. What moment
doesn't matter? What moment isn't valuable? What moment isn't to be
treasured? What moment isn't refreshing? Which one doesn't afford me the
greatest opportunity? Which one doesn't have an endless possibility? In
which one doesn't the substance of life not grow? What moment isn't
anything other than me? No, my doctor is wrong. My body may be aging; my
hair may be graying; my muscles may be losing their strength and tone; and I
have prostate cancer. I, my body, may be getting older, but I, my spirit,
am not getting and will not get old. The child within me will still play;
my eyes will continue to twinkle; my lips will continue to smile; my desires
will still burn; my dreams will remain vivid; the young rebel will still
call out. There is a great opportunity of meaning in this affliction. This
cancer has given me a greater awareness of life; it has sharpened my
awareness and brightened my appreciation and love of life. t
So, would you understand if I said that in this holiday season I am
thankful to the cancer. It has been a gift, a proverbial blessing in
disguise. I hope I am not making some of you feel uneasy. I feel that
feeling gratitude and not sharing it would be like buying a present,
wrapping it, and not giving it. This cancer has made me more appreciative
than I usually am. I can tell you that the more I appreciate, the happier I
am and the more alive I feel. I appreciate appreciation more; I am aware of
awareness more; I realize more that it feels good to feel good about
something -- and that there is always something to feel good about; I am
living life more; and, I feel stronger living, as the words on the yellow
band hugging my wrist say, strong. I'm not sure appreciation comes as
naturally to us as it should. We do love to keep score, don't we. Maybe
too many of us think that gratitude is settling for what we have, a form of
resignation, a type of surrender. After all, it seems reasonable to assume
that if you're satisfied with what you have, why fight to get more, better
and different; why covet other possibilities. Too many of us covet other
possibilities, have dissatisfied egos, and are ungrateful or take for
granted what they have and who they are. More than some of my colleagues
complain about a lack of a pay raise or perks when they should be grateful
they have a position that brings in a salary. Some complain of the "bad
students" and want only to focus on the "good students" when they should be
grateful of the opportunity to touch those in greatest need. A few days
ago, I was stuck in a traffic jam. People were angrily honking their horns
when they should have been grateful they could afford a car. This morning I
was looking at a pile of dirty dishes left over from having Chanukah with my
son and his family last night. How many of us are grateful we can put food
on the table that dirty those dishes? Last month I was not a happy camper
as I paid my property taxes. Now I am grateful I am in a position that I
can own my own house. Today I'll go to the bank to deposit my monthly
check. I hate to wait in line. Today, I'll be grateful that I have money
to put into the bank. And, so it goes. "Stop and smell the roses" and
"count your blessings" and "take nothing for granted." Such clichés. Yet,
they remind me how easy it is to overlook things we could enjoy now instead
of looking for what we think will make us happy later.
Many of you may think that all this has nothing to do with teaching and
education. I deeply feel that all this has everything to do with teaching
and education. We teach who we are; we are the perceptions we have; we are
the questions we ask. All this means, as Jon Kabat-Zinn says, "wherever you
go, there you are." All this means that who we are is inseparable from what
we feel and what we do. All this means is that teaching and education are a
part of life. They are a part of our lives. They are not apart from life
or apart from our lives. Life has a way of coming into and getting in the
way of each of our lives. Life comes onto campus and into the classroom.
It does not need a visitor's pass, nor does it stop at the classroom door's
threshold. The more we understand this, the more we can be empathetic to
students and ourselves. And, the more lessons we consciously can take from
life, the richer are our lives that we bring with us into the classroom, and
more meaningful are the lessons we offer.
Please let me and Susan wish each of you and yours a most joyous and
festive holiday season.
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