Post #17 - Mr. Tambourine Man

All throughout my cancer journey, many new thoughts, outlooks, and a ton of enlightenment has been brought upon me. Obviously.

A dear friend of mine who battled and beat cancer just had another scare. My heart was so hurting for her over the past couple of months as she went through biopsy after biopsy waiting to hear her fate. She was so nervous and scared, and only another patient / survivor would truly understand what she was going through. As I tried to find the right words, as there are none, I just hoped that I could bring a sense of peace and strength to her. As we were texting about the process and how she was coping, she did tell me that she had been in contact with some other survivors (through MSK) and it was helping her. She said it seemed so odd that strangers were helping her through this. But, when you think about it, shared experiences are everything, right?

And, then, that-all-too-familiar-feeling found its way back into my conscience. Guilt. Throughout my entire process, I had someone so near and dear to me, helping me every step of the way. My dad, Jim, could relate to me and guide me, mentally, the most effectively, to get me through my cancer. His worst moments are what made me feel so connected to him. What in the sam hell does that say about me? My dad had the same shared experience I had. We were both fighters and, ultimately, survivors.

My dad was diagnosed with throat cancer in 2016. I remember the call like it was yesterday. I was still at work in the Empire State Building and my mom called me, later in the day, to share the news. She managed to catch me as I have always worked very long hours. My office had a full glass-front wall which faced towards the rest of the office, so I was totally exposed. When my mom told me the news, I lost my breath, like I was sucker-punched in the stomach, and broke down into tears. I am not a person that cries at work. Ever. For any reason. However, this time, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing out of my eyes. The rest of my colleagues were watching me cry, but I didn’t care. I just keep talking to my mom to find out every piece of information she had. I also was so sad for her, as I could hear her crying through her words. Even my boss (who was not warm, personal, or nice for that matter) walked by and asked if I was ok. I said I would explain it all later. I tried to turn my back to the glass, but at that point I didn’t care. All that mattered was my dad and my family.

I took the subway home that night, which was rare for me as I preferred walking, and I wore my sunglasses the entire way as to hide my swollen and red eyes. I remember “Nightswimming” by REM was playing through the buds in my ears, making my melancholy much worse than it already was. As I turned the corner onto Elizabeth Street, I saw Rich standing there waiting for me. I had given him a head’s up on the situation and he said he would meet me downtown immediately. I lost it and let it all out as he hugged me and tried to console me. It was a futile attempt as I was inconsolable.

Jim’s story is not mine to tell, so I won’t go into much detail; however, I will say that I have NEVER heard of or known anyone going through the treatment he went through with such dignity, humility, and grace. He had to go for radiation 5 days a week, for 7 weeks, followed by chemotherapy. During radiation, he was face up on a table, with a plastic mesh mask (that had been molded to his exact facial construction) that was then placed over his face, that was then bolted to a table as he was unable to move during treatment. Not once did he complain. Not once. He continued on like this for weeks. He had burns; he wasn’t able to swallow without doing physical therapy for it; he lost all sense of taste; and had complications that I will not go into. And yet, not a word of negativity and not one complaint. Jim went through the motions of it all, fighting for his life, as he knew he had no choice.

So, when it was my turn and my diagnosis came, my dad was the one who “got it”. He was the one who could talk to me, and I was willing to listen, as I knew he fought the battle and the whirlwind of emotions I was going through. He has emotionally and mentally consoled me through this journey more than anyone else has, and I’m not sure he knows it. So, while I couldn’t find a support group for my particular cancer, I had one all along - it was my dad. He has championed me every step of the way and continues to do so to this very day. Every time I have a scan, a test, an appointment, I know he will text me and give me support from a true place of empathy and understanding. Jim knows what I need to hear and how to say it to me so that I truly hear him. I hope he knows how much it has all meant to me. I am not sure I could have gotten through the fight of cancer without him. For this, I am forever grateful.