One of my good friends died of pancreatic after a terrible struggle about five years ago. He was brave, as brave as you are. But I don't think he found the peace you have, and was in more denial. I really applaud your fortitude in fighting this terrible disease. I have had about twenty people in my life die of various kinds of cancer in the last fifteen years. That's too many! It seems that cancer has replaced death from heart problems now--but maybe that's just an illusion. I really don't know. Maybe it's because we live longer and the statistics of dying at this particular age (in our late sixties and early seventies, which is where I am on the time line, tho perhaps not you), have escalated. It's all too much, whenever it comes. Thank you for this fine piece which is eloquent and fearless.
I appreciate you saying I was brave, but I’m not sure I see it that way. Or at least I didn’t feel that way.
The only way was forward, so that’s the direction I took. Aided by, often carried by, my wife and children and family and friends.
I’m sorry you lost your friend. It’s an absolutely brutal cancer. I still can’t make sense of the fact that it might not kill me.
There is coverage of the fight against cancer in the Economist this week. The smart people in laboratories are winning. Bit by bit. It’s WWI trench warfare. Attrition over time.
Thank you for opening up like this, Linda. I actually see you as an incredibly brave woman who has gone through a lot. I think each of us has to find our way forward through the hardships that come our way and that's what we find brave about one another.
Thank you for your authenticity, Dan! And may you have many many years on this earth, enough to see your children grow and lead their lives.
Someone once told me, back when I was caring for my toddler who had cancer, “God only gives you as much as you can bear.” And then, after my son died, I wondered if this meant I couldn’t have dealt with a disabled child? Or one who had gone through chemo, radiation and all those operations and came out the other side? Was there a God? Was there anyone in control? Is it all random?
I think now, two decades later, that when we get sick, it has nothing to do with God. When we get better, God has no hand in it either.
Thankfully, you managed to find a medical trial, and thankfully it worked.
And yet, as a mother standing by, I saw how awful the treatments were, how humiliating and painful, sickening… devastating.
I hear you, Dan.
I see parents walking around with their kids in strollers sometimes and think: how optimistic they look, as if nothing bad can ever befall them.
I hold both the cynicism and the pain together with the hope and the joy of getting to be with my other two children and in the world which definitely has its moments.
Wow, thank you Audrey. That is an incredibly difficult journey.
“God only gives you as much as you can bear.” Is a fairly tone deaf thing to say to someone, in my opinion.
And I’ve definitely seen people given a lot more than they could handle.
I too believe the life is full of randomness and elements we can’t control. The best we can do is find the moments of joy and happiness with the people we love in life.
Audrey, thank you for opening up about losing your son to cancer. That is a horrific thing for a parent to endure. I once was a grief writer and speaker, and I remember learning that losing a child is the worst grief, meaning it isn't the same as losing a partner or friend or parent or sibling. My heart hurts for you.
That said, I also have heard the platitude, "God doesn't give us more than we can handle" after our daughter Sarah was born with a rare genetic diagnosis, and I agree with both you and Dan about how hurtful and untrue this is. There's far more mystery to life than what we realize.
Your explanation of seeing moms with babies in strollers and knowing they probably don't think about life and death the way others who gave lost a child might, is a very honest and brave admission.
Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability, Dan. I hope the insignificant moments of everyday life continue to overshadow the impossibility of the truths you carry.
Thank you, Jeannie, for introducing us to Dan's courageous and deeply-felt words.
This was a captivating post. I know you didn't write it to me trite, and that's not how I mean that statement. I couldn't look up from my phone. It pulled me in completely. My husband and I are more comfortable talking about his cancer and telling people. Why did we act like it's a terrible secret and we were ashamed when he was first diagnosed? I don't have an answer for that. Thank you for writing this, and thank you Jennie for introducing us. I have already become a follower. I have met some of the kindest and most helpful people here. I say that a lot, but it's true.
Indeed, thank you JoAnn. I don't have a good answer to your question, but sometimes I think that people want to separate their "cancer life" from their real life. People don't want to be treated like a patient when they are out living their life. They don't want to be defined like that or maybe they just want a part of their life that isn't dominated by cancer.
I hear you, JoAnn. Your question is a valid one—”why did we act like it’s a terrible secret and we were ashamed when he was first diagnosed?” It’s important for all of us to ask ourselves those questions surrounding any sort of shame we feel. Thank you for offering that in this space.
Raw, real, honest, vulnerable, insightful. And deeply moving. Thank you for putting your harrowing experience into words so the rest of us may feel the gravity of being human.
Thank you very much for taking the time to read it, Ryan. I found that writing is the best way to try to make sense of all of this, even if there might be no "sense" to it. And I am just happy if my (electronic) scribblings reach out to others in this world.
It was profoundly moving. A close college friend's mom died of pancreatic cancer about twenty years ago, and we all know Steve Jobs did, too. As tragic as Dan's experience is, an angel is looking after him.
Thank you so much for sharing your story, Dan, and more than anything, for your transparency. "Gratitude can be a struggle" was such a poignant line for me. After my husband's motorcycle accident, one of the most common platitudes was "You must be so grateful he's alive." I remember being viscerally annoyed by that in both the "Yes...duh" way but also because I didn't feel grateful. I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, scared, and pissed, frankly. So, yes, gratitude is a struggle, even when you expect to be overwhelmed by it. Thank you for naming that and for still being here to share it.
Absolutely Jess. I am very grateful to be alive. But you know what? I'd be a lot more grateful if I never had to stare at death for hours and days and weeks and years....
Maybe we need to live in darkness to see the light for what it really is, but I am not sure the light remains unchanged once we come back from the dark.
That's such an interesting perspective. I'll have to ask my husband his take on that. I believe he sees some things as sweeter, more poignant, but I expect he'd likely be the first to rid himself of his TBI and all of the physical manifestations of his accident that will be permanent. Maybe the light is shaded and that's a reality we need to acknowledge and hold too. Thank you for sharing.
What a beautiful sentence here, Dan: “Maybe we need to live in darkness to see the light for what it is, but I am not sure the light remains unchanged once we come back from the dark.”
One hundred percent, Jess! It really is refreshing how you (and Dan) were able to lay out the honest truth about these platitudes, through your respective stories. You both wrote things that many dare not admit, let alone speak aloud. It’s strange, but there is so much freedom in being honest, even when others can’t handle it. Thank you for sharing all that you do, straight from the heart.
Thank you for sharing so poignantly, Dan. To think about the process of dying, one must be in it. I, myself, have been granted three reprieves and, were I a cat, I’d still have six lives left and could sit contentedly in a sunbeam. But I’m not a cat, so each reprieve sends me down a garden path. I agree that it’s difficult to know whether we will grow old with our spouses. I have learned to act as if, and be ok with each moment as it comes. May you continue to be blessed.
You will, Dan. Since I responded to you, I had a fall with multiple injuries - broken foot, dislocated shoulder, leg and forehead abrasions - so am now in a leg cast, a shoulder sling, and a wheelchair. Life’s a funny old thing. I am, once again, not in control. Doctors, nurses, friends, family all ask me how I face this so calmly and positively. What I don’t tell them is that I wonder whether one of these traumatic injuries might instigate a cancer recurrence after 16+ years NED. What I do say is that every day I have a choice to make: to accept what life hands me, see the positives, and make the most of it; or… not! You know my choice. I know your choice, too. You are amazing, Dan. I love how you’re dealing with all of this.
“To think about the process of dying, one must be in it” is a very apt sentence, Heather, full of wisdom. Thanks for being here to support Dan and his story.
Thank you for sharing your story with us… I've lost some friends and relatives to cancer in various types and it's never an easy thing to watch them go through that… I myself I'm struggling with Parkinson's disease and it's a daily battle to not sink into constant, continuous despair… I try to see the light in the little things that come my way… Hang in there and know that you're loved in many ways...💙🩵💙
Thank you for this piece. I so understand that struggle to be grateful to accept help to know that you have no control over your life. I wrote a piece about being an impatient patient yesterday. I wont add the link here because too many stories can be overwhelming.
Thank you Jane. I wish there was some sort of clarity to be achieved through all of this. But, if anything, life only becomes more confusing. But I’m glad to have a chance to keep trying to figure it out. Please pass the link this way!
Dan, your story resonated with me so deeply. Your points are all valid, and I relate to all of them.
I was on the younger side when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Prior to diagnosis, I was fit, healthy, and ate right. I felt somewhat in control of my own life. Mortality was not even on my radar.
It's been nearly 24 years since diagnosis, and I am still picking up the pieces like you've been. And I realize, as you know, that we cannot control everything. I can control how I react to things, but not how events unfold in life. I am grateful to be alive, but I am not grateful I've had cancer. For me, there's always the fear of recurrence, and my psyche has been forever altered -- and not in a good way.
Each day is a gift. And that is all we have. Hell, we are not even guaranteed a day, but life occurs in snapshots, moment by moment.
Beth, I value your vulnerability here so much. I keep learning more about you. You're right - we can be grateful for life but not for the hardship itself. I'm so glad this essay from Dan resonates with you!
Dan, your candid admission about the struggle with gratitude, despite being "deeply grateful for the chance to live again," is remarkably courageous. In a world that often demands a performative and unqualified gratitude from survivors, you've dared to express the complexity and difficulty of that emotion. It’s a vital insight, as it validates the messy reality of healing and reminds us that true gratitude can coexist with annoyance, frustration, and the longing for a past ignorance. Thank you for giving voice to this often-suppressed truth.
no words
17 year survivor of a stage 1.5 breast cancer ♋️
Long may it continue Rhea. Well done, hope you’re finding peace and joy amidst all of it.
Thanks for sharing that, Rhea. So glad this spoke to your heart.
One of my good friends died of pancreatic after a terrible struggle about five years ago. He was brave, as brave as you are. But I don't think he found the peace you have, and was in more denial. I really applaud your fortitude in fighting this terrible disease. I have had about twenty people in my life die of various kinds of cancer in the last fifteen years. That's too many! It seems that cancer has replaced death from heart problems now--but maybe that's just an illusion. I really don't know. Maybe it's because we live longer and the statistics of dying at this particular age (in our late sixties and early seventies, which is where I am on the time line, tho perhaps not you), have escalated. It's all too much, whenever it comes. Thank you for this fine piece which is eloquent and fearless.
I appreciate you saying I was brave, but I’m not sure I see it that way. Or at least I didn’t feel that way.
The only way was forward, so that’s the direction I took. Aided by, often carried by, my wife and children and family and friends.
I’m sorry you lost your friend. It’s an absolutely brutal cancer. I still can’t make sense of the fact that it might not kill me.
There is coverage of the fight against cancer in the Economist this week. The smart people in laboratories are winning. Bit by bit. It’s WWI trench warfare. Attrition over time.
But we are winning.
Thank you Linda. All the best to you and yours.
Thank you for opening up like this, Linda. I actually see you as an incredibly brave woman who has gone through a lot. I think each of us has to find our way forward through the hardships that come our way and that's what we find brave about one another.
Thank you for your authenticity, Dan! And may you have many many years on this earth, enough to see your children grow and lead their lives.
Someone once told me, back when I was caring for my toddler who had cancer, “God only gives you as much as you can bear.” And then, after my son died, I wondered if this meant I couldn’t have dealt with a disabled child? Or one who had gone through chemo, radiation and all those operations and came out the other side? Was there a God? Was there anyone in control? Is it all random?
I think now, two decades later, that when we get sick, it has nothing to do with God. When we get better, God has no hand in it either.
Thankfully, you managed to find a medical trial, and thankfully it worked.
And yet, as a mother standing by, I saw how awful the treatments were, how humiliating and painful, sickening… devastating.
I hear you, Dan.
I see parents walking around with their kids in strollers sometimes and think: how optimistic they look, as if nothing bad can ever befall them.
I hold both the cynicism and the pain together with the hope and the joy of getting to be with my other two children and in the world which definitely has its moments.
Wow, thank you Audrey. That is an incredibly difficult journey.
“God only gives you as much as you can bear.” Is a fairly tone deaf thing to say to someone, in my opinion.
And I’ve definitely seen people given a lot more than they could handle.
I too believe the life is full of randomness and elements we can’t control. The best we can do is find the moments of joy and happiness with the people we love in life.
Agree, Dan.
Audrey, thank you for opening up about losing your son to cancer. That is a horrific thing for a parent to endure. I once was a grief writer and speaker, and I remember learning that losing a child is the worst grief, meaning it isn't the same as losing a partner or friend or parent or sibling. My heart hurts for you.
That said, I also have heard the platitude, "God doesn't give us more than we can handle" after our daughter Sarah was born with a rare genetic diagnosis, and I agree with both you and Dan about how hurtful and untrue this is. There's far more mystery to life than what we realize.
Your explanation of seeing moms with babies in strollers and knowing they probably don't think about life and death the way others who gave lost a child might, is a very honest and brave admission.
Thank you, Jeannie! Sending you also love and hugs to Sarah! Quite the kid! :)
Thanks, Audrey. Good to be here with you.
💙
Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability, Dan. I hope the insignificant moments of everyday life continue to overshadow the impossibility of the truths you carry.
Thank you, Jeannie, for introducing us to Dan's courageous and deeply-felt words.
Thanks Mansi, some day some of this will make sense to me. Maybe.
The trick for me, I guess, is to get at least a little bit comfortable living and finding happiness amidst the confusion.
I'm so glad it spoke to you, Mansi. I would LOVE to feature a story from you some day if you're up for it in the future. ❤️
This was a captivating post. I know you didn't write it to me trite, and that's not how I mean that statement. I couldn't look up from my phone. It pulled me in completely. My husband and I are more comfortable talking about his cancer and telling people. Why did we act like it's a terrible secret and we were ashamed when he was first diagnosed? I don't have an answer for that. Thank you for writing this, and thank you Jennie for introducing us. I have already become a follower. I have met some of the kindest and most helpful people here. I say that a lot, but it's true.
Indeed, thank you JoAnn. I don't have a good answer to your question, but sometimes I think that people want to separate their "cancer life" from their real life. People don't want to be treated like a patient when they are out living their life. They don't want to be defined like that or maybe they just want a part of their life that isn't dominated by cancer.
I understand that 100%, I just couldn't do it.
I hear you, JoAnn. Your question is a valid one—”why did we act like it’s a terrible secret and we were ashamed when he was first diagnosed?” It’s important for all of us to ask ourselves those questions surrounding any sort of shame we feel. Thank you for offering that in this space.
Raw, real, honest, vulnerable, insightful. And deeply moving. Thank you for putting your harrowing experience into words so the rest of us may feel the gravity of being human.
Thank you very much for taking the time to read it, Ryan. I found that writing is the best way to try to make sense of all of this, even if there might be no "sense" to it. And I am just happy if my (electronic) scribblings reach out to others in this world.
Beautifully worded, Dan. I know what you mean on both counts.
Thanks for supporting Dan and his vulnerable story, Ryan!
It was profoundly moving. A close college friend's mom died of pancreatic cancer about twenty years ago, and we all know Steve Jobs did, too. As tragic as Dan's experience is, an angel is looking after him.
Wow, thanks for sharing that, Ryan, and for affirming Dan and his story.
Thanks for sharing your story and feelings. It seems like cancer touches so many lives. Good luck with your battle.
Thanks, Jethro.
Love this honest portrayal of such a difficult experience. Thanks so much for sharing.
Thank you so much for reading, Anne.
Thanks for being here and commenting, Anne.
Thank you so much for sharing your story, Dan, and more than anything, for your transparency. "Gratitude can be a struggle" was such a poignant line for me. After my husband's motorcycle accident, one of the most common platitudes was "You must be so grateful he's alive." I remember being viscerally annoyed by that in both the "Yes...duh" way but also because I didn't feel grateful. I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, scared, and pissed, frankly. So, yes, gratitude is a struggle, even when you expect to be overwhelmed by it. Thank you for naming that and for still being here to share it.
Absolutely Jess. I am very grateful to be alive. But you know what? I'd be a lot more grateful if I never had to stare at death for hours and days and weeks and years....
Maybe we need to live in darkness to see the light for what it really is, but I am not sure the light remains unchanged once we come back from the dark.
That's such an interesting perspective. I'll have to ask my husband his take on that. I believe he sees some things as sweeter, more poignant, but I expect he'd likely be the first to rid himself of his TBI and all of the physical manifestations of his accident that will be permanent. Maybe the light is shaded and that's a reality we need to acknowledge and hold too. Thank you for sharing.
What a beautiful sentence here, Dan: “Maybe we need to live in darkness to see the light for what it is, but I am not sure the light remains unchanged once we come back from the dark.”
One hundred percent, Jess! It really is refreshing how you (and Dan) were able to lay out the honest truth about these platitudes, through your respective stories. You both wrote things that many dare not admit, let alone speak aloud. It’s strange, but there is so much freedom in being honest, even when others can’t handle it. Thank you for sharing all that you do, straight from the heart.
Thank you for creating the space where honesty, even when unpopular, is welcomed.
Happy to do it, Jess. Maybe you and I can chat again soon?
Absolutely!
Message or email me please.
Thank you for sharing so poignantly, Dan. To think about the process of dying, one must be in it. I, myself, have been granted three reprieves and, were I a cat, I’d still have six lives left and could sit contentedly in a sunbeam. But I’m not a cat, so each reprieve sends me down a garden path. I agree that it’s difficult to know whether we will grow old with our spouses. I have learned to act as if, and be ok with each moment as it comes. May you continue to be blessed.
I hope I can arrive at this level of peace and understanding, Heather. I am working on it!
You will, Dan. Since I responded to you, I had a fall with multiple injuries - broken foot, dislocated shoulder, leg and forehead abrasions - so am now in a leg cast, a shoulder sling, and a wheelchair. Life’s a funny old thing. I am, once again, not in control. Doctors, nurses, friends, family all ask me how I face this so calmly and positively. What I don’t tell them is that I wonder whether one of these traumatic injuries might instigate a cancer recurrence after 16+ years NED. What I do say is that every day I have a choice to make: to accept what life hands me, see the positives, and make the most of it; or… not! You know my choice. I know your choice, too. You are amazing, Dan. I love how you’re dealing with all of this.
“To think about the process of dying, one must be in it” is a very apt sentence, Heather, full of wisdom. Thanks for being here to support Dan and his story.
Thank you for sharing your story with us… I've lost some friends and relatives to cancer in various types and it's never an easy thing to watch them go through that… I myself I'm struggling with Parkinson's disease and it's a daily battle to not sink into constant, continuous despair… I try to see the light in the little things that come my way… Hang in there and know that you're loved in many ways...💙🩵💙
You too Dana, hang in there. The best we can do sometimes is just to remain afloat and avoid all of that sinking. Thank you Dana
I appreciate you sharing this so openly here, Dana. Thank you for that.
Thank you for this piece. I so understand that struggle to be grateful to accept help to know that you have no control over your life. I wrote a piece about being an impatient patient yesterday. I wont add the link here because too many stories can be overwhelming.
I wish you continued health. ❤️
Thank you Jane. I wish there was some sort of clarity to be achieved through all of this. But, if anything, life only becomes more confusing. But I’m glad to have a chance to keep trying to figure it out. Please pass the link this way!
Here it is! https://open.substack.com/pub/janestephensonwrites/p/i-am-a-terrible-patient?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=3emadm
Thank you, Jane.
What a story. Sending duct tape and scissors.
We can all use extra duct tape and baling wire!
Hi Dan and Jeannie,
Dan, your story resonated with me so deeply. Your points are all valid, and I relate to all of them.
I was on the younger side when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Prior to diagnosis, I was fit, healthy, and ate right. I felt somewhat in control of my own life. Mortality was not even on my radar.
It's been nearly 24 years since diagnosis, and I am still picking up the pieces like you've been. And I realize, as you know, that we cannot control everything. I can control how I react to things, but not how events unfold in life. I am grateful to be alive, but I am not grateful I've had cancer. For me, there's always the fear of recurrence, and my psyche has been forever altered -- and not in a good way.
Each day is a gift. And that is all we have. Hell, we are not even guaranteed a day, but life occurs in snapshots, moment by moment.
If you would like to read a part of my survivorship story, here's a link to my Substack; I will check your Substack out: https://bethlgainer.substack.com/p/when-being-alive-is-not-enough
Beth, I value your vulnerability here so much. I keep learning more about you. You're right - we can be grateful for life but not for the hardship itself. I'm so glad this essay from Dan resonates with you!
Dan, your candid admission about the struggle with gratitude, despite being "deeply grateful for the chance to live again," is remarkably courageous. In a world that often demands a performative and unqualified gratitude from survivors, you've dared to express the complexity and difficulty of that emotion. It’s a vital insight, as it validates the messy reality of healing and reminds us that true gratitude can coexist with annoyance, frustration, and the longing for a past ignorance. Thank you for giving voice to this often-suppressed truth.
Thank you Alexander.
I remember people use to tell me, “the most important thing is to stay positive”, as if that were a reasonable thing to expect or even possible.
I get that being positive helps in some way. I get that we need to be grateful. But demanding or expecting that is just too unrealistic.
Sometimes life and death is just too terrifying. Sometimes it’s too beautiful. And sometimes it’s both at the same time.
Oh wow, Dan, this comment just gutted me. So real. So honest. Yes to everything you wrote. I'm so glad your piece is reaching so many people!
So well said, Alex, as always. Thanks for your affirmation for Dan.