Every day, I go on

From The Daily Post

By Dave Nelson, 53, of Longview (WA)

Prostate cancer has no symptoms, and for the most part, its victims have no clue.

When I was diagnosed on Valentines Day, 2007, I was shocked to learn that an agent of death had been growing inside me for years.

The instant the urologist said my name and “cancer” in the same sentence, I took on a new, unwanted identity defined by “victim,” “survivor” “remission” and “recurrence.”

My head was suddenly filled with numbers and scores —- PSA (9.74), Gleason (9) and ‘T’ scores. And I was faced with several treatment options that two days earlier I had never heard of.

Now, within four weeks I had to choose between the radical slice and dice, brachial mini nuke, external macro nuke, freeze it or wait. Except for wait, they all have the same unacceptable side effects: incontinence and sexual dysfunction.

And so began a journey I did not choose but nonetheless must travel. Almost immediately I was surrounded by cards, and friends, and prayer and fear. In the U.S. every year, 200,000 guys are diagnosed with prostate cancer. I felt the need to convince my kids, my friends, anyone, not to blame God, but to let God help us through.

The diagnosis brought into focus how temporal my life was. I realized that if I remained my easy-going wait-and-see self, I would never live the life I wanted. I began to feel the need, even the urge, to make changes —- and that urge continues today.

Some cancer victims lose their hair and their weight. I gained a scar and the ability to wet my pants at inopportune times. Every time I sneeze, cough, or wake up, I am reminded that my life has been invaded by an unwelcomed guest. And every day I silently, though sometimes awkwardly, go on.

I am sure that to my family and friends, my life over the last 18 months has appeared erratic and selfish. But cancer tore away my identity and I am still trying to find a new one. The truth is, my cancer tore away their identity also, as everyone who knows me tries to make sense out of the senseless.

But what I, my family and friends share, is courage. Courage to face life’s uncertainty. The same courage shared by every cancer victim, and everyone who has known and loved a cancer victim, as we all try to make sense out of the senseless.