Change of Plan, Change of Mind

Turns out my second opinion was worse than the first. And yet my spirits are high, my equanimity generally restored. Thursday I met with Dr. John Ward III at MD Anderson. He was terrific. Clear, Cogent, Cognitively brilliant, and Compassionate. I got to experience all the wonderful "C" words after almost three weeks of dealing with the dreaded one. He explained to me that my tumor had micro-pappillary (sp?) features meaning it had very likely sent free floating cancer cells throughout my body where they will eventually hook-up with a million of their buddies and grow another cancer somewhere. He told me that MDA has a relatively new method of dealing with this situation which is to do two months of intensive chemo first. Then take the bladder and build me a new one. Then watch me closely for signs of new cancers. This was, at first, very disorienting and shocking. Especially when I learned that the 5 year survival rate for this is 50%. Yet as direct and confident as Dr Ward was when he told me his opinion, he was equally direct and confident when he said "This thing is beatable." He then left the room for about fifteen minutes and when he came back he told me that he had gotten me an appointment with Dr Arlene Silve-Ratke who he described as one of the world's most highly regarded experts in treating exactly the kind of cancer I have. When I asked about a physical/cardio regime to rebuild and sustain my body after chemo and surgery he said that I could consult with one of the physicians who was on Lance Armstrong's team. Shortly after that Randy Eisenman emailed the name of his cousin who works as a dietician at MDA. In just a few amazing hours I went from uncertainty and fear to having confidence, clarity and renewed courage. More good "C" words.

Suddenly I have an all-star team, a best of the best group of physicians who seem very interested in helping me beat this thing. My spirits have been high all day. I did a half day silent retreat this morning and my meditations were still and deep. I met with two different Zen teachers this morning in private interview and actually found myself, authentically in-the-moment describing my situation to one of them as "kind of cool."

It seems that in addition to changing my plans, I've changed my mind:

I am no longer "dying of cancer" I'm "living with cancer." My dying will only take a moment. It will be that moment when I expel my last breath. Everything else before that is living. I intend to do it wholeheartedly.

I am no longer afraid of the ravages this disease and its treatment will inflict on my body. I will treat them as the necessary conditions for transformation. I'm going to research what Lance Armstrong did and use that as my model.

To the best of my intentions, I will no longer allow these circumstances to pull me into a "self-centered" way of approaching life. Being other-centered makes life work for me. My relationships with my wife, my friends, my family, my clients, the work that we do together sustains me, fulfills me, keeps me sane. That doesn't mean I won't indulge in self care. When I'm tired I'll rest. When its time to exercise and eat right, I'll do that. Whole-heartedly. But the first day after chemo that I can take calls, I'll want to be on the phone. Fully present.

Part of this self-authoring move that I'm attempting, this shift from victim to creator is the "gift for Mac" entry earlier in this series. I really love that little guy. And now that the odds are about even that I'll see him graduate kindergarten, my project to collect your wisdom for him is of even greater priority. Please post whatever you can, whenever you are so moved.

I love you all,

Phil

PS Good real time Zen joke: I'm due to be ordained as a priest this year. As a traditional part of the ceremony a monk's head is shaved except for a small circular patch called a "shira" That last patch is shaved off as the defining moment of the ceremony. Well, my crazy immune system has prevented me from growing hair for the past 15 years and my teacher was trying to figure out how to alter the ceremony as a work-around. Not much came to mind. Now, there's a good chance that my chemo compromised immune system will actually allow me to grow hair in time for the ceremony. When I pointed out that at the very least this situation had "solved the shira problem" my teacher burst out in hearty laughter. In loss there is gain lol.

PPS: I feel such incredible gratitude for Randy Eisenman, his family and their friends who went to bat to get me into MDA. I spent about fifteen totally choked up minutes trying to express my sentiments to Randy on Friday. I told him he had probably added years to my life. He said "that's okay, you've added a lot of life to my years." Sweet.