Living at the edge of dusk, an appreciation

“…My story is one of loss and gain. Its also one of faith, or of different, sequential faiths, beginning with my arrogant, unwarranted and since-abandoned conviction that everything was ultimately fixable, that humans of my place and time had devised ways to transcend the maladies and petty indignations — from soaring blood pressure to sagging jowls — that less invincible humans of less fortunate eras hadn’t.”

Those words are from the opening chapter of Frank Bruni’s book, The Beauty of Dusk, about the sudden loss of sight in his right eye caused by a rare form of stroke that impacts only the optic nerve. His is a book about accepting the passage of time and how our bodies change with age, as well as appreciating the life we’ve been given and the ways our bodies, minds and spirits are capable of adapting to these changes.

Bruni was 52 when he lost sight in his right eye. As I celebrate my own 53 trips around the sun, I find myself relating to the words above and all of Bruni’s story, especially as he writes about gratitude, love and a general appreciation of life. It’s not the first time Bruni’s words have appealed to me. In his book, Born Round, he shares the story of his life-long struggle with weight loss and how he managed his weight while being the ultimate of foodies as the New York Times’ restaurant critic.

This year’s birthday celebration has extra significance for me because five days after I’ll mark my tenth year as a survivor of stage-3B rectal cancer. Statistically, I shouldn’t have survived, given there was an 80 percent likelihood of recurrence in the first two years after diagnosis. Recurrence never happened.

Still, There have been issues. Some but not all of them are side effects of cancer treatment. Others could be related to treatment, but there isn’t a direct causal link. Here’s a nearly comprehensive list of the health conditions I’ve accumulated since I was diagnosed with cancer:

• Left ventricular hypertrophy
• High blood pressure
• Congestive heart failure
• Seven cavities
• Non-pressure glaucoma
• Neuropathy in both feet
• Low testosterone
• Sluggish metabolism
• Fragile kidneys
• Obstructive sleep apnea
• Restless leg syndrome
• Lung nodule that turned out to be scar tissuefrom an unknown infection
• High blood calcium that turned into
• Hyperparathyroidism
• Atrial Fibrillation

The last two are recent additions. I recently underwent an electocardioversion to zap my heart back into normal sinus rhythm. Coming soon will be a double parathyroidectomy to fix the hyperparathyroidism.

I’m chronologically 53 years old living in a body that’s at least 77 with the strong but sometimes irregularly beating heart and soaring spirit of a much younger man. Most importantly, I’m still drawing breath, and while that continues I am blessed to continue living a life of love, gratitude and resilience.

I like to think that I love deeply. The lovely Sarah, my friends, my family, my dog. If you’re in my close circle of friends, you know I love you because I say it often. For some it may be too often for comfort, but I’ve stopped being afraid of showing my emotions. I spent years of my life being angry and bitter about so much of my life. There is no time for that anymore.

That I’m a grateful person goes without saying, I hope. I embraced lifestyle gratitude during my cancer journey 10 years ago when I discovered Ann Voskamp’s beautiful book, one thousand gifts, while undergoing chemotherapy. Hers is a book about gratitude during difficult times, like death of a loved one, loss of a job, diagnosis of a disease.

The challenge of Voskamp’s book comes from the idea of keeping a gratitude journal. Write down three things you’re grateful for every day for a year and you’ll have a list of at least 1,000 gifts. I’ve written about this book often because for me it was life changing. I haven’t always been consistent about keeping a gratitude journal of my own, but for the last three months I’ve made it part of my bedtime routine. For the last five minutes of the day, I reflect on what I’m grateful for. Almost always, my gratitude list includes experiences with people I love. It’s not stuff I’m grateful for. It’s people. It’s love.

As for resilience, I’ve adapted to the body I have as things change. For example, I was a distance runner/walker before my cancer experience. The neuropathy in my feet now makes it difficult to run because I can’t feel the ground as my feet strike it. Instead of running, I lift weights. I still do cardio on machines, but I’m not in it for speed. I also like to hit the pool. Even with a colostomy bag.

For a few weeks before my cardioversion I had to adapt to fatigue. Not anything like the couch-confining fatigue I experienced during chemotherapy, but fatigue nonetheless. Working out was more difficult. My stamina during the day ran short. I craved nap time. Since my cardioversion, though, my energy has returned to normal. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

We’re not guaranteed anything in this life, especially, maybe, our health. Even when we do all the right things involved in healthy eating and active living our bodies can betray us. Eyes go dark. Ears go silent. Malignant cells reproduce and become tumors. Hearts go out of rhythm.

Still, there is beauty to be found. In the people who rally around you, in the world you adapt to, in the discovery that we’re capable of far more than we often give ourselves credit for.

I have lived on this earth for 53 years. Here’s to another 53 filled with love, gratitude and resilience. To life!

Thanks be to God.