Tom Sowa

I survived a diagnosis of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2001 and  prostate cancer three years later. Right afterward, it never occurred to me to  puff out my chest and consider what I had done a personal victory or a triumph  of will. People expected me to be different, but I managed to disappoint  them.

In 2004 after I had my prostate removed, a relative called  and began discussing my good fortune. This person was sure my success was  largely the result of uncommon genes and positive mental health. This was the  one moment when I might have considered putting an “S” on my chest. But the  temptation lasted just a second.

In fact, I knew and still believe my good fortune was  simple: I was fortunate to have been diagnosed early and to live near excellent  medical care. 

But then it became clear that others around me had similar  expectations of uncommon survivorship, that they felt those who survived cancer  each had their own inner Lance Armstrong waiting to get out. 

In part it was the onslaught of people wearing those yellow  bracelets. It was inspiring, sure, to see people show support for cancer. But I  also wondered if those plastic bands had people focusing too much on the  survivors climbing Mt. Everest, and not on those who wake up each morning  saying, “Praise be” and get on with their lives. 

If there is a stronger person at the tail end of treatment  and recovery, I doubt if that strength is anything more than pure intensity to  get through the ordeal in one piece. 

When you’re originally diagnosed, there’s an instant when  you know you’re suddenly part of a strange club. You’re now part of a special  society where great effort is needed to stay focused and avoid excessive  introspection and self-pity. 

When you leave that club and join the 10 million Americans  who can say they’ve survived cancer, you’re set free. That freedom extends to  how you define yourself. And because of social expectations and the intense  personal exhilaration that accompanies remission, it’s not unusual for us to  want to raise our fists and pump the sky in victory as we hit the finish line.  

But it’s not my choice. Unlike those training to climb a  steep mountain or run a marathon, I’m happy to stay up late, reading a book or  watching a good movie. My goal, at the age of 58, is to remain normal about the  whole thing. I don’t need what I came through to inspire what I do next. I had  cancer. It’s done with. Praise be. 

Articles

A cancer survivor doesn’t consider surviving cancer a personal victory, but is grateful for each day.

Tom Sowa

Why I'm Not Climbing a Mountain

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