One of the most interesting aspects of my job as a journalist who's covered the military for so many years is the reaction I get when I tell troops or veterans that I'm a cancer survivor.
It doesn't come up all the time, of course, but when it does come up in conversation, or when warriors already know my history from my books about cancer or something they may have read about me, they almost invariably say that what I've been through is scarier than anything they've been through.
When they say that, I just shake my head. How can that be? How can anything be scarier than combat? I can't even imagine driving down a dark gravel road in some remote part of Afghanistan that you know could be lined with hidden bombs and surrounded by insurgents who desperately want to kill you. It's amazing to me that they are so curious about what I've been through and impressed with what I've endured, because I'm so blown away by what they do.
I feel an immediate bond when I talk to warriors and veterans about my battle with cancer. They can relate, because they know that I know what they have felt in battle. It's different, of course, yet it's the same. In both situations, you stare death in the face. And it's damn scary.
Since I was first diagnosed with stage IV non-Hodgkin's lymphoma cancer 14 years ago, I've used more than my share of war metaphors to describe my battle with this insidious disease. And let me tell you, it is indeed a battle. The thing is, I didn't volunteer for this fight. I guess that's one of the reasons why I have so much admiration for anyone who chooses to put on a uniform and serve.
When you sign up, you know there's always a risk that at some point you will be placed in a life-or-death situation somewhere around the globe. And anyone who joined the ranks after 9/11 knew they were in for a fight. By the time they arrived on the battlefield, they had that mindset. They were trained in boot camp. And they had the best weaponry to protect them and to face the enemy. Not that they were fearless, of course. But they were confident and prepared.
Cancer? That's a different story. I wasn't prepared in any way for this battle. No warning. No training. No boot camp. And unfortunately I can't wipe out this enemy with an M16 rifle or an F/A-18 combat jet or even an atomic bomb. The cruel irony is, my so-called weapons of choice in this fight, the medicine I've had to take, makes me sicker than the disease.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I have my own post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from the original cancer diagnosis. The news shook me to the core, and I still have a hard time believing this happened to me. I was a healthy, athletic, non-smoking, carefree, 35-year-old who was engaged to the girl of my dreams, living on the beach, writing for Newsweek, working out every day, and living life to the fullest. I had the world by the tail.
Or so I thought. Then one afternoon in late 1996, while running on the sand near the Pacific Beach pier, where I ran almost every day, I felt a rather large lump on my neck, to the right and about an inch lower than my Adam's apple. After avoiding it for a month or so, I went to an ear, nose and throat doc' and had it checked it out. He referred me to an oncologist. Turns out I had stage IV non-Hodgkin's lymphoma cancer. I had barely even heard of the disease up to that point, But the doctors and nurses told me I would probably not live five years.
Almost overnight, I went from a seemingly charmed life to losing all my hair and puking my guts out for five months straight, all the while thinking I was going to die. The chemotherapy almost killed me.
But I wasn't going to go down without a fight. And thankfully, my fiance', who is now my wife of 14 years, has been in the trenches with me during the entire battle. People have called me courageous because I've tried to turn this cancer battle into something positive. I've written books about it, one a survivors' guide, the other a novel about a 10-year-old boy whose mother is diagnosed with cancer. As a very proud father, I've learned that children are often the silent forgotten victims when a parent gets sick, or goes off to war. The book was inspired by my daughter, who is 10 and who has been my inspiration throughout this past decade. Talk about a reason to want to stay alive!
But in spite of the fact that I've beaten the odds and lived longer than any doctor thought I would, and despite the fact that I've become an advocate for cancer patients and written and spoken openly about my battle, there have been times when the fear of death has made me act crazy. Literally. And again, that's why I have so much respect for our warriors, especially the ones who come home with PTSD or other emotional wounds you cannot see. I know many of them are battling the same demons.
For me, cancer, which I'm still fighting, by the way, has come to represent everything evil in this world. For me, cancer is like Osama bin Laden and Adolf Hitler and Darth Vader and Satan all rolled up into one insidious monster that invaded my body and revisits now and then. It is the enemy, my enemy. But it is a beatable foe.
These past 14 years have been an emotional roller coaster for me and my family. But most of it has been wonderful. I have an amazing wife and daughter, great friends and a good life. I enjoy every day, even the ones when I'm really sick. Life is a precious gift. You learn that very quickly when you are diagnosed with cancer and, I have been told many times by many warriors, when you are sent out on the battlefield.
I'm proud to be covering our troops and our veterans. So many of them are affected by this war with injuries you can not see, with PTSD and traumatic brain injuries and other emotional wounds. War is all about being able to face death and cope with the horrors you so often see. It's all about survival. And that's something I know a little bit about. Everyone who has served our country deserves our respect, and our care. They have mine. I got their backs.
