Gene was steadfast in her love and support. The cliches about sickness and marriage are (unsurprisingly) true-the tested relationship does not stay the same. Outside of that I thought I made a pretty good impression, but to my surprise some people avoided me. I had trouble carrying on complicated conversations. My color was lousy and my voice was weak. Family and friends have always been important to me, but cancer has a way of separating those who are closest to you from those who are not.ĭuring chemo I lost my hair, my appetite and a ton of weight. I used to be hungry to see live performances-plays, symphonies, singers-but I am more easily satisfied these days, and I don't feel as much that I am missing something if I don't go. I did not consider myself particularly materialistic before cancer, but I am definitely less so now.
This sense of well-being is a welcome change, but I can't say that it is due to a major shift in my priorities. I had these moments before my diagnosis, but not as often or as easily.
#Enjoy every sandwich book good reads movie#
Since my chemotherapy treatment, I have experienced small "Zen" rushes-an arresting sense of tranquility coupled with the heightened awareness that what I am doing at that moment is exactly what I want to be doing-whether I'm sitting in a restaurant with a newspaper, reading a book in bed, cooking a meal or watching a movie with my wife. I have no quarrel with those who, faced with a catastrophic health event, want to put more pins in their maps, but there are some of us who simply find renewed meaning in our already existing worlds. Since that time I have become increasingly aware that the world-beater stories are simply part of a larger conspiracy to get everyone in the country to live life to the fullest-travel more, learn to play the tuba, teach our grandchildren about the fall of the Roman Empire, build our own lathes and turn that cherry tree in the front yard into salad bowls for the whole neighborhood.Įach of these ventures is fine when considered by itself (except maybe for the salad-bowl thing), but I am suspicious of the cultural imperative that whether we are sick or well, more is better. In February of 2002 I was diagnosed with lymphoma. I admire the take-charge attitude and energy of such people, but I have nothing in common with them and they bear little resemblance to anyone I know. The protagonists in these tales meet any challenge, climb any mountain and draw their last breath with optimism and grace. To characterize this message as inspirational is probably over the top, but grant me this much-it stands in refreshing contrast to the stories of other victims of life-threatening illnesses that are intended to be inspirational but end up sounding superhuman.
Zevon's response: "Enjoy every sandwich." David Letterman featured him for an entire show, and at one point asked him if his illness had given him any wisdom. Zevon's illness provoked a seemingly heartfelt show of support from others in the entertainment business. He was a singer-songwriter, and it turned out that I was very familiar with one of his pieces-the famous werewolf song that blares from the jukebox while Tom Cruise prances victoriously around the pool table in "The Color of Money." It has always been one of my favorite movie scenes. I did not know who Warren Zevon was until last year, when his impending death from lung cancer made the news.
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