The Cane
This is a brief speech I recently gave at a regional summit of the American Cancer Society. It was drawn from one of my journal entries as I was recovering from treatment.
My story isn’t very exciting and it’s probably a lot like other survivor stories you have heard. Yes, I was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 57, and yes, the diagnosis induced palpable fear and more than a little anger. Yes the cancer was aggressive and demanded prompt radical surgery, with resulting life-changing consequences, and the post-surgery pathology report showed “positive margins” so I knew I was at risk for recurrence. Sure enough, three years later the cancer returned, and I started a 7-week course of daily radiation treatments, with their own set of consequences.
Fortunately, by this time I had discovered the resources of the American Cancer Society, and I found support and understanding, and answers to the many questions that found their way into my mind.
A few weeks after finishing radiation therapy, I faced a new challenge … and I want to talk about that today. It was …. (pull cane out of tote bag)
THE CANE
I left the office with his words still ringing in my ears. “I want you to walk with a cane for several months. Perhaps that will allow the injury to heal.”
A Cane? I don’t want to walk with a cane!
I love to walk. My wife and I hike in the woods every chance we get. Suddenly this special joy, and healthful habit had been taken from me.
The cancer-killing radiation had apparently caused soft tissue damage that was responsible for the pain I felt with every step … and the resulting noticeable limp. Now an orthopedic specialist offered a way to overcome all that. But, a cane?
Following his instructions, I purchased a cane. Not one of the fancy decorator models. Just a simple collapsible stick, in basic black. I learned, awkwardly at first, to use the cane on the side opposite the injury, putting it down in unison with each step from that side.
Right away there was a certain affect on my pride. I couldn’t help remembering a young attorney friend walking into my office one day with the help of a cane after his knee surgery. Rushing through my mind so loud I imagined he could hear it was the thought, “HE LOOKS SO OLD AND FEEBLE!”
The cane.
I never realized that canes came with music. In my pride-challenged state, somber, Mahler-like music played in my head as I shuffle-stepped along in slow but perfect time. And it came with voices! Yes, I could hear them talking.
· “Look at that poor old guy shuffling along over there.”
· What a struggle. He has to walk with a cane and pull his carry-on luggage along.”
Airports were, and continue to be, the biggest challenge. Airports are designed for only the fittest of passengers. If you can’t do a 30-minute aerobic work out daily and then run at least 5 miles, you are not fit enough to travel by air.
The distance from the parking lot to the jetway is roughly equivalent to the Boston Marathon, but with a twist. Halfway through you come to a stop, slowed by the passengers being herded through that crazy maze waiting to be strip searched --- and they take away your cane, increasing your humiliation as you now limp through the security area. But I digress.
The cane.
Gradually, the music changed. As time went on the cane seemed to acquire mystical powers.
· While attempting to cross the busy lanes of traffic on Main Street, I found drivers actually came to a stop, smiled and waved me across!
· Airline gate attendants smiled and let me board first, often helping with the carry-on down the jetway.
· Restaurant hostesses quickly found us a table … a nice table by the window.
· The chief steward on the Amtrak dining car seated us alone at the very first table so I could avoid the struggle down through the swaying car.
Yes, the music changed. Not the somber Mahler anymore, but sort of a New Orleans style jazz. And the shuffle changed to a more jaunty 2-step, or more properly 3-step. I could even picture myself pausing, spinning the cane, then stepping off smartly down the street to the sound of the new voices:
· “Look at that buff, young guy walking so smartly with a cane!”
· “I wonder why he needs a cane at such a young age. Oh, he probably had an accident skiing down the Matterhorn.”
· “Isn’t that the Indianapolis Colts’ running back who was injured last week?”
The cane.
It can change people. It changed me. I learned to swallow my pride, accept help, and follow instructions. Sure enough, after six months the effects of the injury were much less noticeable. I seldom use the cane anymore, except for long walks with the potential for stress. Yes, that means airline terminals.
But most importantly, through all the months of recovery I discovered the “cane-people”. These were folks that were right there when I needed someone to lean on.
· Family, friends, men in my support group, …
· Folks in my church
· Students in my chemistry classes who sent hand-made cards, carried things to my car when I returned to school and volunteered to do many little tasks to ease my re-entry into the life of the school.
· New friends at the American Cancer Society like Sandy and Mollie and Mary and others …
· Scientists, research assistants, medical oncologists (many supported by the funs we raise at our Relays) ... working tirelessly and making progress towards the goal of conquering cancer.
· Hundreds of people met at Relays for Life --- working, walking, willing to help in many ways … (I can’t describe how overwhelmed I was at my first Relay … seeing that seemingly endless stream of teams along the path during our victory lap and hearing them cheering and clapping, and whistling … for me!
People like all of these anticipated not only my physical needs, but my emotional and spiritual needs, anxieties and fears, and they knew just what to do to help. They joined the battle with me, increasing the odds. One of them in particular stands out … a pediatric oncologist from Connecticut.
She somehow learned of my struggle through an email prayer line my brothers had set up before surgery, and in her busy schedule (which often included watching babies die), she found time to email me messages of inspiration and hope about 3 times a week. On the eve of surgery she paraphrased one of the Psalms of deliverance, placing my own name in critical places: “Lord, do not let Dale be destroyed by this evil. Vanquish those invading cancer cells, that he might have life, and restore his hope and joy.”
Wow … that was quite a cane-person, and I’ve never even met her. And yet there were so many others, quietly standing with me and holding me up.
But you know, like the cane, cane-people are only helpful when used. Cancer survivors, and really all of us who face challenges living in this 21st century, need to accept the gifts of help and kindness offered by the cane people in our lives. By remaining aloof with an “I can do it alone” attitude, we not only miss the gift, but we deprive the giver of the joy that comes in helping others. So, even as I had to learn how to use the cane, I had to learn how to accept gifts of help from the cane-people in my life.
I lived in Japan for a few years and learned that there, and in much of the Orient, a gift is not casually given. The giver presents the gift without reservation or conditions … whole-heartedly with BOTH hands. The honorable way to receive a gift is to do so graciously, whole-heartedly … with both hands. I eventually learned to receive and embrace the gifts offered by those who offered help and support, And you know … we all became winners in those moments.
I have been so blessed by the Cane-men and cane-women
and cane-kids, in my life.
They became my instruments of healing.
How precious they all are,
and I mean to be one too … don’t you?!!
01.16.2009
My story isn’t very exciting and it’s probably a lot like other survivor stories you have heard. Yes, I was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 57, and yes, the diagnosis induced palpable fear and more than a little anger. Yes the cancer was aggressive and demanded prompt radical surgery, with resulting life-changing consequences, and the post-surgery pathology report showed “positive margins” so I knew I was at risk for recurrence. Sure enough, three years later the cancer returned, and I started a 7-week course of daily radiation treatments, with their own set of consequences.
Fortunately, by this time I had discovered the resources of the American Cancer Society, and I found support and understanding, and answers to the many questions that found their way into my mind.
A few weeks after finishing radiation therapy, I faced a new challenge … and I want to talk about that today. It was …. (pull cane out of tote bag)
THE CANE
I left the office with his words still ringing in my ears. “I want you to walk with a cane for several months. Perhaps that will allow the injury to heal.”
A Cane? I don’t want to walk with a cane!
I love to walk. My wife and I hike in the woods every chance we get. Suddenly this special joy, and healthful habit had been taken from me.
The cancer-killing radiation had apparently caused soft tissue damage that was responsible for the pain I felt with every step … and the resulting noticeable limp. Now an orthopedic specialist offered a way to overcome all that. But, a cane?
Following his instructions, I purchased a cane. Not one of the fancy decorator models. Just a simple collapsible stick, in basic black. I learned, awkwardly at first, to use the cane on the side opposite the injury, putting it down in unison with each step from that side.
Right away there was a certain affect on my pride. I couldn’t help remembering a young attorney friend walking into my office one day with the help of a cane after his knee surgery. Rushing through my mind so loud I imagined he could hear it was the thought, “HE LOOKS SO OLD AND FEEBLE!”
The cane.
I never realized that canes came with music. In my pride-challenged state, somber, Mahler-like music played in my head as I shuffle-stepped along in slow but perfect time. And it came with voices! Yes, I could hear them talking.
· “Look at that poor old guy shuffling along over there.”
· What a struggle. He has to walk with a cane and pull his carry-on luggage along.”
Airports were, and continue to be, the biggest challenge. Airports are designed for only the fittest of passengers. If you can’t do a 30-minute aerobic work out daily and then run at least 5 miles, you are not fit enough to travel by air.
The distance from the parking lot to the jetway is roughly equivalent to the Boston Marathon, but with a twist. Halfway through you come to a stop, slowed by the passengers being herded through that crazy maze waiting to be strip searched --- and they take away your cane, increasing your humiliation as you now limp through the security area. But I digress.
The cane.
Gradually, the music changed. As time went on the cane seemed to acquire mystical powers.
· While attempting to cross the busy lanes of traffic on Main Street, I found drivers actually came to a stop, smiled and waved me across!
· Airline gate attendants smiled and let me board first, often helping with the carry-on down the jetway.
· Restaurant hostesses quickly found us a table … a nice table by the window.
· The chief steward on the Amtrak dining car seated us alone at the very first table so I could avoid the struggle down through the swaying car.
Yes, the music changed. Not the somber Mahler anymore, but sort of a New Orleans style jazz. And the shuffle changed to a more jaunty 2-step, or more properly 3-step. I could even picture myself pausing, spinning the cane, then stepping off smartly down the street to the sound of the new voices:
· “Look at that buff, young guy walking so smartly with a cane!”
· “I wonder why he needs a cane at such a young age. Oh, he probably had an accident skiing down the Matterhorn.”
· “Isn’t that the Indianapolis Colts’ running back who was injured last week?”
The cane.
It can change people. It changed me. I learned to swallow my pride, accept help, and follow instructions. Sure enough, after six months the effects of the injury were much less noticeable. I seldom use the cane anymore, except for long walks with the potential for stress. Yes, that means airline terminals.
But most importantly, through all the months of recovery I discovered the “cane-people”. These were folks that were right there when I needed someone to lean on.
· Family, friends, men in my support group, …
· Folks in my church
· Students in my chemistry classes who sent hand-made cards, carried things to my car when I returned to school and volunteered to do many little tasks to ease my re-entry into the life of the school.
· New friends at the American Cancer Society like Sandy and Mollie and Mary and others …
· Scientists, research assistants, medical oncologists (many supported by the funs we raise at our Relays) ... working tirelessly and making progress towards the goal of conquering cancer.
· Hundreds of people met at Relays for Life --- working, walking, willing to help in many ways … (I can’t describe how overwhelmed I was at my first Relay … seeing that seemingly endless stream of teams along the path during our victory lap and hearing them cheering and clapping, and whistling … for me!
People like all of these anticipated not only my physical needs, but my emotional and spiritual needs, anxieties and fears, and they knew just what to do to help. They joined the battle with me, increasing the odds. One of them in particular stands out … a pediatric oncologist from Connecticut.
She somehow learned of my struggle through an email prayer line my brothers had set up before surgery, and in her busy schedule (which often included watching babies die), she found time to email me messages of inspiration and hope about 3 times a week. On the eve of surgery she paraphrased one of the Psalms of deliverance, placing my own name in critical places: “Lord, do not let Dale be destroyed by this evil. Vanquish those invading cancer cells, that he might have life, and restore his hope and joy.”
Wow … that was quite a cane-person, and I’ve never even met her. And yet there were so many others, quietly standing with me and holding me up.
But you know, like the cane, cane-people are only helpful when used. Cancer survivors, and really all of us who face challenges living in this 21st century, need to accept the gifts of help and kindness offered by the cane people in our lives. By remaining aloof with an “I can do it alone” attitude, we not only miss the gift, but we deprive the giver of the joy that comes in helping others. So, even as I had to learn how to use the cane, I had to learn how to accept gifts of help from the cane-people in my life.
I lived in Japan for a few years and learned that there, and in much of the Orient, a gift is not casually given. The giver presents the gift without reservation or conditions … whole-heartedly with BOTH hands. The honorable way to receive a gift is to do so graciously, whole-heartedly … with both hands. I eventually learned to receive and embrace the gifts offered by those who offered help and support, And you know … we all became winners in those moments.
I have been so blessed by the Cane-men and cane-women
and cane-kids, in my life.
They became my instruments of healing.
How precious they all are,
and I mean to be one too … don’t you?!!
01.16.2009
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