Jan. 14: Life lessons from a survivor

Yesterday I finished reading Cancer on $5 a Day* *(chemo not included): How Humor Got Me Through the Toughest Journey of My Life, by comedian Robert Schimmel. Here’s Amazon’s description of the book.

Schimmel already had a hit HBO stand-up comedy special and a Stand-Up of the Year title from the American Comedy Awards when, in the spring of 2000, he was diagnosed with Stage III non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. His world changed instantly; success in the raunchy joke trade-he also had an edgy FOX series in development-was replaced by the struggle for survival, the rigors of chemotherapy and all the fear and uncertainty that goes with it. Schimmel also looks back on his son, whom he lost not long before to brain cancer. Among a crowded field of inspiring and straight-talking personal survival stories, Schimmel's conversational account is particularly ribald, emphasizing the importance a sense of humor can play in coping, learning and healing.

Being that his cancer type is similar to mine, I was interested in his story, especially after reading the good reviews of the book. It was an easy read, amusing and occasionally hysterical. Schimmel’s humor definitely fits in the “raunchy” category—no surprise that he’s a regular Howard Stern guest—but it wasn’t offensive (to me). The unexpected came in the inspirational touches he shared. His priorities—family, specifically his children—were the biggest reason he committed to getting well.

Near the end of the book, Schimmel listed the lessons he learned from the experience. I think they’re typical of someone who’s been given a cancer diagnosis—cancer is scary, even if the prognosis is pretty good—but they’re also applicable to the perfectly healthy. Reminders are always good, aren’t they?

Keep your sense of humor, no matter what.

Can do, I think. I’m doing pretty well with it so far, anyway.

Create a purpose, a focus, and never take your eyes off it.

I believe my purpose is to raise my children, and I want more than anything to do that. For me, the possibility that I may not be able to is the scariest part of this cancer thing. Sometimes I find it very difficult not to think about, which is when I need to do something completely distracting, like play the piano or cuddle the cat or watch Hairspray. Happy things.

Figure out what’s important to you. What’s really important.

Without question, it’s my family.

Be open. Try anything. You never know.

I take this lesson to mean that I should be open to alternative medical treatments. I am. Unless it means I have to give up bacon.

Love. You need love. Tons of it. A shitload of love.

I’m lucky; I’ve got it. Way more than I deserve to have, in fact.

Sometimes you need to be selfish.

Does this mean that if I really, really, really want to say “no” that it’s alright? If so, I shall do my best.

You need support. You’re in this alone, but you can’t fight it alone.

Family and friends and people I’ve never even met before have been incredibly supportive and helpful to me and my family since my diagnosis. I can’t believe it sometimes, that people care as much as they do. Again, way more than I deserve.

The most precious thing you have is time. Don’t waste it.

I’ve given more thought to this in the past couple months than ever before. It’s overwhelming sometimes, trying to make the most of every day. Before I fall asleep at night, I look back on my day and see that I have sometimes failed to do the things I should. And this serves to remind me…

You’re only human.

…so it’s okay if I fail sometimes. But I won’t stop trying.

And, finally, once again—laugh.

Not a problem.