Cancer sucks. We all know this. Anyone who has had their life affected by cancer in some way, shape, or form knows that there is never an “easy” encounter with cancer. It’s always challenging. It’s always a test of mental (and physical) strength, no matter what the situation.
Well, my cousin Connor has had to deal with cancer in his life on multiple occasions. Not only has he had to experience both of my cancer diagnoses as my cousin (and one of my best friends in the whole world), but he also had to watch his own father battle the terrible disease when he was much younger.
After asking Connor to fill out my “Survivor Story Questionnaire” about his experience, I think just diving right into a Q & A style post is the best approach to sharing his story.
And wow what a story it is. I ugly cried through most of it.
So without further ado – here are Connor’s experiences, straight from Connor himself! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
What is your relationship to those people in your life who had cancer?
My dad was diagnosed when I was a bit younger, and my cousin Alex, when we were both in high school. He is also one of my best friends.
What was the diagnosis, when were they diagnosed, and at what age?
My dad was diagnosed in 2004 with testicular cancer at the age of 38. Alex was first diagnosed with Leukemia at age 14 and again at age 21.
What treatment(s) did they receive, and for how long?
My dad received many pharmaceutical treatments, and went through multiple surgeries over the course of a year. Alex received chemotherapy (some experimental, some routine), and a bone marrow transplant as well.
Where did they receive treatment?
My dad was treated at Dana Farber and Brigham and Women’s in Boston. Alex was treated at UMass Worcester for his chemotherapy and received his bone marrow transplant at Boston Children’s Hospital, and had follow up treatment at the Jimmy Fund Clinic in Dana Farber.
If they have completed treatment, how long has it been finished?
February 23, 2005 was the last surgery that my dad had, however there were complications afterwards that required around-the-clock care. Alex finished his bone marrow transplant in 2016, but had several years of recovery time with multiple setbacks.
What advice/inspiration would you give someone that is about to go through a similar experience?
When I think about this question, I have to consider my experience with both my dad and my cousin. They each had a different type of cancer, and it affected them, as well as myself, in different ways. The best advice that I would give to someone who is about to go through a similar experience is this: just be there. Material possessions stop mattering when your loved ones are faced with a life-threatening disease. What really matters is the relationship you have with them. Cherish that. Send brief, frequent notes or texts, make regular, short calls, ask questions, return their messages quickly, check in with their family/caregiver to see if they need something. When visiting, understand that sometimes he/she may not want to talk, but they’d rather not be alone either. Just be there for them, show them that you care. I think that’s the best thing you can do for someone who is struggling. You don’t need to always have an answer, or a joke, or a positive affirmation on hand. Simply being there is enough.
What is something that you’ve learned about yourself during your experiences?
I’m not sure that I learned as much about myself during these times as I did about what’s truly important in life, and that’s the relationships you have with the people to whom you are closest. I learned that what I truly appreciate the most are the people I love, and at any time, someone’s world can change for the worst. It’s a cruel reality, but being a friend and a son of two people who went through this taught me that we often take our relationships with our loved ones for granted because they’ve always been there; they have been a staple in your life since you can remember, and it’s easy to fall into the mindset that they will always be there, because that’s how it’s always been. The realization of how precious and fragile life really is forces us to rethink our perspective and reassess our values.
What is one (or more) positive message(s) that you’d like to share with the world?
a. This is something my dad taught me, and that my mom always echoed. Life is hard, bad things are going to happen, but it’s how you choose to deal with them that makes you who you are. My dad told me that tough times, while in the moment may seem like the end of the world, don’t last; it’s the tough people that do. So, if it’s you that’s diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, or it’s your best friend, or your mom or dad, choosing to be tough is going to make your world a brighter place when it’s all over.
It’s certainly not easy though. I have a very vivid memory of one particular day during my dad’s treatment when this became very real. I was young, still in elementary school, and I stayed home from school so that I could go with my mom to visit my dad in the hospital. This was a big deal because I never missed school. But, this was the first time that I would have had the opportunity to visit with him since his major surgery, and I was so excited.
It was supposed to be a turning point, a time when we could be hopeful. I remember telling everyone why I wouldn’t be in school that day, because I was finally getting to see my dad. That morning though, I woke up with a sore throat. Airing on the side of caution, I went to get a strep test, and it came back positive, which meant I would not be able to go see my dad that day. The risk of spreading germs to him while his immune system was so vulnerable was just too great. I was absolutely devastated.
I remember being on the phone with one of my mother’s friends; she was a nurse and understood very well how I was feeling since my dad had gotten sick. She wasn’t aware of my positive strep test, so when she asked me if I was excited to go see my dad that morning, I broke down in tears, and my mom cried with me. After months of hardship, and our hopes so high that day, we were crushed. It was in that moment, thinking of how my dad would feel when he heard this news, that I was reminded of toughness, because that’s what he would do. The best thing that I could do for my dad then was to get myself better so that I could go see him, because all he wanted was to have his family there, and I wanted to do everything in my power to be there for him.
b. There are a few quotes that I try to embrace. The first one is from one of my favorite authors, Maya Angelou. In her writing, she often focuses on optimism, appreciation for what one has, and cherishing relationships with those around you. “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” This is a fantastic reminder of what’s important in how one chooses to treat others. I cannot empathize with how truly difficult it must be for a cancer patient to stay optimistic simply because people tell them to, because I’ve never been diagnosed with cancer. I can, however, sympathize and try to understand, but I’ll never truly be able to. And sure, staying positive is good advice, but what does optimism really mean? I don’t think it means telling yourself that things are going to get better, because the reality is, that simply may not be true. It’s more so about believing that you will be okay no matter what happens. That belief gives you control over any outcome, and gives you the opportunity to be proactive, rather than reactive, which I think is a really positive message that anyone can apply to their thinking.
c. The second one is a quote from Jodi Picoult, a fantastic author who does a great job weaving positive messages into her writing: “Extraordinary things are always hiding in places people never think to look.” I love this quote because it’s applicable in so many different situations. If we relate this to illness, it could mean that you’re about to learn things about yourself that you never would have learned had you not been faced with such a monumental challenge in life. Or, maybe you had been putting off that one thing you really wanted to do your whole life, like starting a business or traveling, and this collision with reality pushed you to take that risk, to buy that plane ticket. One might ask though, is it really worth it? Going through months – maybe years – of treatment that includes pain, uncertainty, and fear? Just for a bit of self-discovery? The answer depends on what you do with this new insight. If you’re fortunate enough to walk out of that hospital, how will you apply what you’ve learned to your life? I think most people would say well, I really wish I could have foregone the cancer… but I would not be where I am now if it wasn’t for that hardship.
Tell your story in your own words, with as much detail as you want!
I was very young when my dad was diagnosed with cancer, about 11 years old. At this age, it’s difficult to grasp the severity and seriousness of a cancer diagnosis. In my 11-year-old head, and to everyone that knew him, my dad was a real-life superhero. He was kind, loving, fun, an incredible athlete, the hardest worker, a perfect husband to my mom, just an all-around great person, and an even better dad. The type of guy that everyone wanted to be around. He was so awesome, that I didn’t really think much of the diagnosis. I remember having no doubt in my mind that he’d be back home soon, healthy, ready to resume his role as my catch partner in the backyard. But it didn’t happen like that.
The reality had to be communicated to me in a way that, at that time in my life, I could understand what was really going on. My mom was so strong during this time. She explained to me that my dad was really sick, and that we needed to do everything we could to help him. I remember my dad saying that I needed to step up, be “the man” of the house. What did that mean to me? It meant that I helped out with the things that my dad normally did. I learned how to mow the lawn, I watched my baby sister, and I made sure my mom was okay too. I was only 11 though, and my grasp on the situation was really only as tight as the words my mom said to me. I am thankful now, nearly 18 years later, that my mom never told me how close to death my dad came.
His cancer had spread throughout his body, and the surgery they elected to receive had only been done on a handful of people in the world, but it was his best shot. There were complications after the surgery that almost killed him too. Had I known any of that as an 11-year-old, I think the worry and inability to truly understand what my dad was facing, what my family was facing, would have resulted in mental health issues for me down the road. My mom deserves so much credit for being as strong as she was. She chose to carry the weight of uncertainty on her shoulders so that her kids didn’t have to. To me, that’s what strength truly means – putting others before yourself in situations where it would have been very easy to break down, lose control, and become consumed by your emotions. She never let that happen. If she did, I never saw it.
The scariest thing for me was when I finally did get to visit my dad in the hospital, and I saw how much this disease beat him down. Like I said, my dad was a superhero. And I know every son talks about their dad that way, but he really was – and still is. There was nothing that he couldn’t do- no problem he couldn’t solve, nothing that was broken he couldn’t fix, no bad feeling he couldn’t replace with happiness and acceptance. And to see what that illness did to him, and how quickly it happened, taught me the importance of health, and it was a catalyst to me realizing how important family truly is.
That day, he stood up. I looked at him in his hospital gown as he leaned on a walker, the bleak, Boston winter skies out the window in the background. There was a ‘how severe is your pain today?’ chart on the wall. He talked to me about the walks he would take around the hallways. He was so excited to share those with me because it was a sign of hope; he was getting better. The nurses joked that he still acted like he was a 20-year-old football star, ready to run right out of that hospital. His spirits were high, or at least they seemed that way. Now that I’m older, I understand that what was going on in his head may not have been what he let me see. I think the thing that really made him the happiest that day though was me being there, so maybe he was able to put the fear he had aside. There’s nothing in this world that my dad loves more than his family, and I’d like to believe that love gave him the strength to beat that disease.
Fast forward a few months, through multiple surgeries, some very scary moments, and lots of time away from each other, I learned he could come home. The fight was not over, but the hardest part was behind us. There were still routine check-ups, tests, medicines, nurses in our home, and always an underlying fear that the cancer may return. But he was home. I’m so happy to say that today, he’s healthy, and we are able to enjoy all the things that at one point, we feared we may not ever get to. That experience forced me to grow up rather quickly. I learned that the world is a scary and uncertain place, to cherish the relationships I have, and to love my family as much as I can. So when my cousin, Alex, who is one of my best friends in the world, was diagnosed with Leukemia when we were in high school, I at least understood what it meant.
It’s much different to watch your father fight cancer, a grown man with lots of life experience, strength, and wisdom, than it is to watch a teenager, your best friend, battle the same illness. Alex’s world was ripped out from underneath him. At the time, we were avid hockey players, had plenty of great friends, and some major goals after high school. Now, he was faced with the question of, will I see graduation?
It was hard for me. I was a student at a nearby boarding school when Alex was diagnosed, and I wasn’t allowed much time off campus to visit him. I made sure to talk with him regularly, and usually not about cancer. We talked about the same stuff we always talked about. Sports, our dogs, stupid things our little sisters did, and what we wanted to be when we grew up. I tried to stay positive, but not make light of the situation.
Alex had fought hard for months and months. He went through heavy chemotherapy treatments, was forced to put hockey on hold, wasn’t able to go to school, and he missed out on what it feels like to be 16 and think that anything is possible in the world. But Alex beat it. As we approached our senior year, he told me that he had entered the remission stage. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the future was positive. I had the opportunity to transfer schools and spend our last year of high school together.
As Alex’s hair grew back, so did his strength and his desire to return to a normal life, and I wanted nothing more than that for him. So when hockey season was approaching, and his doctors gave him the okay to play, I don’t think the two of us have ever been happier. We got to play together that last season, as defensive partners, and we even won the Massachusetts State Championship together. To us, there was no greater feeling of triumph than laying in the middle of the Boston Garden, making snow angels on the ice as champions, while our family and friends cheered. The feeling of winning was great, but our family wasn’t cheering because we won the game. They were cheering for Alex, all the struggles he went through, and all the fights he had to win just to get there. The medal was simply icing on the cake. The real trophy was that he was there.
As we moved into our college years, I went to school down in Tampa, FL, and Alex in Lowell, MA. We always hung out on our breaks when I came home. It was our senior year around Christmas time, and I had spent the night at Alex’s apartment. We had our typical fun- drank some beers, played video games, cards, and just talked about life like we always did. At this point, he’d been healthy for almost four years. When we woke up that morning, there was a blizzard outside. By 8am, there was already about a foot of snow on the ground, but Alex had a checkup with his oncologist that day. I specifically remember us talking about skipping the appointment. The weather was bad, the roads were dangerous, and things had been looking great health-wise for him. Alex did the smart thing though and decided it was best to go.
I drove home, made a couple pit stops to say hi to some other friends along the way, while he went to his appointment. By the time I got home, the snow had cleared up. I walked into my house to find my mother, very solemn, on the phone. By now, you’re probably guessing what I learned next: the cancer was back. And while his first battle with cancer was the hardest thing he had ever gone through, for him and his family, this time would be much, much harder.
I was living in Tampa, and being physically distanced from him during this time was very difficult. But, just like we did the first time, we talked all the time. We had some funny hats made for him; one said, “I’m too sexy for my hair”, and the other, “q-ball”. You might be thinking, that’s a little harsh…but I promise, Alex’s sense of humor is incredible, and it brought some much-needed laughter to that hospital room. I also think that humor is one of the things that got Alex through the dark period.
What he went through, as you may have read on his blog, was torturous. He underwent an incomprehensible amount of treatments that were far from easy. They were often long, and painful. It was finally decided that, if Alex was going to survive, he would need a bone marrow transplant, and even then, nobody was sure of the outcome. Once over the hurdle of finding a donor, and after his transplant, I was able to return home for the summer. I was very much looking forward to spending lots of time with him, so you can imagine my feeling of defeat when I learned I couldn’t see him at all, at least not for a while. The reason was that his immune system was completely wiped out from his procedure and the radiation, so he was extremely susceptible to germs and bacteria. Had he contracted even the common cold, he could have died.
When I was finally able to see him, there were some parameters. We got to hang out outside, in the shade, after 4pm when the sun wasn’t too hot, and I sat about 10 feet away from him. Just like my dad, I was shocked to see what cancer did to my best friend. He was very thin, pale, bald, and tired. All I wanted to do was give him a hug. Had I done that, I fear I would have broken his bones. But somehow, he was smiling. I’m not sure if it was because he knew the biggest, hardest part of all this was behind him, or if he was just grateful to be sitting at home with his family again.
I realize now that I’ve written a small book, and I’ve even tried to spare many of the details of what I was feeling throughout all this, so if you’re still reading, thank you. Alex steadily worked his ass off to be healthy again. It took years. Years of determination, optimism, goal-setting, and support from his family, in particular, his girlfriend at the time, who is now his wife. She was by his side every step of the way. I remember being so impressed by how much love she had for him. There’s a picture of the two of them, her in her graduation gown, in the hospital, and it really paints a perfect picture of what she sacrificed for the person she loves more than anyone else. She became a part of our family then, and again at their beautiful wedding on the beach in Maine.
I learned more than I ever thought I could about cancer, about myself, and about others throughout these three experiences. I learned that the people who are there for you will always be there for you. I learned that real hardship reveals people’s true values. And I learned that the most important things in life are the people you share it with. There is no house, no car, no tangible thing in the world that brings as much joy and comfort as someone you love. So, while I wish that my dad and Alex did not have to go through those horrible times, I am grateful for what I learned and how I grew as a person because of them, and I hope that reading this has at least sparked a little something inside of you to go tell someone you love them. You never know when your life, or theirs, might change.
What a powerful story and powerful message. I hope you all loved reading that as much as I did. It really reminded me of the perspective the traumatic situations in life can offer. Love, hope, faith, and family can truly conquer anything.
Throughout my two battles against cancer, Connor was ALWAYS there for me. Not always physically, of course, because of how far we often lived from one another, but he always made sure he knew what was going on with my treatments, my health, and my overall well-being. True to his story above, Connor checked in on me all the time. He helped remind me of the life outside of cancer that I would once again get back to. He helped me keep that fire burning inside of myself that got me to the finish line. Twice. He always has been, and always will be, one of my best friends. The word “cousin” does not come close to the weight of what I mean when I call him my family.
For anyone out there that is unsure how to handle a friend or family member’s recent diagnosis, please feel free to take a look at one of my previous posts, 5 Tips If Your Friend Gets Diagnosed With Cancer.
I would also like to thank Connor for sharing his experiences in such vulnerable detail. I know that so many people in similar situations will benefit from every word. Connor, you captured the emotion that comes with a traumatic experience, and the growth that comes with it, remarkably well. I think I speak for everyone who reads this when I say we cannot thank you enough.
And to anyone out there that would like to share your experience with cancer, how it has affected your life, and what messages you’d like to send out to others who may be going through similar experiences, please feel free to reach out to me! I would love to help you tell your story just like Connor did here, and like Evan did last month in his post!
As always guys, I’m available through my contact page if you have any questions, tips of your own, topics you would like to see covered, or just feel like chatting to someone that’s been through it. I am always here for you.
-Alex
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Featured image and images in this post are straight from Connor himself!