CANCER = DEPRESSION

While conducting my never-ending research into prostate cancer and its never-ending list of cures and treatments, I found a study on prostate cancer and suicide.  My eyes were opened wide.  The study was conducted in South Florida over ten years.  I was astounded that 667 men who had prostate cancer committed suicide just in that part of the world over ten years.  Men diagnosed with prostate cancer have a 400% increase in suicide rates.  Most of those suicides take place within the first six months after being diagnosed, but a large percentage take place within 30 days of the initial meeting with the doctor.  I find that shocking and astounding.  I remember my own walk out of the urologist's office, cancer book (The Book of Death) and biopsy results in hand.  In shock.  In horror.  I remember the medicating, the bingeing, the crying, the wondering how to tell my kids.  Suicide definitely was a topic of thought as well.

And now I wonder how "they" could have let us walk out of those doors without referring us to help.

I learned of a cancer clinic that does not allow its patients to leave the building after having received the bad news until they have checked into the "counseling office" and met with a cancer counselor.  The office took calls from their cancer patients 24/7.  I wished the clinic I was referred to had such an office.  Or at least even a referral to a counselor.  We would have not binged quite as bad.

Two days ago, I passed the 30-day mark.  Thirty long days since I was diagnosed with cancer.  Wednesday was a traumatic day for me.  Lots of emotions.  Thirty days had gone by and we had yet to get a handle on just how aggressive (or hopefully not) the cancer is, or is going to be.  So many decisions had not been made yet.  And I had gained ten pounds instead of losing ten pounds like I had hoped.  (A true sign of food medicating and bingeing).  The true helper of the day was a simple text from a good friend saying he was thinking of me.  Stuff like that helps.

I got through it.  I get through every day.  I have learned how to do that.  I have struggled with depression for most of my life.  I get through it.

July 22, 1999 is one of those life-changing dates for me.  It is the day I first set foot in a 12-step addiction recovery meeting.  Among the many demons I fight in my life is addiction.  Finding a group of people who had been where I was at and were going where I hoped I could go was a great relief and blessing to me.  I felt saved!  I learned to work my program and still do.  I have been sober from my addiction of choice for over a decade.  I quit attending 12-step meetings in 2013 when I was asked to be a Scoutmaster.  Time became an issue and I felt I was doing well enough that I believed I could stop attending.  So far so good.

One of the greatest tools I picked up in those recovery circles was a "morning routine."  (I started working on this post at 5:30 AM, case in point.)  The theory is that if you start your day out right, recovery will likely work for you the rest of the day.  I found this to be true for my fight to stay sober.  And also to keep from dropping into an Eeyore (I love Winnie the Pooh) depression.  I now find my morning routine mandatory while living with real live cancer cells in my prostate.

I cannot afford to lay in bed and sulk, although I would love to.  I would much rather stay there, undisturbed, like a teenager on a Saturday, until, lets say, about NOON.  But that wouldn't work.  I would get up angrily depressed and psychotically cranky, just like a hormonal teenager.

There are not a lot of things I can do myself to fight cancer.  But living a positive life is a huge help.

My morning routine involves reading from the Holy Scriptures right off to start.  Get myself good with God.  Or at least make an attempt to acknowledge that He exists.  Then I take some time for myself.  Whatever I like or feel like doing.  Today it is blogging.  Yesterday it was reading in a book about the incredible Super Bowl run of my favorite team, the Philadelphia Eagles.  Other mornings, I forget myself in a John Grisham thriller.  Exercise is a mandatory part of the gig.  Usually 20 - 30 minutes on the treadmill (still too dang cold and icy to go outside) walking briskly up a fake steep incline while listening to my favorite tunes on my head phones and watching Youtube clips of awesome football plays.  A good protein-based breakfast is also part of the morning routine as well as a shower.

After that, I'm ready to conquer the world!  Usually.  Some days, even all that doesn't work.  After all, I have cancer and that is quite discouraging.  But most days, it does work and I'm good to go.

In those fine circles of recovery, I also found my God.  THAT changed my life.  Step 2 (in my own words) says that I should figure out who God is for me.  Who he REALLY is.  That was an incredible experience.  As I journalized about it, I found that for most of three and half decades up to that date of my life, I had pictured God as unapproachable, a scary figure who I was not worthy to talk to, a God that punishes and takes away things in a tirade.  A God who expected perfection.  As I wrote about my experiences (or lack thereof) with THAT God, I learned how wrong I was about who He was.  And then the search began to find the true God.  The God that I believed in.  And to get to know who He was.  And I found Him!  He was there all along.  A God that loves me like nothing else and would do anything for me, REGARDLESS OF MY WEAKNESSES AND SINS.  I remember one day, many years ago, when my sons were young, maybe eight or nine years old.  This particular day, one of them was having a tough go and he was angry.  He was lashing out at his mom, even tried to hit her, and was clearly out of control.  I grabbed him, sat him on my lap on the couch, and just held him, telling him it would be OK.  I just held him.  Loved him.  He settled down.  Calmed down.  My God treats me the same way I treated my son.  He just loves me.  No matter what.  Even when I curse Him.

Step three, in my own words, is that now that I understand who my God is, I turn my life over to Him.  I trust Him.  I allow Him to run my life.  (After all, I was wandering aimlessly with this addiction thing and anybody would do better at running my life than I would.)

God and I, we have had some great rides together.  As I follow his counsel as given to me via His Holy Spirit.  He has blessed me, put me in the path of others that needed my help, has helped me develop a thriving business so I can provide for my family and others, and He sent me on an incredible mission where many lives were changed.

The cancer has thrown all of that into the air.  I almost immediately took step three back.  "DANG IT GOD!!  YOU SCREWED UP!!  I SERIOUSLY TRUST YOU TO MANAGE MY LIFE AND YOU LET ME GET CANCER!!!"  I seriously want to take the reigns back from him.  Try to run my own life without him.  Down inside, I know that won't work for even a second.  But the anger, the cancer-driven anger, it says to ditch him and go back to struggling by myself.

Honestly, what it sounds like, is that I need to go back to those circles.  Find a meeting.  Talk about how tormented my Step Three is right now.  Watch the others, who listen so well, nod, because they, of all people, understand.  And get a grip on having God, not only in my life, but running my life, again.

That was a lot of commas.  English teachers and majors beware.

To live a long life with this cancer, I will need to keep fighting it with my morning routine to stave off depression and craziness.  I will need to somehow calm down and make God a part of that process.  And I will need to learn patience.

One last thing.  Suicide is a horrible and terrible thing.  The pain it causes is incurable.  If you are considering suicide, call someone NOW.  I keep saying "you must call your father to get permission to do something like that."  I'm serious.  Call him now if you need to.  I wish my son had.