A Lesson From My Father

Today is my father’s 72^nd birthday.  According to statistics, he’s fortunate to be here.

In 2008, my mother and father were just back from a trip to visit my younger brother in Australia, where he spent 5 months studying.  Their awareness of the dangers of skin cancer was heightened as Australia is noted to have a big depletion in the ozone layer.  One morning, there was a news segment centering on the importance of getting your skin checked regularly.  My father turned to my mom and asked, "Do you think this is something to worry about?" as he leaned forward to reveal something on the crown of his head.

As it turned out, it was.  Melanoma was the diagnosis.

Melanoma is a nasty cancer, with pretty grim statistics.  However, statistics are just numbers that reveal patterns.  When it comes to fighting a disease like cancer, the only sample size that really matters is n=1.

Over the past 7 years, my father has lived with this disease courageously and with dignity.  It has spread, popping up in various places.  Some have necessitated surgery, while others have not.  My father has been blessed with finding two excellent doctors close to home on Long Island whom he trusts.  Along the way, he has measured and considered all his treatment options, mostly choosing to try something rather than nothing.  Some have left him knocked out and feeling worse than the cancer itself.  I haven’t heard him complain once.

Anyone who knows my father knows that he is very active.  Whether it’s golf (his favorite passion/obsession), tennis, or platform tennis, he’s always outside playing.  While he never spent time in a gym lifting weights in his younger years (I don’t think many people did) he’s now a committed gym goer, dedicated to his fitness.  At his age, he moves better than many of my contemporaries, despite having 30 years on us.

I don’t remember my father spending Sunday afternoons watching football, or some other sport, on television.  He’s definitely a sports fan, but I recall him telling me once, “I’d much rather be doing something than watching something.”  It’s a lesson that has really resonated with me.  Life is too short to spend it on a couch.

During one particular treatment period, my dad was feeling pretty run down.  But on a 95-degree, oppressively humid day, he and my brother Brad played Bethpage Black.  This is a grueling, long, hilly golf course, one that does not allow golf carts.  So they walked, carrying their own bags for 18 holes.  It would have been understandable had he chosen to skip playing that day, in light of the physical demands and the way he was feeling.  But he has been completely committed to keeping on moving and participating in life throughout his ordeal.  It has been good for his body, and even better for his mind.

When given a diagnosis with associated statistics, I imagine it’s extraordinarily difficult not to harp on the potential negative outcomes.  Illness can be a mortality check, but the reality is, nobody is guaranteed tomorrow.  I have greatly admired the courage and example that my dad has shown over these years (along with my mother, who has been by his side throughout and is herself a tough 20-year cancer survivor). 

I know how cliché it is to talk about not taking one’s health for granted.  But I see it every day, people desperate to get back to the state of not having to think about their pain or illness.  It’s just so darn easy to take for granted feeling well and being without illness.  Take a moment to reflect on your good fortune should you be in good health.  It’s a blessing.  And if you’re not, get busy doing something about it.

My father’s approach and attitude remind me of a quote from my favorite movie of all time, “The Shawshank Redemption”:

“You can either get busy living, or get busy dying.”

Last week, my father was given the news that the experimental treatment he underwent last summer to target an inoperable tumor has been working.  His screens showed no sign of cancer.

Dad, thanks for choosing to keep on moving, no matter what.  It’s an invaluable lesson.  Happy birthday, and many more.