A reader recently asked me to share how I have remained ‘positive’ in my fight with multiple myeloma. My story is, perhaps, not much different than yours.

When multiple myeloma so rudely interrupted things in my happy corner of the universe, it had a surprisingly ‘positive’ effect on my life.

Positive? Yeah, right! Now don’t get me wrong. I hate everything about cancer. I hate the chaos, the hardship, the abject fear that it can cause. I hate how cancer can turn normal lives completely upside-down. And I especially detest myeloma. I am not content to cheerfully co-exist with it. I want myeloma gone - except in the history books.

With such a strongly negative scenario, how on earth can I proclaim that my cancer diagnosis has a ‘positive’ element attached to it? I know it sounds weird. Maybe I’m still suffering from lingering chemo brain, but I’ll try to explain.

Prior to my diagnosis at the age of 49, I had been blessed with a life of challenging and rewarding work, a wonderful family, and a gaggle of world-class friends. I was in seemingly good health and was excited about where I was going in my future. I belonged to a great church and lived in a friendly community in a stunningly beautiful part of the country.  We always had a roof over our heads and food on the table. Love and laughter filled our family home. As far as I was concerned, I could have lived that way forever.

And then - BAM - myeloma bullied its way into the party!

It may be odd, but in my mind, I personify myeloma as an unrelenting terrorist with a devastating agenda. It is formidable and destructive; it is voraciously greedy. Left unchecked, multiple myeloma will try to steal everything I hold dear, including my health, precious time with my loved ones, my livelihood, and my long-held dreams. And in periods of overwhelming weakness, perhaps even my faith.

Like many of my fellow citizens of Myelomaville, I have experienced the physical pain and emotional uncertainty that comes with this disease. I’ve trekked through the confusing mirror-maze of treatment options, insurance nightmares and financial stresses, and a zillion-and-one other things incumbent with a multiple myeloma diagnosis. If you’ve been on this bumpy road, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

To paraphrase the cancer marketing pundits: Myeloma sucks.

But since my diagnosis nearly three years ago, I have noticed that my ‘vision’ has changed. I’m not talking about the kind of vision for which my ophthalmologist prescribes a $500 pair of eyeglasses and sends me on my merry 20/20 way.  I’m talking about how I see and do everything in life, in spite of living with myeloma.

Without a doubt, my thoughts, my decisions, and my aspirations are now filtered through ‘myeloma colored glasses.’  I can’t help it. I live with myeloma’s effects every day. It’s my reality, and I can’t close my eyes and wish it away.

I realized early in the multiple myeloma battle that I had a choice to make.  I could give myeloma the power and allow it to negatively affect the way in which I’d spend the rest of my days. But how would I face the fellas at the Ensure Bar at the patient lounge?

Or I could choose to work with a positive mind-set, with the boldness and the confidence that I could carry on and make my situation better. I chose the latter.

Some folks belittle positive thinking. But I’m not talking about pie-in-the-sky, let’s hold hands and skip, everything’s gonna work out ‘cause we want it to, positive thinking. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. No offense...

What I’m talking about is while my doctors and nurses worked unceasingly to help me get healthier, I remained resolute in not giving any more mental or emotional ground to myeloma than I absolutely had to.  I have taken great pains to educate myself about myeloma, its treatment, and its diagnostic tests. This serves to help me better understand test results, courses of action, the myeloma ‘lingo,’ and the realities that I face with this disease. ‘Knowledge is Power’ as either Sir Francis Bacon or Kevin Bacon wrote, I can't remember which.

I accepted the opinion offered that a diagnosis of multiple myeloma is not a death sentence, that it is, more so, a life sentence. I took to heart that advances are being made in the treatment of multiple myeloma and that we would do the very best that we could do within the changing treatment landscape. I believed my medical team at the Myeloma Institute for Research and Therapy when they told me that they would do their very best for me. In turn, I give them my very best.

In the early days, I didn’t know if I had a couple of months, a couple of years, or a couple of decades ahead of me. I still don’t know when my number will be called, but does anyone? I expect to live a long time and am bound and determined not to squander any of the time I have left.

This diagnosis is a call to action. I have given myself permission, even in the face of fear and death, to be tougher and stronger than I ever knew I could be. Courage, as they say, is not the absence of fear, but one’s willingness to persevere despite the overwhelming fear. I have seen enough examples of courage in action by my fellow myeloma patients to inspire me for a lifetime.

I decided to push past my pain and discomfort and hang on until things got better. I felt no shame or weakness in hurting. I adopted the one-day-at-a-time philosophy, and I held on for the brighter day that I knew would come. And somehow it always did.

I realized that this battle wasn’t just about me. In many ways, my wife, children, and friends had to learn to be ‘warriors’ and not ‘worriers.’ Their strength and courage and growth through these difficult times greatly encouraged me to persevere. When things got tough for me, I remembered that I was hanging on for Karen’s husband and Lizzie’s and Katie’s daddy. It’s interesting how my mind’s ability to be strong for my wife’s husband and my kid’s dad allowed me to summon extra strength.

Just as many people have come to my rescue, I have been given a burning desire to reach out to help other myeloma patients. In one way or another, we are all connected. Sometimes people don’t know where to turn for assistance or don’t feel worthy of receiving help, but no should go through this battle alone.

In the stranglehold of this very serious myeloma business, I have learned not to take myself too seriously. Recognizing that myeloma doesn’t have the power to take away the immense beauty of music, art, dance, humor – or all of the creative forces of the world – goes a long way with me!

And as I have written before, even in the darkest moments, I have never felt alone or abandoned.  This unwelcomed, uninvited journey has allowed me to know that my spiritual beliefs are not counterfeit. I believe in what I say I believe in. Some may understand, others may not, but in the midst of this harrowing sojourn, I feel a peace that envelopes me. It doesn’t always take away the pain, or the uncertainty of the mysteries I face, (or pay my doctor’s bills!), but the peace is never far from me.

I hope that you, my fellow citizens of Myelomaville, are finding ways in which you can get through your trials. Stay connected – we need you!