As I entered the waiting room at the Bone Marrow Biopsy clinic and plunked myself down in the only available chair, the animated conversation was soon directed at me.

The woman apparently leading the discussion peered at me over the reading half-glasses perched on her nose, leaned forward, and brusquely uttered:

“Answer this for us. Can a person be ‘happy’ with multiple myeloma? Well?”

The now silent strangers looked my way as the ceiling lights seemed to grow hotter and brighter and focused more intensely on my seat alone.

It was a simple enough question, but it felt like I was somehow being pulled into a trap.

With no clear-cut path to an easy escape or no summons to the paradoxical safety of my bone marrow biopsy, I looked directly at my interrogator and swallowed hard.

It felt like I was in a spaghetti western movie. First an extreme close-up of my eyes, a quick-cut to her black as coal eyes, and then back to my eyes, wide with fear. I even thought that I could hear the haunting melody from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly underscoring the action. (oo-ee-oo-ee-oooo ...wah-wah-wah)

Over her shoulder, I could clearly see the relief on the face of the previous suspect who was no longer being scrutinized.  Out of the spotlight, he mopped at the beads of sweat that lingered on his forehead. We locked eyes for a brief second, and I think that he mouthed, ‘Run away,’ but I could’ve been mistaken.

I’ll admit that my first thought, aside from bolting for the door, was to answer her question like this:

‘Heck no, I’m not happy with myeloma. In fact, I am quite dissatisfied. I find it cruel and entirely ill behaved. I want my money back!’

Assuming that any attempt at smart-alecky humor on my part would most likely result in more trouble than it was worth for a couple of gratuitous yucks, I... well... I gave her The Finger.

No, not that finger! Shame on you! Tee hee!

Instead, I swallowed the bait and attempted to answer her curious question.

I said, “Yes, a person, despite having myeloma, can find some peace and happiness.”

Out if the blue she interjected, “You’re not one of those religious fanatics, are you?”

Oh, that’s her game. I happily plowed onward.

I replied, “Religious? Hmmm. That label could mean so many things. My formula for happiness is simple and easy to remember. I call it The Finger. Would you like me to give you what I call The Finger?”

At that, a guy a few chairs down from me burst out laughing, and I almost did the same. Catching myself, I winked at him, and proceeded to present my impromptu happiness infomercial.

I told her that there is a brain exercise that I do with various kinds of groups or teams whereby I ask them to use the word ‘finger’ as an acronym for six traits that might help them to solve a particular problem or to achieve a desired goal or look at a situation with a different perspective.

Using the six letters in the word ‘finger,’ I had come up with words that helped me stay balanced and reasonably happy throughout my nearly-five-year, back-and-forth volley against myeloma.

Although I was not exactly sure that she wanted me to elaborate, I proceeded:

“Now there are many ‘f’ words from which to choose, for example ‘family’ or ‘friendship,’ but sitting in a bone marrow clinic my favorite ‘f’ word is ‘fentanyl.’

A couple of people laughed, proving that someone was listening to me.  She, however, was not among those chuckling.

“Just kidding - my ‘f’ word is ‘faith.’ My personal faith and belief system has been a keystone to my ability to successfully take on myeloma.”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed, as if she had uncovered a secret plot to upset the balance of happiness in the myeloma world.

I do encourage patients not to be afraid to embrace spirituality as they see fit.  Or don’t.  Just don’t let anyone bully you one way or another.

I suspected that my new lady friend didn’t subscribe to my chosen ‘f’ word, but when she started to interrupt, her husband, the myeloma patient, gently touched her arm to stave off her objections. Maybe he was interested in hearing my thoughts, even if she wasn’t.

My ‘i’ word is ‘inspiration.’  I have known many courageous folks who have faced chronic illness, loss of all descriptions, victims of crime, prisoners of war, and others who have found happiness even in the darkest of times.  A common thread?  They think more about others than they do about themselves.

‘Nearness’ is my ‘n’ word.  I believe that it is important to keep the people that I love and care about as close as I possibly can. I must not shut them out of my life. It’s sad that many colleagues and acquaintances and some friends will desert you for various reasons during your illness. Those that stay near are more precious than gold and fine jewels.

Feeling and expressing ‘gratitude’ for even the smallest things always helps keep me happier than when I dwell on the lousy things that come down the pike.

A friend of mine proposes the idea that ‘excitement’ is just around the corner. Keep your eyes open; excitement will pop out at you when you least expect it. Be ready! He is a quadriplegic and one of the happiest people I know. I believe what he says because he lives it.

My ‘r’ word is ‘responsibility.’ I am responsible for my own happiness. I am responsible for making choices that contribute to my health. I am responsible for being a good husband and father and friend.

Faith.   Inspiration.   Nearness.   Gratitude.   Excitement.   Responsibility.

The lady’s husband was called into his biopsy appointment. He walked over, smiled, and shook my hand on the way in.  Now that made me happy!