This month’s column has nothing to do with multiple myeloma the disease. There will be no discussion of M-spikes or light chains. I will not talk about treatments or side effects. I won’t offer details of my stem cell transplant and how I responded to it.

But this column has everything to do with what having myeloma has done to and for me as a person – a father, a grandfather, and a partner.

For the first 13 years of my life, I lived with my parents in the same house with my maternal grandparents – Nana and Popop. For eight years, until my sister was born, I was the only child in the household and the only grandchild.

As you might imagine, I received a lot of attention from my grandparents. They were a huge influence on me.

Nana and Popop were opposites. Nana was opinionated and not afraid to share her views. She was a bit obsessive, in a good way. Popop, on the other hand, was gentle and quiet. He never raised his voice and was more reserved in letting you know what he was thinking.

As a child I took after Nana more than Popop. I could get, shall we say, a bit hot under the collar at times, even at a young age. The term “incorrigible” was used to characterize my behavior on more occasions than I would care to remember.

Nana and I crossed swords frequently as I resisted her control. I am not proud to recall that, on one occasion following an argument, Nana chased me out of the house, after which I turned around and tried to punch her through a storm door, shattering the glass and cutting my wrist. The scars are still visible.

I never had cross words with Popop. He offered me guidance, often using well-worn bits of wisdom like the old favorite, “You catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.”

Popop got leukemia at a time when treatments for the disease were few. Our family practice was to keep details of bad things like illness from the grandchildren, so I did not know how sick he was.

One day while I was still in college, I was taken to visit him in the hospital. I did not know it at the time, but this would be the last time that I would see him. To demonstrate what a selfless and kind man he was, he told Nana right before he passed that she must promise to buy me a car when I graduated from college.

As the years passed, I always thought – and often told others – that Popop was the biggest influence on my life. Many of the decisions I made were based on advice that he gave me. But I never really behaved like him or how he would have wanted me to behave.

Quite simply, I was not very nice. I could be loud and volatile, even with the ones I loved. I found it difficult to be kind or generous. This affected relationships with Nana and my mother in their final years. I say that I have no regrets in life, and I do tend to makes decisions and move on, but the way I treated others does not make me proud.

The years mellowed me a bit, and having children of my own helped me develop a more compassionate side. But I would be lying if I said that I was the kind of person of which Popop would be proud. I still frequently lost my temper, and I had an acerbic tone to my voice far too often.

Then in 2013 I got – or more accurately discovered that I had – multiple myeloma. I had suffered with physical symptoms that were near debilitating at times in the weeks leading up to my diagnosis, but I could not figure out what was “wrong.”

When the diagnosis was finally made, I was not angry. It almost had a calming effect, because at least I knew what was happening to me.

It also provoked me to take a hard look at myself and how I treated people. I suppose that it is not uncommon for the diagnosis of an incurable disease to have a profound effect on a person. That brush with mortality has a strong impact on most people.

In my case, it did not scare me or motivate me to be better so that I could increase my chances of moving on from life to the right place in the afterlife. Instead, it just made me better able to actually follow the advice that I so often gave to those close to me: “Don’t sweat the small stuff. Concentrate on what is truly important.”

In every significant way, I think that, three years later, I am now a better person. I don’t yell anymore (except at myself when I do something stupid). I leave arguments to the realms of sports and politics and just shrug my shoulders when agreement proves elusive. I try very hard to simply be nice and “do the right thing.” I help people and want to do more.

I feel transformed and I am certain that, if multiple myeloma or some similar affliction had not come into my life, none of this would have happened. I actually like the person that I have become. I now believe that I am the type of person who Popop would look at with grandfatherly pride.

I am now Popop to two wonderful boys – Dominic and Blake – and I am hoping for more grandkids in the future (no pressure Jack and Melissa). I can only hope and pray that I can be half the great Popop to them that my Popop was to me.

If you have read this far, you may be saying to yourself: “This may be a wonderful story of self-realization, but what does it have to do with me, the typical multiple myeloma patient?”

My objective in writing these columns under the title “Myeloma Lessons” is not to teach or preach but, instead, to pass on some of what I have learned while dealing with this disease, in the hope my own lessons may also be useful to others.

Through my interactions with many of you here at The Beacon and personal encounters with other myeloma sufferers, I am convinced that the majority are nice, humble people not likely to need the type of epiphany that I have described.

But for those of us who perhaps could be a little nicer, or in need of a little dose of humility, perhaps this moment of personal challenge can serve as a bit of motivation for us to be better people.

Think about what this Popop learned from his Popop: Do the right thing; you will be a better person for it.