While I would love to get into a debate about the evolution of man versus the creation of man, that’s not what this article is about at all.

Instead, I would like to expand on some feedback I received in response to one of my articles. In a comment on the article, a reader wrote that those of us with multiple myeloma “have evolved.”

I found this comment to be especially on point. So much so, that I often think of it.

Let’s face it. We’re different than most folks.

We’re not better; we’re certainly not worse. Just different. How could we not be? Those of us who are still kicking have been, or are currently being, changed permanently. The same applies to our family and friends. They, too, have been changed forever.

You can obviously make the case that anybody’s life experiences change them. It’s what makes each of us different. With multiple myeloma, though, there are a number of factors that force an evolution of sorts that many of us with the disease share.

Before I was diagnosed with myeloma, I was a pretty typical 49-year old, middle-class guy in the United States. I had a great wife, two pre-teen sons, two dogs, two cars, and four chickens. I had been doing the same type of work for almost 25 years. We had a very large mortgage (typical in Hawaii) that we had become used to paying. We took a vacation somewhere most years and felt like we were living the good life even though we had to work very hard to keep up with everything. My friends, family, and enjoyment were important to me, but they were definitely dominated by my need to build financial security for my children.

Then I started to get sick. I began to have episodes of fairly intense abdominal pain accompanied by severe diarrhea and some fevers. After recently experiencing the difficult death of a close friend to pancreatic cancer, I was afraid of the worst and decided I needed to figure this out instead of going with my usual “wait-and-see” approach. While my pancreas was fine, nobody could figure out what wasn’t.

After almost two years of colonoscopies, endoscopies, barium-filled CT scans, stool tests (that’s a joy!), and hundreds of blood tests, still nobody knew what was wrong with me. This period was the first part of my “evolution.” After an adulthood of avoiding doctors, I had visited more of them more often than I thought was possible.

I had pretty much given up my search for the problem when I turned my care over to a determined family friend and excellent young doctor. She understood where I was at and started looking for unicorns. All I had to do was take more blood tests. Compared to a colonoscopy, I wasn’t complaining about the blood tests. Her determination saved my life.

The results of the tests she ordered led to a referral to an immunologist, which led to a referral to an oncologist, which led to those immortal words: “You have an incurable cancer called multiple myeloma.”

This moment didn’t make me “evolved.” This moment made me scared! What followed is what continued my evolution.

I immediately (literally – within two hours) decided to sell our home and downsize our lives so that my wife would not have to support our large house payment herself. Of course, this was a panic reaction to the fear of leaving my family, but many calmer months later it is indeed what we decided to do.

My multiple myeloma diagnosis was actually just the beginning of the changes I attribute to my evolution. Once I made it through the initial diagnosis phase and came to grips with what having multiple myeloma actually meant to me, I really started to change.

Knowing and accepting that my disease is most likely going to cut my life short has given me a new perspective. Once we have this upcoming expiration date, it forces us to prioritize what is important. My new priorities are the following:

My number one priority is to live long enough for my boys to become old enough to better understand and accept my death. Of course we are all going to die, but it’s much easier to digest the death of your father when you are 20 than when you are 11.

This new priority means that I need to happily accept my doctors’ care and do all I can to help them help me. This is a major change for me. I now actually accept the endless doctors’ visits, blood tests, treatment discomfort, and even the dreaded bone marrow biopsies as a new part-time job. I don’t want to do it, but I have to.

Number two on my priority list is to enjoy what time I have left with my wife, my children, my family, and my friends. I want us all to make happy memories together, and I want to show them how much I love them. I especially want my kids to see that this is truly what is important. It’s not the size of our house or our level of financial security that matter most; it’s how much love we can give away.

To that end, we sold our big house and farm, I have cut back on my work hours, and we have already had many fun family trips (our thing is to travel) and experiences together. Less time at work has also allowed me to spend more time on my volunteer projects, to more frequently visit my parents on the mainland, and to be sick when I need to.

My third priority is to enjoy what makes me happy personally. I rarely feel guilty now when fishing, hunting, or golfing on a weekday. This is my thing. It’s okay for it to be a large part of my life. It makes me happy, keeps me active, and assures me of multiple challenges that I can never master.

This is who I am now. Call it evolution. Call it a man dealing with a terminal disease. All I can tell you for sure is that I am not the same guy I used to be. I just wish it hadn’t taken multiple myeloma to get me here.

Aloha and carpe diem!