I cannot help but at least con­sider the idea that some part of my having can­cer was my fault. No, I am not beating myself up. To do so would be terribly cruel and unfair. Life provides us with that in ad­e­quate doses as is. I cer­tainly do not need to add on to that. However, in spite of all evi­dence to the contrary, it has been con­sidered at times in the dark recesses of my small mind.

Before being diag­nosed, I did not smoke. I was a mod­er­ate drinker, ex­er­cised reg­u­larly, and lim­ited my intake of sugars and high cho­les­ter­ol foods. In general, I tried to take the steps I had heard about, read about, and be­lieved in that could help in main­taining or ex­tend­ing life as I knew and desired.

And then, boom, I was diag­nosed with mul­ti­ple myeloma. Cancer! How could that be? I mean, what the heck?

The fact that I had mul­ti­ple myeloma was not nec­es­sar­i­ly known to be linked to my lifestyle or work­style. Multiple myeloma knocked on my door, welcomed itself into my life, and then decided to stay, uninvited.

Hearing I had can­cer was a huge punch to the gut. The ensuing radi­a­tion and treat­ment acted as shots to my glass jaw and really woke me up to the fact that I had to in some respect “put up my dukes” and in some manner or fashion and fight back. I had to confront the possibility that I was a punch away from it being “lights out.”

In eval­u­ating the situation, I had to admit to myself that I was not as strong, not as wise, nor as in charge as I once con­sidered myself to be. And the sooner I ac­cepted that reality, the better.

For the first time in a long time in my life, I had to face the reality of know­ing without a shadow of a doubt that I needed help, luck, and good fortune. And in recognizing these needs, I also had to come to some under­stand­ing as to what I was ca­pa­ble of in terms of satisfying those needs.

In trying to define my capabilities, both mentally and physically, I had to first let go of my ego and its pre-myeloma ideas as to what my life needed to look like. I had to reestablish my capabilities for sur­vival. I needed to change my per­spec­tives on many “things,” such as redefining what “being tough” meant. I had to adopt new parameters for ac­cepting help.

As an example, prior to my myeloma diag­nosis, the idea of freely talking about toileting, gastro­in­tes­ti­nal functions, bathing, and hair loss to family members and strangers was not pos­si­ble. After my trans­plant, it was a whole new ballgame. I freely gave in­for­ma­tion and was comfortable in discussing such mat­ters of personal hygiene.

I also became more open to sharing thoughts and ideas about how I wanted to manifest kindness and compassion in my life moving for­ward. I was changing because ... well, I am not sure why, but I knew it was nec­es­sary.

As much as I saw changes in my mental and emotional being, I also ex­peri­enced physical “newness.” What I am ca­pa­ble of after my trans­plant and now five and a half years later does not look like what I was ca­pa­ble of prior to my diag­nosis. However, I am by no means com­plain­ing or disappointed. It is what it is.

While my desires are still somewhat defined by my pre-myeloma ego, each day for­ward carries me fur­ther away from that state of mind. Accepting my new reality and trying to find out what I am actually ca­pa­ble of, or not ca­pa­ble of, doing brings new adventures. Oftentimes it’s a relief to find out that some­thing just “ain’t going to hap­pen.” Often, it is accompanied by laughter and a realization that “My, how times have changed.”

Testing my capabilities, or actually my new capabilities, with regards to emotions, ac­­tiv­i­ties, thoughts, and con­cerns is on­go­ing. It is a moving target.

When I was first diag­nosed, I could not walk down the hallway in our house without experiencing tre­men­dous pain. After about a month of treat­ment, I was ca­pa­ble of walking to the end of the block on our street. The first time I picked up a golf club after my trans­plant, I was able to go to the putting green and “practice” my putting for about ten min­utes be­fore being totally ex­hausted. Eventually, I got to where I was ca­pa­ble of walking nine holes, and then eighteen holes, of golf. These were huge events. Events that re-defined my capabilities.

And the beat goes on (thank you, Sonny and Cher). About two weeks ago, sev­er­al friends, my wife, and I walked to the top of Medicine Bow Peak, which is just west of Laramie. It’s about a 3,000-foot hike up to 12,000 feet (3,660 meters). I was the slow­poke keeping up the rear guard. And for the majority of the hike, I was asking myself “Why in heaven’s name am I doing this?”

Well, being able to try, and learning more about my new capabilities, was well worth the effort. Having a new “living with can­cer ego,” now that’s the ticket.