On Gratitude - How it's been redefined for me

The Thanksgiving season is an interesting time to be diagnosed with Cancer - the two combine to create a season of reflection that up to this point in my life, I've never encountered before. I could chose to focus on the difficulty facing K and I as I begin Chemotherapy, but instead, deliberately or not, I can't help but think about all the things I have to be grateful for, and the list is long.

So... before things get really hard, I wanted to reflect a little on how gratitude has been redefined for me in recent days.

Putting my trust in my network - Vulnerability Rewarded

It's a hard thing, being vulnerable to people, especially intentionally. It's not something we're socialized to do (much to the detriment of society, but that's another blog... or book). I've believed for a long time that intentional vulnerability is a path to genuine connection, and recently, I've collected the evidence that I am absolutely correct in that belief.

That evidence lives in every click on this blog. Every comment on my facebook. Every email from my colleagues. It lives in the compassion shown to me by my management at work, the connections resurfacing after years of dormancy, in the people who want to "do" something, no matter what it might be.

The first people I told about my lymphoma diagnosis, outside of my immediate family, were my boss and our director. Both of them not only expressed support, they also started building plans with me right away, directing me to workplace resources, tapping on junior colleagues of mine to support business efforts I don't have bandwidth for, etc. I know these people pretty well at this point, and I shouldn't have been surprised, but it was lovely to feel the value they have for me in my professional capacity reflected in their response to my news.

The next people I told was my sales team. They're the ones I work the most closely with, and I have a wonderful connection with each of them. Some of them teared up, some of them made jokes, others just offered to help however they can. In each of them I saw a reflection of some facet of how I am feeling in all this. I could hug them all.

Then, as it became clear that, yes Chemo is coming, and yes, my hair will probably fall out, I decided it was time to clue in the rest of my coworkers. I was a little nervous about this honestly - no one comes to work to feel feels, you know? I didn't want to impose my struggle on anyone who didn't sign-up to be in my corner, it seems like a lot. I needn't have worried. I received an outpouring of support, validation of the value my coworkers have for me, direct messages of support, shares of their own experiences with cancer, and even a care package or two, from people who I never would have pointed to and said - that person will probably send me something.

I mentioned in my last post that the fertility thing was a really scary moment in all this for me and K (this feels like a tangent, stick with me, it is not). I have to go through banking, and if this chemo does indeed render me sterile, K will have to go through IVF. There's a million reasons those things scare me, and number one is "how the hell am I ever going to afford it." Fortunately, work recently purchased a benefit for family planning and fertility. I wasn't sure how it worked, and I was seeking reassurance, so I emailed my HR department asking for an explainer. Within minutes, I heard from one of the heads of the HR team in a direct message. We spoke on the phone, she told me she'd connect with our insurance to confirm, but that everything, banking, IVF, consultation, would be covered due to it being an oncology diagnosis. I could have wept. I did weep. I'm tearing up right now as I write this.

So, work is a pretty positive place. I'm lucky, and grateful. It isn't like that for everyone, and I believe that the reason I am so lucky to work with such a team is two-fold: first, my company does a good job building that culture, and second, I trusted them with my most vulnerable moment. I often joke around with K by shouting "TRUST FALL" and then careening over backwards into her wherever she's standing without warning, but this was a real trust fall. My team caught me, and they didn't even break a sweat.

Branching out - publishing my journey

Now that I had my work affairs in order, I started to dabble with the idea of publishing the blog post that probably first brought you to this page. I was torn on the idea - just how public did I want to be? Ultimately, I decided to go ahead and write, and publish, an account of my journey thus far, and if you're reading this, you probably read it.

I'm stunned by the response.

I've had over 400 unique visitors to that post, and still rising. I've heard from friends who I see almost daily, friends I haven't spoken to since high school, and everyone in between. I've had coworkers who missed my initial newsflash reach out directly. K has had people reach out to her (I am so, so grateful for this), we've been made aware of resources, networks, and people's desire to help. Over 100 people left comments on either this blog or the facebook post I published it on. I read every one. I am still re-reading every one. They're so meaningful.

People, I thought I knew what it meant to be grateful before. I didn't. I do now.

It would be so easy to sink under a tide of negative emotion right now. The fear is real. The anxiety is real. Hell I even feel guilt sometimes for "making a big deal" out of this, when others who struggle with Cancer have it so very much worse than I seem to. You haven't let that tide wash over me though. All of you, in your own way, have made yourselves known to K and I, and every time I feel that wave of negativity start to wash over me, your compassion and care is the island that floats above that wave and keeps me dry.

Thanksgiving means more this year

My sister is on her way to Boston to celebrate Thanksgiving with us. My mother and father are hard at work preparing a feast. My wife comes into my home office to check on me, to hold me close and comfort the both of us.

I don't start Chemo for a while, so I get to enjoy this feast with my family without the side effects of the drugs.

Hell even my dog seems to be more affectionate right now.

And all of it shines brighter for me than it ever has before. I am filled with love, because I needed to trust, and discovered that so many more people than I realized are sending me their love and care. My heart is filled with connection and warmth, when it could so easily be filled with fear and trepidation.

I love you all, I am grateful for you all, I wish you all the warmest, brightest holiday you can have, because thanks to all of you...

I'm gonna beat this thing.