Walking With a Lymph

Since being diagnosed with Lymphoma, there have been two moments of attitudinal shift that I continue to refer back to. They were moments of a switch being flipped - devoid of rumination, processing, mulling or contemplation. Adjustment, quick and clean; no transition necessary. The first came when I was talking to my friend Chris. In my 53 years on earth Chris is the most positive person I have ever encountered, literally. (And I mean “literally” in the literal sense.) He exudes it, and it is sincere. He laughs at my snark without judgement, responds with love, and I love him for that. I was telling Chris the tale of how a mysterious kidney stone led to the discovery of my Cancer, and his immediate response was, “Thank G-d for that kidney stone!” Consider the notion of thanking the almighty, whatever version thereof you do or do not embrace, for the affliction of a kidney stone. My natural reaction was, “Oh my G-d, I’ve got a fucking kidney stone,” but Chris was right. I owe that kidn

“I love you, but you’re going to have to shave that beard.”  I was lying in bed when these words were spoken to me. Though it was not my own bed, I was naked from the waist down save for two pairs of socks, and had only met the man speaking to me the day prior. My wife was there, too, but she was just watching. The sudden announcement was surprising because I was already prepped, and the CNA was ready to administer the sleepy-go-bye-bye meds. Truth be told, I was in surgery about two weeks earlier than anticipated because my surgeon, the man I had met one day earlier, had a cancellation. So, even though my beard was hard to miss, it had escaped any sort of pre-op conversations that would have otherwise been routine. They brought me hospital clippers, and I raced from the pre-op room to the bathroom with my wife valiantly trying to hold my hospital gown closed from behind, ass cheeks flapping in the breeze nonetheless. A nurse lined the sink with a towel, and I proceeded to shave my bea