Why Cancer Survivors Make Great Employees

In our overly negative society, people most often view cancer fighters, and survivors, with a suspicious bent at work. They question the future--will that person be out a lot, will they get sick during a big project, will they miss a lot of work for treatments, can I depend on them? On and on. Flat out, there's a standing prejudice in the workplace against cancer victims.

But if folks would actually stop and look at the issue, and the person's situation, they'd see that fighters are a superb candidate for overachieving. Face it, anyone who can continue working when faced with mortality and the ongoing difficulties of treatment is one tough individual, and most often tougher than their peers. And highly motivated.

Cancer fighters want to live as 'normally' as before diagnosis and remain valuable, needed, wanted, and successful. The illness is a distraction but does not define the person--or shouldn't. That means they remain committed, even more so, to moving on and living fully. Sure, their perspective is changed and life balance is important, but the fighter is just that--a fighter. And all companies would benefit from embracing that truth and promoting the battle tested individual to lead in other assaults.

Posted via email from Stephen Speaks's posterous

Knocked down but standing.

The ICU doctors asked me and Karen if we had a recessitation order. How many times should they try?

Tears came to my eyes and Karen and I just looked to each other, stunned. It was immediately sobering realizing the severity of my condition.

Backing up just a bit, I was in the hospital after suffering from what had started as fevers and chills and had escalated to a critical blood infection with abscesses in my liver. I was in sepsis. That’s when bacteria invades the blood and basically tells the body to start shutting down. My heart was fluttering, my blood pressure was below 70, I was throwing up, my fever was high and I was shaking uncontrollably.

The ICU doctor thought I was dying. It never occurred to me—I just knew I felt horrible. A few days later, my oncologist told Karen that she’d saved my life—literally—by getting me to the Emergency Room just as my body began failing. I had almost died.

So began a long bad journey from near-death to a removal of 2/3’rds of my liver and 12 weeks of a strenuous recovery. It was horrible from start to finish.

I spent several weeks in the hospital very ill before all of the doctors agreed that the only way to heal the abscesses and blood infection was to remove the sources of the infection. The surgery would be radical—4-6 hours to shave off most of my liver and get rid of all the mess. The remaining liver was healthy and the liver regrows. It was a chance to start over, relatively speaking.

I awoke from the surgery in pain, confused and afraid. My family informed me that the surgery was a success and that while they had my liver exposed they did an ultrasound and found no tumors in the good part of the remaining liver. So it was a great relief. In days I was feeling great—the infection was gone. I was released within a week. Sent home to spend 12 weeks healing from a severe incision that was leaking profusely, returning to eating after having lost 30 pounds, and learning to sleep and walk again. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Looking back, now, I realize that the hardest part was mental. Sure, the healing was tough. I was completely without energy and could barely make it through a day upright. My wound was open and healing slower than normal. My body was swollen from water retention. I couldn’t sleep. Every day was a battle. But again, the worst part was mental as I had way too much time to wonder if I’d ever be healthy again and resume a life worth living.

Karen drove me hard—she took me on errands and got me to walk. Every trip ended up with me back in the car—I couldn’t last more than 15 minutes. She got me to hold Jonah and out for short walks in his stroller. She fixed up the hammock in the back for me and I laid there for hours soaking up the healing sun. She helped me eat again. She wouldn’t let me lay on the couch all day even though my body longed to. She took me to New Orleans for my brother in law’s triathlon and ‘made’ me enjoy the scenery, odd collection of people, and amazing food. Her efforts paid off—I started gaining stamina, was laughing more, and began to believe there was life yet to live.

Fast forward and here I am working again, riding my Harley, spending time with family, loving Jonah, eating well, painting some, and feeling great—physically and mentally. Life has returned. It was almost as if, at the 12 week mark, I woke up feeling as if I was back to normal. My liver regrew to 95% its original size and my weight was back up to a healthy range. I am sleeping normally. It’s a great life, again.

So, behind me is the pain, the nasty weeping 6 inch incision, the high fevers and excessive vomiting, the lack of energy to stand, the constant digestive issues, the sore joints, and most of the worry. Ahead is life with my loving and supporting family and friends and lots of miles on the bike. With a few good paintings in there too.

Karen saved my life and I am so thankful, even though now she expects me to do chores, lift things, and get up and on with ‘it’. I am blessed.

Posted via email from Stephen Speaks's posterous

The Truth

As many of you know, I have been battling pancreatic cancer for a little over 3 years. I've undergone the Whipple--a 'bitch' of a surgery. A radio-frequency ablation--fairly routine. And a chemo-embolization--like anything with the word chemo associated, not fun. IN between I've spent many weeks in the hospital for side effects, tubes placed, blood diseases, complications, etc. 

Finally, the specialists all agree it's time to remove 2/3 of my liver.

That's the VERY SHORT history. Think TV show "HOUSE" for how it's really been. : )

With that context: Several people along the way have complimented me for being a fighter, brave, a survivor, gracious in my disease, positive in spite of it all, on and on. I appreciate those comments. I'd rather be known for that than being bitter, a defeatest, angry, etc. At the same time those comments have made me think--am I being real? Do people perceive that only because I post when I'm well vs. ill? That I only share the good stuff--since I know most don't want to confront the bad? Am I being honest?

All good questions.

So I thought I'd take a few minutes and tell you some things that perhaps I haven't expressed before. Some that might share more on how I really feel.

Here goes.

Cancer sucks. Having it sucks worse!

I am really mad at cancer right now. I have always been mad that I have it. But in the past few weeks I've seen too many I know newly diagnosed--all people like me. People you'd never expect. Nice people. People who don't deserve the plight, not that anyone does. It's been hit home from another side. I used to 'know of' people with cancer. Now I know too many acquaintances suffering from cancer. It's really pissing me off.

Why does this disease need to be so insidious, so unfair, so belligerent? Why does it affect so many families? Why isn't it being cured? Yeah, I woke up this morning really mad, at cancer. I hate you cancer. I hate you.

I'm not a noble fighter.

So many like to romanticize the idea of a person battling all odds and fighting off death. I don't believe that's 100% accurate. I've found you have little control. Yes, one can think positive, set goals, aspire (to stay motivated), but it's mostly taking a day at a time and hoping the body cooperates. So I don't think of myself as a victorious soldier as much as a stubborn scrapper who does his best to get out of bed every day, that's all. One step, one day at a time. That's all the fighting I can do. I'm not noble.

I'm certainly not positive all the time.

Ask my wife, Karen. She'll tell you how many days she's held me while I bawled like a baby--from fear my grandson would never be able to remember me, or that I'd never be able to enjoy all that I've worked so hard for, or...    Believe me...having this cancer scares me! Especially when the docs keep referring to 'buying time' vs.talking cure. So there are plenty of hours where I lose it and imagine the worst. My days are emotionally draining--hours of tests, consults, specialist after specialist. It wears me down. I have my moments.

I cannot survive on my own.

Wow, first lesson learned: if you're gonna have cancer you need family and friends. A STRONG support network. From a great sis-in-law who sits with me at 5 a.m. just to make sure I get my pain meds. To a daughter who send me pics of my grandson daily to cheer me up. To a son who buys me magazines for the down time. To a wife who bathes me and dresses me so I keep some pride. To a mother who, in spite of her own issues, wants to be with me to make sure I eat and walk. To a niece who babysits the bulldogs so Karen can be with me. To a b-in-law who grills me fresh fish when I am home. I could go on and on.

And having a primary caregiver (what a burden she carries) as my advocate. The docs know to call her. : )  Karen tracks all of my care and keeps the dots connected for me. I couldn't make it without her!

So whenever you imagine I am fighting, consider I have a dynamo behind me, pushing me, encouraging me, holding me. I have family who is here for me. I am not fighting alone. When I'm down they carry me.

I want to live for different reasons now.

I have been talking to friends a lot about, "Making memories instead of accomplishments". It's my new mantra. I no longer live to work. I work to live. (Cliche but true). I work to play. I live more of my family. I spend way more time with them. I appreciate everything. I talk to strangers. I hug people. I cherish small things. My life is way simpler. I live for the memories, not the accomplishments.

These are some of the truths.

Posted via email from Stephen Speaks's posterous