As regular readers of this site know, Dan is my beloved high school boyfriend, with whom I’ve stayed very close over the years, and who was diagnosed with cancer (Hodgkin’s disease) a little bit after his 25th birthday. He turned 26 on Saturday, the 20th of September.
Dan’s had a tough year, to say the least. I’m having difficulty describing it - actually, I’m having difficulty writing about it at all. It’s better to let you read his own words on the subject. Aside from his brilliance, he is a prolific writer, sometimes clinical, sometimes profound, always clear and precise. Analyzing situations is his forte.
He’s always believed - and as such, others have come to believe - that his formidable intelligence rendered him invincible. This past year he’s been humbled by his body, and its steadfast refusal to stay healthy, in ways he has described to me in exquisite, excruciating detail. And yet, I still cannot begin to imagine the horrific experience.
Two weeks ago, he was admitted back into the hospital (just in time for his birthday) with severe radiation burns. I got a call at 6 am from him, lonely, alone, unable to read (the great love of his life) because his eyes cannot focus, unable to eat because his esophagus (where the evil tumor once lay) is so badly burned. He still managed to crack a few (dark) jokes. He’s always been sardonic, but I thought this would turn his naturally cynical nature into a ball of hatred. It hasn’t.
And yet, when he told me the pain from the recent radiation burn was almost unbearable, he sounded close to exhaustion and defeat. I have never felt so helpless in my life.
I thought and thought about how I could alleviate that pain, and I decided there were two things I could do:
1) physical. Specifically, I’m sending him a massage therapist. My mother - who is an angel - has spent the last decade plus volunteering at Hospice giving therapeutic massages to patients whose bodies have caused them nothing but suffering. She’s told me about their tears of joy when they finally derive some pleasure from these former instruments of torture. I want Dan to feel that way.
2) emotional. Namely, words of encouragement.
That’s where you come in.
I can only say - and have said - so much. When he was first diagnosed in December, I put his email address up, and many of you responded by sending him notes of warmth, love, and care. It meant the world to him. That was, of course, before he had embarked upon the Sisyphean chemo & radiation & endless hospital visits - not to mention, leaving Georgetown right in the middle of his masters in international relations, which he loved.
Yeah, it’s been a tough, tough year. So please … if you have a minute, or two, or five, would you send him an email wishing him a happy birthday, and a far better year than the last?
It would mean a lot to him. And to me.
HappyBirthdayDan@gmail.com
