Khevin Barnes is a Male Breast Cancer survivor, magician and speaker. He is currently writing, composing and producing a comedy stage musical about Male Breast Cancer Awareness. He travels wherever he is invited to speak to (and do a little magic for) men and women about breast cancer. www.BreastCancerSpeaker.com www.MaleBreastCancerSurvivor.com

Khevin Barnes

How we see ourselves in our cancer experience can offer a glimpse into what the future may have in store for us. If you’re like me, the view that we have of ourselves and our disease changes; sometimes minute to minute. Having cancer can become an all-consuming distraction to what we may consider to be a normal life. Certainly in the weeks that follow our diagnosis we can feel like we’re drowning as we attempt to rise above the fear or disappointment or confusion of having our world suddenly turned inside-out, while we attempt to regain a sense of balance.

In my case, once I was told I had breast cancer, I just wanted to return to those day-to-day experiences that defined who I was and how I felt before breast cancer interrupted the simple joy of waking up each morning with some sort of promise of a pain-free day ahead.

Do we see ourselves as victims or warriors; emboldened or discouraged? Are we aggressive in our battle or resolute in our willingness to accept things as they are? Do we fight or take flight? Do we curse the beast out loud for stealing our health and happiness, or reflect in silent, mindful meditation, knowing that all is well in the cosmos just as it is? We can be all these things. And we can often choose which part we want to “play” in our own show, on any given day.

With 20 years of laughter yoga, mindfulness and Zen meditation as part of my studies, I’m still astonished by the capacity my brain has to jump in and out of peace and tension, confidence and concern, fear of recurrence or the trust that my cancer is gone forever; and all of the highs and lows that we as survivors have learned to accept in our lives.

By addressing my “cancer characters” and recognizing that each of them has a different dialogue, I can remind myself that I am still the “director of my own show.”

A few weeks ago, I had a battery of tests to find out what was causing pain in my ribs, just below my mastectomy scar. I had bloodwork drawn; an ultrasound; visits with gastroenterologists; and a diet change. I was pleased when my condition improved and the tests found nothing, but you can be sure that every character in my cast showed up to give me their imaginary advice! One interesting finding was when the X-ray technician revealed that I had evidence of four healed broken ribs. I don’t recall any time in my life as an adult or child when my ribs were injured. I fell off my skateboard dozens of times, and I currently play racquetball ceaselessly. I even used to jump off walls and swung on ropes — but broken ribs?

There is some benefit to these “voices” that speak to us. In my case, while writing my stage musical about male breast cancer, I like to “hear” the characters interact in my head, almost as though I’m eavesdropping on a conversation as I write down their words. It’s often surprising what comes out in the way of fear, anger and denial, as well as the hope, humor and positivity in their words.It certainly makes writing authentic dialogue a lot easier.

The show by the way is called “The Surgeons of Solitude,” a cutting-edge musical comedy about male breast cancer. While written and scored over the last five years, it takes many years sometimes to get a show produced; so, don’t expect to see it any time soon. But one of those characters I keep hearing in my head keeps reminding me to never give up. And that’s the voice I’m listening to today.

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A playwright with male breast cancer examines some beliefs that may influence our survival.

Playing the ‘Role’ of a Cancer Survivor

Valentine’s Day is ranked No. 8 on the list of most popular holidays in the United States. While it’s not a national holiday, it is a day of celebration when loved ones are remembered, celebrated and acknowledged. But for those of us who have lost someone special to cancer, festivities of this sort can give rise to a flood of memories, and not all those memories are positive.

So, on this Valentine’s Day when people show their affection for another person by sending cards, flowers or chocolates with messages of love, we may receive not only chocolate hearts but broken hearts as well.

My wife died of complications from ovarian cancer on Valentine’s Day in 1997. And while that was many years ago, I can still remember driving back to my then empty home as the sun was coming up, and suddenly noticing how many things in the house were related to her. Everywhere I saw reminders that she had once lived there. There was art she had purchased or created. There was that funky paint job she had done to cover up a plumbing fix I had attempted under the kitchen sink. And of course, there were photographs of the two of us staring at me in every room I wandered through.

I finally fell asleep on top of the bed that I was afraid to open and disturb. And when I woke up the next morning, I recall struggling to make sense of those murky and numbing events of the previous days and months, hoping that all of it was just a bad dream. I wanted to believe that the two of us would soon be sitting at our small breakfast table with the view of our crystal blue lake just a few footsteps away from our cabin home, there in the Oregon wilderness.

Holidays can certainly be difficult for many of us in the early days after losing someone to cancer. I once asked a friend for some advice on how to manage the pain and loneliness I was feeling. Their advice was, “Immerse yourself in it.”

Over time, my struggle to move on with my solo life began to ease up and Valentine’s Day became a joyful remembrance of the good years in that relationship. The final days of her chemotherapy and clinical trials began to soften and fade.

What I learned from this experience was that holidays gradually become positive reflections of all that was good before cancer took it away. And allowing those recollections to come and go in their own time made all the difference. I simply couldn’t make healing move any faster.

And that is exactly the suggestion I now offer to others. We cannot push away pain by not thinking of it. Only in immersing ourselves in that pain of a broken heart can we find the means to mend it.

And the timeline is different for all of us. I’ve found that it does little good to tell my friends who have lost someone to cancer that it took a full two years before I had a single day without being reminded of my wife. Even now, so many years later, there are still images and recollections that pop up, especially on holidays. But today, with a happy heart, I look forward to Valentine’s Day each year, along with all the sweet memories that have survived the test of time.

A cancer survivor remembers his wife who died of complications from ovarian cancer on Valentine’s Day several years ago. His advice to everyone: Holidays gradually become positive reflections of all that was good before cancer took it away.

Remembering Loved Ones Lost to Cancer on Valentine’s Day

My dad died in 1989, he was seventy. He had a few medical challenges at the time, including prostate cancer. I was just thirty-nine years old then and in the best physical shape of my life; a competitive runner with more than a dozen marathons and scores of 10 K races completed, working full time in my dream job as a stage magician; married, healthy and happy. Little did I know that cancer was circling like a black cat in my own future and the future of my wife as well. Stage 4 ovarian cancer took her life twenty five years ago.

My father’s death injected a stark reality into my seemingly stable world. It opened my eyes to the inevitability that I too would die one day, just as he did. I recall hoping that I could live to be seventy years old like him and suddenly, here I am, a man with seven decades of life behind me. How quickly these thirty-one extra years have passed by! 

Not too long after he died, I had a curious thought. Death certificates show the date and time of our passing, but the years are depicted in round numbers. He was seventy years old, but I realized that this figure was wholly inaccurate. His birthday was on April 18, 1917 and his death on October 28, 1987. He actually lived seventy years and 193 days. As a cancer survivor who has way too many friends and family members who have succumbed to this disease, I am acutely aware of how precious an extra 193 days can be.

On this day in January 2021, as I write this at 4:30 in the afternoon, I have lived exactly one day longer than my father. 70 years plus 193 days to be exact.

I’m happy about that in an odd sort of way. The memories of my Dad have been replenished by acknowledging this occasion, and the realization that I have lived six productive and fulfilling years since my male breast cancer diagnosis is good news indeed. I’m encouraged by that accomplishment.

But more than that, and more than ever, I am grateful for every day of my future, however long, or short that may be. The lesson I’ve learned: Every day really does count.

By the way, my dad died on the golf course. Hole number 16. It was thought to be a heart attack aggravated by a recent surgery he had. His friends, who were playing alongside of him, said it was quick, silent and remarkable. He simply dropped his golf club, slipped to the green and was gone. According to his scorecard, which I keep in a special box in my office, he was having a pretty good game at the time. If only I could be so lucky.

As a cancer survivor, I’ve found many reasons to celebrate. Here’s one more. 

Living One Day Longer Than My Father

“Now is the winter of our discontent” is the first line of William Shakespeare’s play Richard III. In the play Shakespeare was using the weather as a metaphor to convey the temporary nature of bad times, and that they would soon be over. That’s not a bad thought for us cancer survivors, especially during the holiday season.

Christmas and Hanukkah and other celebrations will be decidedly different this year with the uptick of COVID-19 cases and the resulting social and physical distancing. Shopping for Christmas gifts, which was once an enjoyable experience for many of us, is now a quick dash in and out with a mask snapped across our faces and a bottle of sanitizer in our pockets.

Sitting in Santa’s lap has been deemed risky and even the joyful singing carolers spreading good cheer and holiday music are struggling to find harmony while standing six feet apart. On top of all that, many of us are actively engaged in surviving cancer or being a caregiver for someone who has it in one of its myriad forms.

Perhaps there has never been a time in our lives when being together with loved ones or sharing a cup of eggnog with neighbors was more important—or more challenging. But with a little creativity and imagination, I believe we can stomp out the holiday blues and find the joy of the season once again.

As I write these words I have Alexa playing every Bing Crosby holiday tune ever written in the background. On my desk is a small plate of cookies shaped like stars and trees and candy canes, all with pinkish frosting and dotted with red and green sprinkles. Here in the house we have no fireplace but the Christmas stockings are hung on my office wall; four of them embroidered with the names of me, my wife and our two cats.I’m trying hard to encourage the spirit of Christmas to find its way into my heart.

Yet at the same time, I’m faintly aware of the slight discomfort in the mastectomy scar zipped across my chest where my left breast once resided. I’m still a guy with breast cancer after all, but this year I’ve decided to put my disease at the bottom of my Christmas wish list.

I want to be more like Richard III in the Shakespeare play who believed in the better days ahead. “Now

 is the first line in the play but it needs to be read together with the second line, “

made glorious summer by this sun of York”.

 The “sun of York” wasn't a comment on Yorkshire weather but a clever referral of the “son of York”, Edward IV. He was destined to become King and change a dreary winter into something hopeful.

With that story in mind, I’ve put together a short list of eight positive suggestions that may help cancer survivors to warm our winter and alleviate some of the chill from this pandemic that has gripped the world.

Lots of music. It doesn’t have to be holiday tunes, but another blast of Burl Ives singing “Holly Jolly Christmas” is bound to lift your spirits and subdue any Grinch who might try to darken your day.

It’s not so much the eating but the making and baking that brings out the best of the holidays. There’s nothing like the smell of snickerdoodles toasting in the oven. If sugar is off your diet, make a batch for a neighbor.

It’s a great time to have one of the charitable organizations pick up that winter coat you never wear or the household items that clutter your counters. Many of them will even pick it up for you at the curb.

If you set up your computer or cell phone with the Zoom app you can talk and see your loved ones or old friends by way of the Internet. No mask required.

Write a few. It can be a bit of a chore if we try to send a card to every human being in our address books, but penning positive thoughts and good wishes to a few special folks can’t help but remind us to be grateful for our many blessings.

If you’ve ever considered getting a puppy or kitten or even a goldfish to add some sparkle to your day, now’s a great time. Personally I can tell you that my life is much richer with two cats in the house. And now I have someone to hang out holiday stockings for.

There are a number of organizations who offer letters from Santa to kids around the world. But Mr. Clause is pretty busy these days so you too can be an author for the masses. 

One joyful thought or action is the perfect gift to give ourselves and others for the holidays.And we can’t contain positivity.Once it’s unleashed, no matter how modest it may appear, it expands and embraces anyone who stands in its path; or as Mr. Shakespeare once said:“How far that little candle throws his beams!”

A breast cancer survivor suggests some ways to warm your winter and survive the holidays in 2020.

Khevin Barnes

Playing the ‘Role’ of a Cancer Survivor

Remembering Loved Ones Lost to Cancer on Valentine’s Day

Living One Day Longer Than My Father

Survival Strategies For Cancer Survivors Over The Holidays

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