Ron Cooper

Ron Cooper writes about the funny and serious sides of cancer. He is the author of “A Grateful Survivor” (Amazon) and blogs at RonCooperAuthor.com. Come along for the ride on his cancer journey!

This pandemic thing can throw a guy off his game and you can forget the really important things.

I was diagnosed with stage 3 prostate cancer in 2014 and suffered a recurrence the following year. Radiation and hormone therapy intervened and staved off my cancer, ushering in a very welcome remission.

I thought cancer would be the major challenge of my life, but little did I know that something called the novel coronavirus would change that forever. So, when I went into lockdown in March 2020, my whole life seemed to revolve around fending off the deadly virus.

Some of the COVID-19 questions that I have wrestled with are:

How can I manage to achieve a germ-free environment without wearing a hazmat suit?

Am I isolating enough or should I give a quick hug to my family members, come what may?

Should I put off in-person Thanksgiving plans and do a socially distant drive-by with loved ones instead?

Have I cleaned my curbside groceries enough, or should I give them a twice-over treatment?

Is it safe to go to the movies even if every row has plexiglass all the way to the ceiling?

With no easy answers, I nearly forgot that cancer cells are still rummaging around inside me. Almost forgot that stage 3 can morph into stage 4 in a heartbeat. Almost forgot that cancer kills more than 600,000 Americans just in the last year.

I practically forgot about cancer, even though I’m part of a support group at Gilda’s Club. Twice a month, we hold a Zoom session where we talk about how we are coping with the coronavirus. Cancer is a distant second in topics during our confabs. Did I mention that we’re all, thankfully, in remission?

I was nudged back to reality when I learned that countless cancer survivors are postponing their treatments due to the pandemic. That people who may need to have cancer screenings are putting them off. And that we all need to look out after one another— especially during a health crisis.

I became painfully aware that not everyone in the cancer community is in the remission bubble. That many of our brothers and sisters in active treatment are taking one worrisome step at a time. And that they’re consumed with appointments, tests and anxiety.

But now that I’m back down to earth about cancer, I want to make some solemn pledges:

To spread the word on the importance of cancer health screenings.

To hold the hand of my fellow survivor awaiting scan or blood tests results.

To reach out by phone and email to other survivors who remain shut-ins to reduce their chances of contracting COVID-19.

To give financial support to Gilda’s Club and the American Cancer Society to further their important work.

And I pledge never to forget that I’m part of a close community of survivors, comrades in arms in our fight against cancer and the coronavirus.

Articles

The novel coronavirus that led to the COVID-19 pandemic has been a constant fixture, not dissimilar to how cancer hangs over our lives as well. 

With The Novel Coronavirus, Cancer Sort Of Slipped My Mind

Once I called cancer “chocolate,” but it laughed in my face. Later, I got sweet revenge. Here’s my story:

I was diagnosed with stage 3 prostate cancer in December 2014. I didn’t feel much differently, and my health was consistently good. My PSA numbers were excellent. I felt a little cocky and double-dared cancer to come back.

In the summer of 2015, I suffered a recurrence and couldn’t bear to hear, or utter, the word “cancer.” Even seeing it printed on the page made me feel nauseous.

I decided to counter-attack, belittling cancer and calling it “chocolate.” I even instructed my family to follow suit. Surely, they must have thought I was a little nuts, but God love ‘em, they did grant my crazy request.

“How’s your, uh, ‘chocolate’ treatment going?” they would ask.

Aww, denial! I’m not the only cancer survivor who has used it as a crutch against the sobering reality of our disease. In a 2019 interview with CBS This Morning’s Gayle King, the superstar Olivia Newton-John was asked how she was coping with her breast cancer diagnosis. “Denial really helps,” she said congenially.

Denial brings a breathing spell, as we survivors try to get our hands around the gloom-and-doom of a cancer diagnosis. Denial places us into a welcome holding pattern. Denial, like chocolate, is, well, delicious.

My flirtation with the word chocolate went on for well over a year until a therapist at my Gilda’s Club support group called me on the carpet. Cancer, she argued, was an indisputable fact and no amount of denying would make it go away. “Face it,” she said. “You’re living in a fantasy world.”

I was stung by her bluntness. She had burst my bubble and there was no turning back. I was caught in cancer’s crosshairs and could no longer deny it as my constant companion. Perhaps I could reach out directly to cancer and establish a peaceful co-existence.

But first, I needed to get a load off my mind.

 “Cancer, let’s have a little chat.”

 “OK, Cancer Boy, what’s on your small mind?”

 “Hmm. You jumped when you first heard my name.”

 “I’ll begrudge you that. Most times, I block you out.”

 “I keep popping back up. Never let you rest.”

 “Liar. I’m the king of your nightmares!”

 “Then why did you deny me and call me ‘chocolate’?”

 “To buy me some time. Temporarily. Some peace and quiet. But you love to create chaos.”

 “Cancer Boy, you’re whistling past the graveyard, so to speak (snickers).”

 “Maybe not now. Wait ‘til I start spreading.”

 “My treatments stopped you dead in your tracks.”

 “OK, ‘temporarily—,’ your word. Go stage 4! Go stage 4!

 “Pipe down! OK, blood tests and scans do get me sweating.”

 “Finally, you admit that your ‘scanxiety’ kicks in. What a great word. I thrive on it.”

 “You’re a bully and you don’t define me. So, how about a truce?”

 “Hell, no, I’ll never let my guard down. I shall not be denied, you fool.”

 “No, no, don’t say that. It cuts me to the core. Stop it!”

For once, I had cancer on the ropes and reveled in it.

My biggest takeaway? Cancer can never be “delicious,” but remission is. I’ll be celebrating my perfect-score 0.00 PSA with — what else — a chocolate sundae!

Ron Cooper writes about cancer, caregiving, the novel coronavirus and aging at RonCooperAuthor.com. Cooper recently unfriended cancer on Facebook.

I suffered a recurrence a few years ago and couldn’t bear to hear, or utter, the word “cancer.” So, I decided to counter-attack by belittling the disease and calling it “chocolate.” Then, I got my sweet revenge.

Chatting with Cancer and Getting ‘Sweet’ Revenge

I have stage 3 prostate cancer and I own it, so there. Now, bug off! See what just happened? For cancer survivors, like me, "cranky" might be a gross understatement. You, as a caregiver, may want to be part of my cancer journey, but don't want to step on any landmines along the way. Who can blame you?

But let's suppose you're itching to tell me about natural treatments. Nope, don't go there. I'm just getting used to my cancer specialists. Or, you may want to recount the story of your uncle who died a terrible death in the throes of cancer, but you're sure I won't end up like that. Nope, nope, and nope! Never compare someone else's cancer to mine. The shoe never fits.

As a sensitive caregiver, you want to empathize with the patient. Check. You want to soothe. Check. So, let's get started on this etiquette thing.

. Cancer does not define us survivors. Yes, sometimes it leaves us exhausted and frustrated. Sometimes we can't even enjoy a silly sitcom. (Sorry, "Seinfeld.") We're as well-rounded as the next person. Cancer talk 24/7? Heck, no! Talk weather, sports, news, or anything else but cancer. You get the picture.

. Wait, you’re probably thinking that I just said talk about anything but cancer. Here's the thing: Survivors do want to talk about the "Big C," but on our own terms and at our own pace. Be there to empathize and soothe.

. A hug is deeply felt during the cancer journey. I would give a million bucks for a hug, but not a dime for your Googled research. A warm smile is remarkable, spectacular, and memorable. These are precious gifts for the person living with cancer. By the way, what I said about hugs back there. Make them virtual until this crazy pandemic dies off.

. Well, most of the time. Soup is always good. It warms the body and the beleaguered soul. Pastry? Check. Artisan bread? Check. But I know what you're thinking: “Should I bring a ‘F**K Cancer’ T-shirt or coffee mug?” You know your loved one best. The diagnosis may be so fresh and painful that cancer swag would be a little premature. Timing is everything. Please leave your deliveries at the doorstep. You'll get a nice thank you card.

. Some people might say, “Journaling might help you.” Early on, I'd be thinking, “Why in the frickin world do I want to pour out my heart and soul on paper when the words ‘I am going to die!’ roll around in my head all damn day? I'm trying with all my might to un-think this crazy disease only to find it around every bend in the road.”

. You might say, “Journaling might help you.” Yes, I know, I'm contradicting myself again. Well, here's the skinny: Journaling could be the very best outlet when I'm ready to write. Thankfully, I've been in remission for four years. To give back to those helping me along my journey, I wrote a book to lift survivors and caregivers, and blog about it on my author website. So, yes, "journaling" is part of my world. But, please don't thrust a journal into the survivor's hands until they're ready to write.

. You've been Googling, haven't you? I can see that print-out in your top pocket. Please, for God's sake, stay away from reciting numbers on the prognosis for anyone's cancer. You know, 20% chance of survival for the first five years. Fifty percent for the next five. I may be still processing everything, factoring in how treatment will improve my quality of life. Now, you come along with a bagful of stats. Shoo! Ever the eternal optimist, you may want to say, “Well, there's always experimental treatments. I read a report from MD Anderson, blah, blah, blah …." Sorry, I had to cut you off there. I know you want to help, but please hold onto your print-out.

There you have it. Etiquette that you can ignore at your own risk or embrace it. Now, get out there and travel the cancer journey with your survivor. Just zip that lip and don't go overboard, and virtual-hug your way into the history books. Good luck to us. We’re going to need it!

Author | Ron Cooper

With The Novel Coronavirus, Cancer Sort Of Slipped My Mind

Chatting with Cancer and Getting ‘Sweet’ Revenge

7 Tips on Cancer Etiquette for the Sensitive Caregiver