At just thirty years old, Steve was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a rare and aggressive bone cancer. The journey has taken him through chemotherapy, multiple surgeries, and many different avenues of holistic health. An avid blogger, Steve shares his personal health regimens as well as love of music, movies and sports in his writing. Follow along his quest for wellness as he reacclimates into the world in spite of daunting statistics. You can connect with Steve on Instagram 

Steve Rubin

fighting cancer has helped me step up my coping game.

I’d settled into a decent groove during COVID, with health routines, reading, writing, meditating, guitar— all my solo activities keeping me busy. With Kori working remotely, I was no longer alone in the apartment all day.

But Kori’s wired differently. She needs people around and changes of scenery. Kori thrives off in-person conversation, not video chats. She really missed her parents and friends back in Northern California whom we hadn’t seen all year.

It forced up a scary dilemma. While a trip out west felt important for Kori’s holistic health (we were protecting ourselves physically, but her heart and soul missed her people), California was pretty much the last place you’d want to travel.

I thought about how the past few years of our relationship have centered around protecting me and nurturing my needs, and this time, recognized I had to put the anxieties aside and make sure my wife was cared for. It was a proud moment to push ahead on the decision with her— I knew she’d be worrying about me and that I had to reassure her it was 

 choice too, and I’m not sure I would’ve felt as comfortable risking it in years past. But here we were, rolling the dice.

After planning safely ahead: stocking up with masks, face guards and areas to quarantine, we booked our flights. I still worried about leaving my healing center behind to essentially travel straight into the covid storm, but just like Kori has sacrificed endlessly for me, I’d do anything for her.

Two weeks later, we’ve been having the best time. Whenever I see Kori light up, chatting away with the people she loves, it brings so much joy— just knowing that she’s finally getting what she needed. And I’ve been just as happy. Didn’t realize how much I needed the change myself.

Maybe the past few years have trained us well for navigating high-risk situations. They’ve certainly helped us build trust in one another. They’ve toughened us up and brought us closer. And with scans coming up next, I’m glad to know we’ve gotten in more moments and created new memories; that even after all we’ve endured, we’re still enjoying ourselves the best we can and still taking things one day at a time.

Articles

A survivor discusses the challenges of finding connections during COVID-19.

Risky Business: Navigating COVID Challenges To Still Find Connection 

One of my favorite songs has always been “Don’t Look Back in Anger” by Oasis. I remember first hearing it back in high school. The chord progression just seemed to reach out from the speakers, like 

whatever you’re doing, stop and pay attention! 

Then came the catchy anthemic chorus, just begging to be sung along with and finally, Noel Gallagher brought it all home with a sizzling electric guitar solo.

I love this track so much that I actually chose it as the last song at my wedding. By then, the title felt much more symbolic since Kori and my first wedding had been canceled after the year of treatment, after the surgeries and multiple recurrences. I mean I’d really been getting my ass kicked.

And while I had a fair case to make in feeling so, I rarely recall feeling 

There was this incredible shock. I grew scared, depressed, and after a while, outright exhausted. I’ve cried and screamed in frustration 

the circumstances, but it didn’t sit well with me, directing hatred at “cancer”, like it was another person who’d intentionally done me wrong. If anything, I view cancer as the 

 of some cause and effect that we don’t entirely understand yet. Maybe it's harmful chemicals added in products, or radiation, or the stress or in many cases—just bad luck.

The day I received that first call back post-MRI, the “don’t google osteosarcoma until you meet a specialist (but we’re almost positive that’s exactly what it is)” phone call— I broke down in tears afterward. My legs grew weak. It was an insane amount of pressure to suddenly take on.

Fortunately, after I regained composure, a wave of acceptance washed over me. My immediate next thoughts were:

This is what’s happening. There’s no going back. What’s the next move gonna be?

I was lucky for that. It kept me thinking and acting productively. Moving in the right direction.

Of course, repressing emotions isn’t healthy or productive either, so if you 

 furious at cancer for ruining your life or taking someone, you love— 

 cope however you need to cope. But hopefully, you can find outlets for that feeling because there’s also the idea that when you hold onto anger, you’re only poisoning yourself. And that’s the last thing any cancer fighter or caretaker needs.

Holding onto the anger that a cancer diagnosis provides can be a ruinous exercise, here's how one cancer fighter tries not to look back at his cancer with anger.

Don’t Look Back in Anger At Cancer

If you’re newly diagnosed and about to undergo treatment, there’s a process you’ll need to go through.

You’ll learn to manage physical discomfort, and, fortunately, there are drugs for that. You’ll also struggle to manage fear and uncertainty because your life has transformed into a nightmare with no clear answer in sight. Treatment is almost like an obstacle course full of one “I never thought I could handle that” moment after the next.

Then there’s another part: managing your ego.

Finding yourself suddenly bald, eyebrows and all, with a face puffed out and distorted from steroids is a traumatic sight. It can feel deeply unsettling and beyond humiliating…

There were mornings I’d stumble into the bathroom and recoil at what looked back at me in the mirror. Is that how the world sees me!? I’d forgotten that I looked like that. Not to mention, over the course of a year, my weight had skyrocketed as I shoveled in calories trying to keep up my strength. I looked like an entirely different person.

I also became completely reliant on others, routinely asking friends to take off work just to watch me around my apartment in case I caught a fever while neutropenic and needed to be rushed to the hospital. After my femur surgery, nurses had to support me onto a commode while I tried going to the bathroom and then I needed them to come back for cleanup. For like 2 weeks. I’ll spare you the details, mainly because I think I blocked them out of mind— but it wasn’t pretty.

One of the ways I kept my sanity was to generalize each experience. I started a blog and as I shared updates with friends and family, I remember feeling like an explorer reporting back about his latest voyages into a new world. 

Here’s what happens at this point… Around this time, you’ll start noticing….

 who should feel embarrassed, that was just the natural response for 

 put in the same type of situation. Reframing helped take away the sting. Especially because it’s not like anyone asks for cancer. We’re all just doing what we gotta do to survive.

Physical and mental changes from your cancer treatment will be a natural occurrence, so don't take it personally.

Don't Take The Changes After Treatment For Cancer Personally

”. The gist was to offer basic guidance for supporting others that are going through hard times.

As a cancer fighter, I considered myself as credible an authority as any… I knew pain, I knew suffering! And I knew what it felt like to be around both people who listened, providing a safe space for me to clear my head, as well as those quick to change the conversation or force their positive spins down my throat.

Recently, however, I was reminded that it's way easier to dish out advice than to actively practice what you preach.

Kori, my wife, was sharing her own difficulty in coping with “losing the past 4 years” of our lives.

It’s something she’s brought up a few times. And each time I heard this, I unintentionally shut her down. “Yeah but we’ve got to accept that loss and move forward. We can’t change the past,” was my usual reply.

Maybe that’s what I needed to tell myself as my own means of coping. When I heard “losing the past 4 years”, I pictured experiences that we lost like traveling, brunches with friends, nights out around the city and just assumed that’s what she was mourning too. Except that’s not at all what Kori meant.

She was tapping more into the cumulative effect of worrying and caring non-stop for her husband (up against one life or death situation after the next) while also maintaining a full-time career; what happens to one’s own identity when they’re in constant crisis mode, being pulled in all directions year after year; and why that’s not something one simply bounces back from overnight.

I never asked any follow up questions. And looking back, I realize I just couldn’t go there. It would have been too painful, too guilt-inducing to hear about her pain and suffering, which I reasoned was all attributed to my diagnosis. And every time I said “Well, tough babe, just accept that our path is different and move on already. You’ll feel better…” I was adding fuel to the fire, pushing her away and going against the same damn advice I had given to others.

Well, I realize what she was bringing up now, and the truth is, I still can’t entirely go there. But I can offer loving support and be more proactive checking in with her, the same way she does with me while we each try to figure out life with cancer.

I’ve also gained a new level of empathy for anyone I may have grown frustrated with for not handling my own vent sessions perfectly. Strong emotions have a way of blurring the lines, making everything that much harder, and I unfairly didn’t take that into consideration.

When we talk about cancer with our loved ones, we can forget the different experiences shared and leave our issues unresolved. But that doesn’t mean it’s time to stop communicating. 

Steve Rubin | Contributors

Risky Business: Navigating COVID Challenges To Still Find Connection

Don’t Look Back in Anger At Cancer

Don't Take The Changes After Treatment For Cancer Personally

What’s Lost in Translation When Talking About Cancer

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