Cancer on Five Dollars a Day* *(chemo not included): How Humor Got Me through the Toughest Journey of My Life by Robert Schimmel Read Free Book Online Page A

that. At heart, I’m actually a goofy romantic. I cry at Cialis commercials. Especially when the guy thinks he’s about to get laid and his grandkids show up. What a bummer. But thank God he’s using the dick picker upper that lasts for thirty-six hours. Because if he’s using the four-hour one, it’s a whole other story. He’s got to get those kids out right away or explain why Grandpa’s got a baseball bat in his pants.
    Thinking about my life now, it boils down to this:
    I have to make a comeback. A comeback from cancer.
    So where do I start?
    Might as well start tonight at the chemotherapy support group.
    I don’t know what to expect. Don’t really expect anything. I just know that the people there are my kind of people—cancer patients—and in my newfound determination to learn everything and anything I can about my disease, I want to go in open-minded.
    I am going to face my cancer head-on.

    A nondescript room in the back corner of Mayo. People straggle in slowly, heavily, find spots on folding chairs. Nobody bounds in like they’ve come to hear exercise tips or investment advice. It’s a different kind of vibe, an odd combo of hope and despair. A lot of nervous coughing and laughing. I scan the room, trying to get my bearings. I do a head count, which isn’t easy because almost everyone is bald. I keep counting the same heads over again. I finally come up with eight, including me. I expect a group leader, but there isn’t one. We introduce ourselves and call out our respective cancers. One guy, testicular, tells us that he was diagnosed five years ago and now he’s skiing and snow-boarding and skydiving. I choke up when he speaks. I vow that that’s going to be me. Minus the skiing and snow-boarding and skydiving.
    Then another guy says in a flat dead voice that he too has non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was out three years, everything was cool, and then—
    He turns his head and shows us a massive jagged scar, right out of Planet of the Apes.
    “Yeah,” he says. “It came back.”
    Oh, God, I think. That’s gonna be me .
    I want to get out of here. This was a bad idea. What was I thinking? The panic is starting to stir in my gut—
    Somehow I fight it. I beat it down. I can’t go there. I can’t do the what ifs and the I’m not gonna make its. I can’t.
    The woman next to me whimpers and starts to cry. The Planet of the Apes guy has sucked the life out of the room. He’s like a Hoover. I have to change the energy in here. I have to turn it around. I have to do the only thing I know how to do.
    Make them laugh. Even once.
    “I have non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, too,” I say tentatively.
    “But that’s a walk in the park compared to going through a divorce. I can beat cancer.” A group giggle. “Cancer goes into remission. Divorce lawyers never stop.”
    Big laugh. The mood shifts, lightens. We open up. We talk about getting the news, how shocked we felt, how helpless, how we refused to believe it, and then how we gradually accepted the truth because we had no other choice. Cancer is part of us now. We talk about the earliest tests we’ve gone through. I tell them about my first CAT scan.
    “The nurse asked me, ‘Are you allergic to squid ink?’”
    I hold. They laugh in anticipation.
    “How do you know? Seriously. Is it on my birth certificate or do I have to drink squid ink to find out?”
    Squeals of laughter now. Testicular Cancer Guy is roaring. I’m hoping he doesn’t blow out his good ball.
    “They give you iodine in the CAT scan,” I say. “Then the nurse says, ‘You’re gonna feel this sensation. You’re gonna taste it, smell it, and then you’re gonna feel this warmth go through your body. It usually starts in your head, then travels all through your body. You’re really gonna feel it in your crotch.’”
    The laughter is rising, going where I hope it will. I hope I’m reading this crowd right.
    “Then the nurse says, ‘You’re gonna have the sensation that you’re