Welcome to the Good Life (Part I of II)

Continued from "My Cancer Story": Teeter Totter of Life (Part II of II)
Read "My Cancer Story" from the beginning: The Golden Age (Part I of III)

People bought me things—some who I'd never met before, and some expensive things, like video games, an mp3 player and a portable CD player. NoCommonSense's dad wanted to impart some Beatles culture on me, so he bought me their greatest hits. My rabbi bought me the new Ja Rule CD, Rule 3:36. I wanted him to listen with me, but he wasn’t into gangsta rap.

My parents and Aunt Flojo ordered whatever I wanted to eat. Huge, fatty, delicious milkshakes and greasy, heart-clogging foods were shoved down my throat. If I had the ability and desire to become a fatass, they would’ve gladly financed my extra pounds.

School became a circus. I attended when I could and took breaks when I wanted. I dropped one class, and I spent those 90 minutes in the guidance office with two other kids. Our conversations probably lead the guidance counselors to wonder why we weren't with other learning disabled students.

My mom drove me to my clinic chekups. On the way home we would sometimes go out to eat, or on a few occasions, stop at Blockbuster. It got even worse (or better) after surgery when I didn’t go to school for three months. My mom and I went to Pizza Hut or the mall to get Roman Delight Pizza, my favorite. I went to the mall on a school day with my mom. Before cancer that was unheard of.

Maybe my slackness is why my SAT scores declined between the beginning and end of treatment. Did I get stupider? Is stupider even a word?

Because of my pooping troubles, breakfast decisions were simplified to oatmeal. Because of my reduced schoolwork, at night I familiarized myself with obscure shows such as Titus, Gideon's Crossing and Grounded for Life. Most aspects of my life outside of cancer became easier. Some people don't like easier; some people don't like using the cancer card, including myself. But when that kind of lifestyle is available, it's hard to decline.

Seeing the good side of cancer was not a function of fearing death and the accompanied desire to treasure every last moment on Earth. I didn't fear death. What it was a function of, at least partly, was my simplified life and the reduction in choices and activities. I didn't always eat, so when I did that Starburst tasted sweeter. My hospital didn't have cable, so when I was home, SportsCenter made my mornings more entertaining.

Going to the movie theater or dinner became an event, not in the sense that it's just something you do, but rather something truly special. And I can still remember them all: Olive Garden with my mom after Cycle 3; Uno's with my mom and Aunt Flojo after Cycle 4; Cast Away with my family after Cycle 5, to name a few.

Not only do I remember that the events took place, but I can remember everything about them. It was on Christmas in 2000 when we saw Cast Away. I wore my white Eddie Bauer sweater and olive green cargo pants. I got up to pee halfway through the movie and wondered, do these people know that I have cancer from one look in a dark theater? I was so fucking happy that day. I was happy that I finished Cycle 5. I was happy that I was healthy enough to see that great movie with my family. I was happy with my life. You heard correctly—I had cancer, yet was genuinely happy with my life. I was so happy that I almost wanted time to stop. It is times like that I miss so badly it hurts.

Keep reading: Welcome to the Good Life (Part II of II)