Two Years is Worth Everything

Two years ago when my oncologist was giving my wife and me the possibilities for my future, I was shocked when he expressed contentment that chemotherapy could extend my life a couple of years. That was really disturbing to me. I wanted much more than two more years, especially if I was going to go through the agony, suffering and potential lethal risks that chemotherapy can dish out. Thinking that my oncologist was being conservative with his bedside manner, I searched the internet for more optimistic news, but everywhere I looked the message was the same, two years, even several months of extended life was considered worth doing the most dangerous medical procedures. Now it’s been about two years after my diagnosis of cancer and I now know the truth – life is worth every bit of struggle.

These last two years I have lived a lifetime. I’ve ran two marathons, a half marathon, and my wife has joined me on shorter races. We’ve been on many trips these last two years. My wife and I had a romantic wedding anniversary in Las Vegas. My wife and two boys have gone to the Minnesota Boundary Waters for a canoe adventure, a trip to Arizona and Las Vegas, and a road trip to Arkansas to my in-law’s cabin in the Ouachita Mountains. My two boys and I went with other family members on our first Huck Finn trip, canoeing down the Mississippi River along with the barges, and camping on sandbars. My wife traveled with me on a week long business trip to Phoenix while Grandma and Grandpa watched our boys. There were snowboard outings and countless family gatherings for birthdays and holidays and special family annual get-togethers like the Strandjord Winter Lutsen gathering on north shore of Lake Superior and the Strandjord Fall Wiener Roast at my parents place in the country.

During these last two years I’ve seen my granddaughter catch her first fish, my grandson shoot his first real gun. I saw my daughter move to Manhattan all on her own and land a job as an assistant to a COO of a hedge fund during one of the most difficult times in the job market and economy. I saw my oldest son, who’s a senior this year, make the All Conference Team in high school bowling by ranking 7^th in the conference. At the conclusion of the season he was ranked 81^st in the state. I saw my youngest son blossom in wrestling to become a captain of his middle school team and go undefeated during regular season. This year he is wrestling on the high school team and has wrestled both JV and varsity. Two years ago I was hoping to live just long enough to see another bowling and wrestling season.

Just after finishing chemotherapy I joined my wife in riding Harley’s. My wife has been a Harley biker for many years and has her own Super Glide. I bought my Fat Boy while still going through chemotherapy. When I was going through chemo and fighting cancer I didn’t put my dreams and aspirations on hold. That really helped me stay positive during those difficult times. Since then my wife and I have gone on many rides. We like head out with little planning and see were some country roads take us. As we explore the countryside we look for that special biker bar in some little town to have a hamburger and ice tea. Over these last two years biking has become a very important part of my life, and what makes it extra special is I get to enjoy it with my wife.

Those were the major highlights of the last two years and this article only takes a slight glance at them. To really convey the wonderfulness of each would require a novel to describe the sights, the sounds, the feelings, the smiles and laughter that make up each one. When you break down a life highlight into the constituents that really make it wonderful you find those elements that also make up any ordinary day. When I look back at these last two years I see a lifetime of those elements: smiles and laughter with my family, my wife snuggling to me while I hold her in my arms, my youngest son snuggling to me while we watch TV, my granddaughter giving me a leg hug while she says, “I love you grandpa”, and it goes on and on and on.

Now I get it. Now I understand why physicians show high spirits when there is a chance of extending someone’s life a few months or a couple of years even if it means undergoing a dangerous procedure; because every minute of life is worth every bit of struggle. All it takes is one minute to feel joy from a smile, a hug, a laugh, a sound, a sight, a smell or a few simple spoken words. There’s about 43,000 minutes in a month, and over a half of a million minutes in a year. That can add up to a wealth of hugs, laughs and smiles.