In Case You Were Wondering Why the Emotional Overload

I remember a television show from the late 1980s, a show titled thirtysomething. In case you are too young to remember, or in case you have forgotten the 1980s (I’m still trying to forget that I paid to see Def Leppard in concert) the show was about a group of friends who were, wait for it, thirty something years old. Betcha didn’t see that coming.

In season two of the show (it ran for four seasons) one of the main characters, Nancy, a stay-at-home mom got ovarian cancer. I remember the cancer thing because the buzz around the show was that they were breaking new ground and all this stuff about having someone on a primetime show having cancer. As it turned out, Nancy won her battle with cancer.

The cancer story-line in thirtysomething did not really catch my attention. Until last week. Last week the cancer bomb exploded in my life.

Last week I found out that one of my colleagues has cancer. My colleague has been a mentor to me and countless others. He has been an inspiration, a confidante and a best friend. He has been the funny guy in meetings and he has been the one we would all turn to when we needed wisdom. He has always been the lighthouse that would guide us to safety as we sailed through uncharted waters. He was and still is the one that we turn to for so many things.

I understand that many people get cancer and many people live with cancer and many people fight cancer and many people defeat cancer. My grandfather had prostate cancer. So did my Dad. They fought it and won. Another one of my friend’s Dad had prostate cancer and lived for many years after fighting it. My friend Brett fought cancer for more than five years. Lots of people get cancer and fight cancer.

My colleague is three years older than me and he now has a group of cells in the centre of his brain, somewhere near his thalamus, that are going ape-shit and multiplying like crazy. Those wacked-out-shithouse crazy cells have formed a lump that the doctors cannot get at with their knives. It is not a good place to have a lump in your brain.

When my colleague was telling us about it he said that he has often heard people say, “Why me?” Rather than take that approach, my friend said, “Well, it is going to happen to someone, so why not me?”

Please join with me and visualize a miracle for my friend.


  1. My husband was diagnosed with stage 4 colorectal cancer 3.5 years ago. It had spread to the lungs. Life has never been the same for us. He is still alive, but the chemo is grueling and he is unable to work. I am not sure he will be around this time next year. It is a tough battle. I feel your pain. I walk that road every day. Cancer bomb, indeed.

    PS, I LOVED thirtysomething. LOVED IT.
    note to self: download it.

  2. A miracle. The white light and every other visualization I can imagine-create-remember is beaming his way. And, some left over for his wife and family. Some for the friends and the colleagues and the many, many, many, many, many, many young people whose lives he has touched and changed. Including some who would not be alive today if it were not for his guiding touch (guiding sledgehammer?)

    Cancer is a terrible and potent enemy. I wish we’d already won this war for everyone.

  3. My thoughts are also with him and his family. I have always believed in miracles so I will send the energy your way in hopes of a brighter tomorrow.

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