Five Years Later and Still Here

And I mean literally. At Stanford Hospital.

Dear Friends —

There’s an arbitrary milestone you learn upon hearing you have Stage IV colon cancer. No one really tells you about this landmark — you find it out for yourself.

Within minutes of the doctor in charge of telling me my diagnosis, I did what all of us would do: I Googled my odds. The five-year survival rate for Stage IV colon cancer is around 13%. Later another doctor would visit my room and helpfully remind me to not Google too much about my situation.

Too late.

Five years later – after more than 40 rounds of chemo, two surgeries, several radiation sessions, two clinical trials – I’m still here. Many days I feel quite well; some days are terrible. I’ve defied the grim Google odds, and I’ve also received world-class medical care. How many years do I have ahead of me? No one knows. Years maybe. Or perhaps months.

So here’s a little poetry as we approach the 4th of July. When I first wrote of my lousy news, I was sitting perched on a bed at Stanford Hospital, with a chemo line already hooked up. And guess where I am today? Stanford Hospital, but instead of a chemo line hooked up to me, I have antibiotics pulsing into my veins. What on earth.

Here’s what happened: Two days ago I was chatting with Lucy on the couch, catching up on some work. For the past month or so I’ve been battling an annoying cough, and we all chalked it up to the mets in my lung sitting a little too close to an airway. Not a sharp or painful cough. Just a persistent one. I said to Lucy “this is weird but I can’t find a comfortable position on my right side. My rib cage feels awful.”

Within five minutes, what felt like an uncomfortable rib cage turned into what I can only describe as an alligator clamping down on my right ribs, not letting me go. I have a high pain threshold, but I cried out for mercy. Menlo Park’s finest medic team showed up fast and I was immediately shuttled into an ambulance straight to Stanford.

Later that afternoon we learned that I had likely developed a localized case of pneumonia right near my lower right rib cage. A terrible development, but it did maybe explain a few things: that persistent cough, and a very hard recovery from a June chemo round. I was admitted and am now am receiving an aggressive course of antibiotics to clear up the pneumonia. Oh and apparently I have Covid too.

And like five years ago, Lucy and Connor happened to be home so they visited me at the hospital just like they did as the climb up the mountain first began 1,825 days ago.

What to say about these 1,825 days? Fist of all, and who even knew this was possible, Lucy and Connor are even more handsome and their stories are even more interesting to hear. Some day if you’re in Orange County take them out to coffee and listen closely. You’ll laugh and learn all kinds of new things.

Second, this mountain is so steep. The days on these switchbacks are a constant combination of remarkable, exhausting, infuriating, breathtaking, soul crushing. But mostly they’ve revealed a series of miracles, many of which have been hiding in plain sight before I began the trek.

The latest one? For the past month I’ve had the privilege to discuss my book The Brave In-Between with hundreds of amazing souls — some long-time friends, and some who have approached me at signing tables to tell me a bit about their stories. I’ve been blown away by the reception of the book, and so grateful to all of you who have read, and encouraged others to do so.

You’ll forever be in wonder as you spot your book at the San Francisco Airport Bookstore’s “New and Noteworthy” display table!

And yet, in it all, you can’t help but wonder how many more new hard twists this lady can endure. Is it tempting to take off my boots, simply sit on some random spot on a trailhead, and say, “Ok yeah. I’m done here.” Some days that thought is more appealing than others.

But most days, I’ve discovered something new. You can read about how I’m wrestling with that tension on this LinkedIn post. Short and sweet and brings a whole new dimension to this wild mountain of mine.

I’ll keep hiking. I’ll tell the Stanford nurses you all say hello. They are marvelous. They problem solve from the ground up, all while asking the most important questions to advocate on our behalf.

Yet another miracle hiding in plain site.

xoxo