My first real and memorable encounter with cancer, and death, happened when I was 12 years old. I had seen plenty of it on the news and in movies. But this was so close and so real. My mom took me, my older sister and my older brother to visit my Grampa Hein, as we called him. He was the kindest man I ever knew – even after drinking five or six cans of Hamm’s Beer.
I was reluctant to go to the hospital that day because I knew he was very sick. He had cancer. It was spreading. They did not have the kinds of tools that we have now. But of course still, some people die. They called early that morning and we headed up to Eastern Iowa to see him. I knew what was happening, sort of. I knew this was a goodbye. I loved him and he loved me. I tried to be brave. He was still smiling when I saw him. He didn’t look like he was in too much pain. There was nothing more they could do for him.
He died that night in the hospital. We were watching a football game. I will never forget the feeling that came over me when they told me that Grampa had passed. I put my hands over my eyes for a few minutes, then just sat there quietly crying.
Then I ran out of the room and out of the building. I found the perfect limb from a nearby tree, climbed it and stayed there for about 45 minutes. I was trying to sort it all out. It’s just surreal for a young boy to deal with this. It is surreal and scary for a child that young to figure out why we all have to die.
Needless to say, I changed that day. A big part of my innocence was taken away. It was my first run-in with dying and death. From that day to this day I remember thinking that this is the cruelest of all things. That we can not keep our loved ones alive a little longer.
After that day, I became a little more serious, because I realized for the first time that all of us are going to die one day. Cancer just makes it so much more real and scary and almost some kind of strange, macabre game. I eventually came around. I had too much goodness in my life. But I will never forget the moment that my Grampa died.
I hung on that tree for what seemed like an eternity. I just needed some time by myself. My parents were cool about it, they understood. When we got home, we all just felt the need to share stories about my grampa together in our living room. For hours. After that we all retreated to our respective bedrooms and grieved some more.
One story I hoped to share was our road trip to Kansas City. We had planned to drive while Grampa had his colostomy bag. That trip made me really hate cancer even more. And to this day I still hate it! But it did give us some laughs, too, even for Grampa. He held on for so long. He was filled with courage and love for his family.
I knew other friends who were hit hard with family members who had died of cancer. We all deal with death in a different way. When my grandfather died, I decided that I was going to write stories that can help people deal with having a loved one with cancer.
Helping cancer patients remains a primary passion after all these years. Visiting hospitals. Supporting families. I didn’t want to become a doctor, but I did want to stay close to people who had cancer and their loved ones. I never stopped trying to love and help the people who have it. But years later … my life took a turn. A huge one. I was diagnosed with cancer.
Needless to say, all those memories of my Grandfather came right to the surface. After all those years writing about people with cancer and how courageous they are, and helping companies get new treatments to patients. After all of that, I got cancer myself. I have beaten cancer four times. Each time I felt that it would never return!
It’s a long, hard and often strange trip getting to this place we call remission. It’s a powerful word when you have been in four cancer battles over the last three decades – 27 years.
Along the way, there have been a bunch of amazing doctors, nurses and of course my family and friends. Above it all my wife, who has saved me so many times I have lost count. All of them have filled me with love, care, laughter and gratitude and the will to keep moving forward.
I was told that I was in remission two years ago after going through CAR-T. The last couple of years have been good ones for me. My cancer battles began when I was still working at Newsweek, my dream job. My first treatment was for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. When it returned two years later, I enrolled in a clinical trial called BEXXAR. It saved my life.
I chose this trial after a long conversation with a brilliant and kind scientist at the University of Michigan, Mark Kaminski. Thank you, Mark. It gave me 20-plus years of beautiful bliss with my wife and daughter and my friends and my career. And then the cancer returned once again. In 2023 I was treated with CAR-T.
That, too, was successful. But just months ago, the cancer came back. I am still fighting this one, but it looks like I am very close to telling the world that I am back in remission. Again. Stay tuned.
As strange as it seems, I could not imagine something like this when I was that little kid who climbed up that tree, so uncertain of my destiny. All the work we do with cancer patients and their loved ones are the center of my world now. I have written three award-winning books about cancer, cancer patients and of course my own battle.
Some people tell me I am some kind of hero. But the truth is I’m just happy to be alive. I have had great guidance from doctors. I am so grateful. I just really, really want to be here. It’s that simple. I have had a beautiful life, but I’m not done yet. No matter when I die, even if I make it to 100, I will probably say something like, “Damn! I was just getting started!”
I am not a hero. War veterans and so many others who I have met and have returned from war, broken in spirit and in constant physical pain. Now THAT is heroic. I want to help them anyway I can. And I have had that honor, as well. Helping real heroes.
All those years with Newsweek, I was honored to cover our troops, even with the brass sent into places we should have never gone, they are too often forgotten. Too many folks just walk past the homes of our warriors and cancer patients.
Needless to say, at 65, I am not nearly as strong as I was in my 20’s. But the good news is that we have many new weapons to fight cancer. It’s amazing what we have come up with just in the past few years. These new treatments are the reason why I am still here. Brilliant scientists are fighting with greater success than ever before and learning how cancer really works in the body.
I am so thankful for my life. Thankfully, I did take that chance. I have done clinical trials and more. And the people I have met have given me so much support. I will never forget any of them. Everyone on this planet should have equal access to all of these new treatments — the medicines that we see in the labs in all the major cancer clinics, etc. The ones that have saved my life.
Thanks to all the scientists and doctors and nurses and all of you. I’m back in the fight. I am working with a drug called Bispecific Antibodies, which is something we have already talked about in this magazine and will continue in the next few weeks, months, and years on this site. This treatment is new and it is saving lives. It’s what I believe saved my life. The treatment was rough at times. But it was worth every tear.
My Grampa Hein would surely approve. I know he would have been proud of all the work I have done for patients and their families and loved ones. I just wish we had these medicines sooner. But no one will ever fully understand why we can’t all live forever. The best advice I have for anyone who is reading this is to live for now. Enjoy every breath. Live life! It is the ultimate gift.
