BOOMER HEALTH: BE HARDER TO KILL

To new readers, boomer health is a common concern: I had cancer, don’t now, but I don’t identify as a cancer survivor.

The category I see myself in is Chemo and Radiation Survivor. Cancer didn’t survive chemo and radiation, but I did.

Without the juice and the jolt, cancer would have been a David Survivor.

I endured the cancer treatment with the help of professionals, the therapists and technicians, doctors and nurses.

I survived chemo and radiation with the help of my wife and kids. Just knowing they thought of me in the right way made the difference.

Boomer Health vs Cancer

Do you agree that cancer, left untreated, is a killer? If you do, then maybe you also agree that thoughts and prayers aren’t enough to cure cancer, and neither are topical ointments, juices, and powders.

Cancer gets in there and gets busy, chemo gets in there and gets busier, while targeted radiation cooks the heck out of the bad spot.

Before I agreed to the cancer killing routine, I’d been a dedicated gym rat for many years. I get into the fat-shaming habit in the book I’ve written, questioning why strong guys who eat too much make fun of people smaller than them.

The idea of boomer health is to be harder to kill, but I didn’t know that when I joined the local gym. I also didn’t know that the older we get the weaker our immune system. Diseases that tried to gain a foothold in our younger years used to get tossed. A strong immune system tracked them down and killed them.

I fell victim to a dormant virus that was waiting to strike. I was big, a load, but a strong load of muscle with a side of pork. That’s what chemo and radiation had to work with. Gym training was my best defense against cancer, chemo, and radiation.

After it was all over, I took inventory: Sixty pounds lighter, muscle turned to mush, fit into shirts I last wore in 1976. No more cancer, no more chemo, no more radiation? I was hard to kill.

I wasn’t the first cancer patient, and won’t be the last, but I am honking the horn to redefine what it means in real life. The whole ordeal was exhausting, and once I was cleared, the next problem surfaced: What is the best use of the experience?

The advice I got ranged from “fuggeddaboutit” to “keep on the path, not the pathology.” Somewhere between the two I wrote a book. No surprise, I hope. It’s a book that shows the breakdown of a cancer diagnosis, the highs and lows of living through a dead zone, and how to talk to someone with health problems. It’s not all cancer all the time.

Six months after a fateful phone call, I returned to the gym to regain my boomer health, my balance, and associate once again with a group of people who believe lifting weights is one of the best activities around.