Retiring from the theater

My friend, Jeff, and I have known each other now for over thirty years, having met back in our college days. When my wife and I moved to Austin in 2008, Jeff was the first friend I reconnected with. Ever since, we’ve managed to keep a pretty consistent schedule of meeting up for some physical activity and/or dinner. And though our wilder days are behind us, we are still able to regularly find some good laughs. 

Back in November, the news of the most recent metastasis of my colon cancer to my lung hit my wife and I like a freight train. We had just finished the long work of chemo, surgery, and more chemo to address the earlier metastasis to my liver, and were just tentatively starting to enjoy some days not centered so much on my health. 

With the news of a new metastasis, we were heaved back into the chaos of trying to figure out what to do next amidst what felt like much higher stakes. It was starting to look like chemo again, including a drug called Panatumumab, which has been effective for similar stages of disease. And the glorious side effect of Panatumumab? Severe, acne-like skin rashes all over the face, neck, scalp, and torso. It’s even described as “pustular” in some of the literature.*

Seriously? Wasn’t the life lesson on getting rid of the ego finished already?  

While all these decisions were stressing me out, Jeff sent a text about going to grab some dinner. I definitely needed to step out of the madness, so, as always, it was an easy yes. We made our way down into Austin to Thai Fresh, one of our go-to restaurants (you should eat there if in Austin). We talked about the full range of things, including my latest health news and all the associated questions and fears. Some heavy stuff.

And then we talked about Panatumumab, the new potential chemo drug. When I started describing the side effects of a horrible case of zits all over my face and head like a 13-year-old...Jeff started laughing his ass off. And so did I. And we kept laughing about it.**

It was exactly what I was needing, pulling me out of my doom spiral. And it was just honest - that shit was funny. When I got home, I just felt lighter, released for a bit from the weight of decisions we were trying to make. 

From an August 2022 backpacking trip with Jeff - cold morning up in the CO mountains.

Jeff was the same Jeff he always is in our conversations. For me and perhaps others, I think life can sweep us up into less authentic versions of ourselves that look more like theater, each of us playing our roles, doing and saying the usual, “accepted” things. It’s a well-worn path we can take, almost without thinking. I think that can have us removed from the actual truths that need to show up in our conversations. 

So a friend like Jeff stands out. He doesn’t take the bait of the theatrical role - "we’re talking about cancer, so we have to keep it solemn at all times." Nope. We laughed at something that was funny. A friendship where you can keep it real is a gift. Gut-busting laughter? That’s a bonus. 

So maybe we retire from our roles in the theater in favor of some more honest interactions. Notice yourself reciting the usual line? That's step 1 - now try something more you. Be honest. Be real. Be you, and I’ll be me. And if it’s funny, let’s laugh.

Love,

Matt

* With my care team, we eventually ended up going with a different chemo protocol (and different side effects). 

** The physical side effects from chemo and various treatments can be ridiculously hard to process. I’m not trying to make light of that struggle.