This isn't all about me.

"Are you scared?"

The question came from the heart. It was as natural as breathing after nearly thirty-three years of marriage. My wife and I were out for coffee, talking about my diagnosis and how neither of us wanted to go through this, but how now that we are we are determined to get through it positively.

Just before this sincere question was asked she had suggested to me that I go back to my hometown to visit with my family before I start my radiation and chemotherapy. It's not that I didn't want to see my family - I love them and they are a source of tremendous strength and support for both of us. But I suppose it's safe to say I had a failure of imagination regarding going back to see them.

It honestly just didn't occur to me as an important thing to do because I guess I'm being a little selfish right now.

"Think about your dad though," she said to me.

My father was an amazing man. He was not without faults, but he was humble and gentle and funny and loved me and my sisters unfailingly. He was also taken from us far too young, succumbing to lung cancer before his forty-eighth birthday. He fought hard against his cancer, but it was too advanced and too aggressive. He became lethargic after his first course of chemotherapy - about one month after he was first diagnoses - and died quickly, far too quickly for any of us to really come to grips with the urgency and seriousness of his disease.

"We both know that what you will go through with chemotherapy and what your dad went through are different things. But for you, for your family... it's kind of hard not to think about your dad when you are starting chemo."

She was right, of course. She is brilliant and sensitive and tough when she needs to be, and she was completely right about this. I nodded to her - something that I have done many, many times in our marriage - and looked into her eyes.

"You're right. This isn't all about me."

See? I am being selfish.

I suppose I can be forgiven. After all, I am the one who was diagnosed with cancer, the one who underwent surgery, the one who is being subjected to CTs and MRIs and bloodwork and colonoscopies (multiples or each of them), and I am the one who will undergo radiation and chemotherapy. My wife loves me, but she is not going through all of these things.

At least, not physically. Emotionally though...

It's really easy for me to face radiotherapy and chemotherapy. I am confident that it will allow me to spend many more years - decades, in fact - with the amazing woman that was sitting across from me in the coffee shop. It'll probably make me a little sick and likely cause 'local hair loss' where I get radiation (you can make your own jokes about that one). But I also know that I have the strength to get through it, to put up with the discomfort and adverse effects that I will experience. It's only for six months.

But I won't be the only one going through it.

When I am in the treatment room getting my radiation, my amazing wife will be sitting outside thinking about us. She might be thinking about me specifically, but she will be thinking of me in the context of what I mean to her so that's sort of like thinking of us. I will be undergoing the treatment so that I get more time with her, but in the dark corners of her soul she might be thinking what if?

What if he's not as strong as he thinks?

What if the treatment causes more adverse effects than we expect?

What if he doesn't respond to the radiation or chemotherapy?

What if...?

See? It's easy for me. But it's not all about me.

When I am taking chemotherapy I will know my own experience. I will know whether I am nauseated or whether I am having watery stools or whether I am tired. And if my response to surgery is any indication, I will not really find it that bad at all.

But it's not all about me.

For my mother, my cousin, my sisters, my chemotherapy is something that they will only be able to imagine. They will be brave - they are all amazing as well - and will no doubt keep their thoughts and feelings as positive as they can. But still...

What if...?

Three different people have told me over the past few days that my last blog post made them cry. Not in a bad way, they have all stressed, but it still really had an impact on them. I was touched by this news and felt honoured that these people were all courageous enough to admit their vulnerability to me. I love that they all allowed themselves to be emotionally open enough to cry at what I wrote, although admittedly I had no intention whatsoever that this post - or any of my posts, for that matter - might make them cry.

But... it's not all about me.

So many people - SO MANY - have asked if there is anything they can do for us. A coworker signed me up for Meal Train, a service that allows people to sign up on a calendar to prepare one meal for me and my family. That's all - just one meal. It doesn't sound like much, but it really makes a huge difference when we are all preoccupied with appointments and diagnostics and things like that. And I can't be certain, but it seems to make them happy that they are helping.

They are part of my community. And when the going gets tough, communities band together.

I have a dear friend on the opposite coast of this huge country who texts me regularly. It's not on a schedule or anything, but on average he will text me once a week and check in with me. I love that. I have other friends who send emails or family that calls to see how I'm doing or just chat about simple things. Others will call or text to make dates to go out for coffee or for a walk. I love all of that. And while it might seem like those things are all about me, I think it's important for people in my community to reach out and see that I am doing well as well.

It's not all about me. They need to include me in the community just like I need my community's support.

I've heard of some people that keep their cancer diagnosis to themselves, that don't tell even their closest relatives what they are facing. Everyone is different and has a right to live their lives the way they choose, but it should be pretty obvious that I can't live my life like that. I can't imagine what it would be like for my sisters or my mother or my kids if things didn't go well in my treatment.  How would they feel if the worst was to happen?

What if...?

It's a pretty natural and human question. And everyone is entitled to ask it, especially when things look darkest. And everyone deserves to have that question addressed - at least, as much as it can be under the circumstances.

So; will I go back home before my chemotherapy? Will I spend some quality time with my family, will I be emotionally present with them and let them feel whatever they feel around me?

I'd like to. I really would. But it's not all about me.

I still have unanswered questions, important details that need to be organized. I know when I will have my guidance CT and MRI next week and I hope that I can defer the start of my chemotherapy so that I can go back to my hometown for at least a few days afterwards. But my therapy has to be scheduled within limited resources that affect a bunch of other people with cancer too. I don't know how flexible the start date of my therapy will be, but I will ask my oncologists if it can be delayed by a week or two.

It's not all about me, you see. Which brings me back to the question that started this post.

"Are you scared?"

I didn't identify the speaker, you see. It would be a mistake in a high school English assignment, but I did it for a reason. Because, you see, it's not all about me. But here's what it would look like if I was writing a grade 10 English assignment.

"Are you scared?" I asked her.

You see... it's not all about me. And I care very deeply about what my wife is going through at all times, but especially right.

"Of course I'm scared," she said, her voice equal parts laughter and fear.

She's not ready to say goodbye to me, you see. Which is good, because I'm not ready to say goodbye to her either. We have way too much life left to live together, too much love to share with each other.

We all face hardships. We all go through times when we feel like it's all about us... but it's not.

When you do feel like this, remember one important thing.

It's not all about you.