The day I received my diagnosis of Stage 4, terminal kidney cancer my life changed irrevocably.

The company that I had worked for the previous 5 years had closed their doors, gone out of business six months before. I was unemployed and in the process of looking for a job. Now, my immediate concern was to stabilize my condition the best I could, that meant surgery, recovery, etc. I obviously had more pressing issues at hand.

Even if I wanted to work, and I did, at my age, 54, being in the worst recession in nearly 80 years and having cancer did not put me on anyone's " short list" of potential hirees. Even if I was fortunate enough to get hired, nobody would insure me for my now "pre-existing" condition. My yearly medical costs are in excess of $200,000 per year. Thank God for the existing insurance I already had. I would have to make $275,000 a year pre- tax just to cover those expenses, and in the middle of the worst recession that was not going to happen. I would need to make a minimum of $350,000 to cover my total expenses pre tax and that certainly wasn't going to happen.

Men are measured by what do you do for a living, what company you work for, your position within the company and how much money you make. It is what defines us, it is our identity. To lose that, and to know I would never recover it, was probably one the most difficult obstacles I had to overcome. My very good and long time friends understood and never made or make me feel uncomfortable about the fact that I am now technically disabled. It is very different with new friends, new relationships. Having to explain why one is not working is not easy. Being forced to explain the very most intimate details of ones personal life can be uncomfortable at best.

A month or so before my diagnosis I met a woman. She was charming, young, and British. I am a sucker for a beautiful woman with a British accent, but what man isn't? We had gone out on several dates prior to my first meeting with internist and had a wonderful time. She was bright, engaging, sweet, charming and sexy as hell.....possibilities abounded. During the period between my first meeting with my internist and my meeting with my oncologist and my prognosis, there were about 10 days. I intentionally laid low, only seeing her once during those 10 days and not wanting to lie to her, even by omission. Once I had scheduled my appointment with my oncologist, I called her and set up a date for that evening. It had been a week and I was very anxious to see her, never imagining my news from my oncologist would be as dire as it was. I was still in a state of shock when we met that night and it was obvious. I really had to " come clean", even if I was not emotionally prepared to do so. She was understanding that night but the following afternoon I got an email saying she needed to break it off.

Perhaps I am showing my age or my naïveté or a combination of the two, but it was my first Dear John letter via email. Ending a relationship can be difficult, but to end it via email, text, IM, or Twitter is cold and heartless. All of my readers under 30 take notice. To say I was hurt is an understatement, but I am at a point in my life where nothing really surprises me. She did explain that she lost her mother to cancer and was not prepared to go through the same emotional roller coaster ride less than a year later.

It was at that very moment that I realized I was damaged goods, rather, more damaged then I was before the diagnosis. There comes a point, an age in our lives, when our life experiences define who we are, it is called "baggage". After further reflection, I don't blame her. In her shoes I may have done the exact same thing, though not as cold heartedly, to be sure. I don't know who in their right mind wants to get involved with someone who is terminal- at least in a committed monogamous relationship .

Seven years ago I was forced to undergo a bi-femoral aortal by-pass surgery. For those unfamiliar with the operation- it is no picnic. They cut you from fore to aft to access the aortal artery and the same below to access both femoral arteries. It was, to this day, the most painful procedure I have ever undergone. There is no non lethal dose of morphine that can totally ease the pain. The only comfort comes from the knowledge that tomorrow will be a bit better than today and the following day a bit better than the previous. Some of my nurses would have made Dr. Mengle proud. Less than 24 hours after the surgery they wanted me to walk, small very short walks, to be sure but none the less- walks. It is nothing short of pure torture. I am told there are sound medical reasons for this, at the time I did not care. I just wanted to be left alone to suffer in relative peace.

At the time I had no physical "reference", nothing to compare the operation to. It had to be done. I knew it was not going to be enjoyable but I had no choice. The operation was a life saver. Not having it would have meant sure death. I remember at the time thinking " well this is going to be an adventure", an unpleasant one to be sure, but still an adventure. Five years later when I was told I needed to have my cancerous kidney removed I had a reference point.  I knew the torturous procedure that major surgery could be but I did not have a choice. Due to the incisions smaller size and location, it was marginally less painful.

I chose and still choose to look at my cancer treatment as an adventure, an adventure in the truest sense of the word. Never really knowing what tomorrow may bring. Never knowing the path of the illness will take. Not knowing the path of the treatment. In order to cope, I attempt to always focus on the positive rather than the negative.

Cancer really is an insidious disease. It robs you slowly and systematically. It rifles through the pockets of your life, first robing you of life as you knew it, then it slowly robs you of your dignity. It robs you by leaving you in constant pain, always anxious and often depressed. It leaves you unable to eat or hold food down or get good nights sleep. In the end, when there is nothing else to rob, after it has picked your pockets clean, it robs you of your life. But for all it has taken, it has given. My cancer has reunited me with old friends, allowed me to forge deeper and closer bonds with existing friends and introduced me to new ones as well as giving me a different perspective on life.