Cancer on Five Dollars a Day* *(chemo not included): How Humor Got Me through the Toughest Journey of My Life by Robert Schimmel Page A

fact, I make a promise to myself right then, an instant before I drift off to the melodic sounds of Inez’s chirping.
    If I make it through this, I’m going to buy a house on the beach and I’m going to live there for a year, no matter what it costs. I don’t care if I have to sell my car and everything else I own. I’m going to do it. I owe it to myself. And I’m not going to put it off, because one thing I’ve learned, you never know what the future holds. You have to give yourself permission to live life to its fullest. Living on the beach. That’s the one thing I have to do.
    Later I find out what it actually costs to live on the beach, and I say, “You know, living three blocks away isn’t that bad.”
    But for now, I’m gone, lost in the spell of Inez’s chirpy voice, in the smell of the strawberry candles, even in me-owing Yanni, because I know that while crystal therapy will not cure my cancer, it, too, like Reiki and acupuncture and all the rest, takes me on an hour vacation from the horror of the chemo and the madness that surrounds it. And that’s why I believe in it.

    I start keeping a journal.
    I get the idea from Nadine, the nurse at the infusion center. As usual, I’ve brought in muffins and doughnuts for the staff to share. Nadine tears the top off a blueberry muffin and pops bite-sized pieces into her mouth.
    “You have an unbelievable attitude,” she says, and then gives me a wonderful compliment. “We all look forward to seeing you. You brighten up the day.”
    “Thank you. That’s very nice. I try. Some days are easier than others.”
    Nadine pours a cup of coffee from a silver thermos she keeps handy. “Have you thought about keeping a journal?”
    I’m intrigued. “What would I write?”
    “I’m talking about an Oprah kind of thing. You wake up in the morning and you think of something good. Start your day that way. Write something positive.”
    “You mean, instead of, ‘Well, good morning, I’m up, and damn, I’ve got cancer, I’m dying, and if the chemo doesn’t work, I’m finished?’”
    Nadine smiles. “Yeah. Instead of that. Be honest. But look for something good.”
    I look at her, and now I smile. “A journal, huh? Why not? I’ll try anything.”

    I cover all my bases. I buy both a reporter’s notebook and several packs of three-by-five index cards. My idea is to write one positive thought per card. Frankly, I buy the index cards as a safety measure. What if I open up my reporter’s notebook and I have no positive thoughts? The blank pages will stare at me, depress me. Somehow the index cards are less intimidating. I needn’t have worried. The thoughts pour out of me unchecked, uncensored, unedited. I write until my fingers ache. The thoughts help me focus and keep me sane. I keep the cards with me. I read what I’ve written at various times during the day. I shuffle the cards, read them in a different order, find new meaning. In the course of my chemotherapy, I will write thoughts on hundreds of index cards. Here are just a few:
    • Learn to embrace my cancer. It is mine. I do not belong to it. Cancer might be a part of my life, but it doesn’t rule my life.
    • Every time my children smile at me, it feels as though God is smiling at me.
    • I don’t want to die scared.
    • Beggars can’t be choosers. Yes, they can. They chose to be beggars.
    • To get closer to God, you have to get closer to yourself.
    • Are guys with big dicks ever concerned about their size?
    • I have to be a proactive parent.
    • Tune everything out for a few minutes a day and find peace of mind.
    • Fight negativity!
    • It’s hard to take everything with a grain of salt when you’re on a sodium-restricted diet.
    • Make today the most important day of your life.
    • Maybe when we hit a low tide emotionally, we need to look for all the good things about life, ourselves, our inner beauty.
    • People come up to me and ask, “Why don’t I ever see you on TV?” I