This post is going to take some people by surprise – but I’ve started to find some good things in this whole saga of the last 6 months. Let me start off by being clear: this is finding the very slight silver lining in a dark cloud. But, you know what, it’s there. It just does a good job of hiding some days.

Those silver linings you find in this process make just a little bit of difference, but in that little bit is everything.

All that said, the silver lining will never outweigh the dark cloud. In other words, if anyone ever gives you the choice: would you like Cancer or not? Choose no. It’s just sound advice.

I’m feeling ok – still recovering from the radiation, but getting better. Most everything has healed.  My face is fully healed, I have all my energy back, etc. My throat is still sore and I’m told that will be with me for a while. But I did get some chocolate that I was able to eat and some other favorite foods, including a lot of Chinese food.

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After spending a few weeks in Richmond to recover from radiation and see some friends, I got back to DC just before Thanksgiving for the first time since September 1st, the longest time away since I headed to Houston in June. I got settled into an apartment and got back to work. Sure enough, the first day I was in the office (on a Friday), I was the last person to leave. I like the peace and quiet of an office after everyone leaves – it’s when I actually do work. I know, I’m not normal.

Thanksgiving was a good distraction. First, the weekend before Thanksgiving, I had a Thanksgiving dinner with some of my friends from college. Our traditional Friends Thanksgiving has been going on since I was a senior in College – it’s a lot of years.  The funny part about this dinner is that it started 11 years ago as a gimmick to make nice with potential volunteers for my buddy’s Student Body President campaign. This many years later, there we were to eat and see some longtime friends. Some of the players at the table have changed and others are the same. Some are married. Some have kids or have them on the way. Only thing I had that was new since last year was Cancer.

Whenever I see friends or colleagues for the first time during this process, they always say how great it is to see me. They genuinely mean it. I finally figured out my response a little bit ago, and now my retort is almost always that “it’s good to be seen.”

The rest of Thanksgiving was nice and very normal. My grandmother came up to visit and I saw her and my parents for a few days. We went to family friends’ for Thanksgiving Dinner. She used to host a huge crowd for Thanksgiving in a much bigger house. In recent years she’s downsized the House, but not downsized the guest list. So dinner is in a finished garage with a chandelier and folding tables w/ table cloths. It works.

The next three weeks back in DC were solid. I got back to the closest version of “normal life” that I’ve had since the day (May 23) I was diagnosed. I got back into a rhythm with friends and colleagues. It was good to be back. The hard part was the looming knowledge – ever-present in the back of my brain – that this was a temporary respite, not finality. It’s weird, but in a lot of ways going back to the office was a vacation – it was a therapeutic and relaxing break from 6 months of treatment and health-related tasks. I had been involved in work remotely (thanks to the internet) throughout this whole process, but there is something different about being at your desk.

I reached a “new normal” at work over the last few weeks. When I’m working, I usually have a lot of meetings – about every hour during the day. Folks would come in for a meeting and the conversation would almost always start with them awkwardly asking how I was doing. They all meant it well, but they weren’t sure if I was in the office because things were done, or things were progressing or what. I filled them in briefly and then we went into the substance of the meeting. Then we repeat with the next meeting.

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There are some upsides to going through all of this. It does put some things in perspective. I haven’t had some powerful, awe-inspiring, deeply religious epiphany or anything, but I have noticed some things during these last few weeks.

Certainly, I’ve reconnected with old friends. I’ve heard from former colleagues and people I worked with and even heard from friends of mine from high school. That’s been a trip. I haven’t kept in touch with many folks from HS over the years, but a bunch of them reached out in the last month or so. It’s been nice to reconnect and been a fun pick-me-up. They all sent cards and one of them included a gift. It was a mug that I had given out as the party favors at my Bar Mitzvah (20 years ago almost to the day). She had kept it all these years and sent it back as a pick-me-up.

It’s not just the support (though that’s key) from friends, it’s also some perspective that you get going through this. I got back to my desk at work and realized that life had continued on without me. I think I add value to what I do, but any crazy notions that you’re indispensable get pretty quickly dispelled. Life goes on. It’s a good reminder and important perspective, especially when you work in the most self-important town (DC) in the nation in the most self-important business (politics) in the nation.  (Though in all fairness, maybe we’re second to Hollywood.)

One other thing became crystal clear when I was back at work for the last 3 weeks: I’m not alone. The support from my colleagues at work has been unbelievable – from notes and packages to calls and good wishes. Even from the Members of our Democratic Caucus – many of whom reached out to share the stories of their own battles with Cancer. It’s helped to keep fuel in the tank through all of this.

I’ll be honest: this Friday, when I left my office to head back to Houston, was only the third time during this whole process that I got really sad. The first was when I was diagnosed and the second was the last week or so of radiation. And, now, the third was on the long drive from Washington to Richmond (my hometown) late Friday night. It’s a trip I’ve probably driven 100 times (at least) in the last 10 years but this time I couldn’t focus on listening to music or talking to folks on the phone. I was just thinking about how nice it was to have a “new normal” for a little while – and the hope to get back to that soon.

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So what’s next? Well, I started writing this on the airplane and I’m finishing in Houston. I flew back to my temporary home this weekend to get ready for tests and go for surgery. Gulp.  We’ve done the chemo and done the radiation to try and attack this thing, now it’s time to get it out of my body. The test results all looked good and the chemo/radiation had a big, successful, effect shrinking as much as 50 percent of the tumors. That said, I had a lot of it to start so 50% is only half-way home.

This surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. Weirdly, I’m not actually worried about it. The surgeons know what they’re doing and it’s not like I’ll be awake or know what is going on. As I mentioned in a previous blog item, I like it that my surgeons are very good and slightly arrogant. You should be arrogant when you box with God all day.

In all honesty, I’m not looking forward to the surgical recovery. The 3-5 days after the surgery where I’m uncomfortable and doped-up and pretty miserable. Not looking forward to that. I’ll have a lot of discomfort – so they tell me – and a pretty big incision to heal. I’ll even have drains for a few days. Won’t be pleasant but none of this is supposed to be.

Today was the day of signing consent forms for surgery tomorrow. I signed forms that say any number of terrible, horrible things can happen knowing full well that they won’t actually happy. I get why the hospitals have to do it this way (for insurance reasons) but part of me would prefer a blank that just said “Bad shit can happen but we don’t expect it to, sign here:”

Going into the surgery, my solace comes from the fact that surgery is different from radiation. In radiation, every single day for 33 days they’re making the situation harder on you. For surgery, it’s one day and then you can start to heal.  I am going to like that part of this.

So, that’s this week. That’s what’s next. I’ve gone out of the frying pan and into the microwave (from Chemo to Radiation) and now it’s time to see to head to the Carving Station.

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