Our lives are filled with moments, memories, events that forever put their indelible stamp upon us and change our lives and the ways in which we view the world. Often these challenges will require us to dig deep within ourselves. February 18, 1981 was one of those days. The memory of that day never strays very far from me.
February 18, 1981 was probably much like any other February 18. There was snow on the ground and it was the dead of winter in Canada. No surprises there. Hockey season was in full swing. The Toronto Maple Leafs were sliding into the playoffs, only to eventually lose to the Stanley Cup champion New York Islanders 3 - 0. No surprises there either.
I was in the tenth grade at the time - 15 years old but, perhaps more importantly, just 4 feet 8 inches tall and a whopping 68 pounds. Yes, you read that correctly.
Of course, there is a story that goes along with this – and many life lessons learned. Here is my story.
In the years preceding that date, I found myself having fallen off the growth chart. In reality, the fall had been a gradual one from the age of 8 or 9. For many years, my parents and I were told by my family physician “not to worry, he’ll grow, nothing is wrong”. But parents have an intuitive sense – and my mother knew something wasn’t right. She sought a referral to another doctor – this time, in a teaching hospital in the nation’s capital, Ottawa.
I saw a specialist in Ottawa at the Children's Hospital – and still no answers, other than those I saw when I looked in the mirror. I was 4 feet 8 inches tall and 68 pounds. Abdominal pains. No energy. Something must be wrong. All that I had were more questions.
Then there was that date that lives in personal infamy: February 18, 1981. I had gone to Ottawa to see the specialist, who then decided – spur of the moment – to refer me to a Dr. Shipman just down the hallway. It was the end of the day, and they could fit me in to the schedule.
In the next few hours, my life changed before my very eyes.
Dr. Shipman was a gastroenterologist. When I arrived for my appointment, he was the only person left in the office. All of his staff had gone home for the day. To him, fortunately, I was just another child that had been afflicted with something with which he was very familiar. One look at me, one short conversation with me, one test – at the end of his day – and he knew.
The memory of Dr. Shipman’s words to me are very clear to this day …
“You’ve got Crohn’s disease, and frankly, you’re very fortunate to be alive. We’re admitting you to the hospital tonight”.
Simple. Stunning.
I think my parents were in shock as much as I. They had to make sense of how to handle this, what arrangements needed to be made at work, at a time when cell phones and email didn’t exist. It was getting late. They drove the 73 miles back to Brockville with the promise of returning first thing in the morning once everything was settled at home.
Here was a 15 year-old boy, 73 miles from family and friends, alone in a room surrounded by “hospital green” (surely that must be an actual Sherwin Williams color), overwhelmed by solitude, and faced with the resounding echo of the words “lucky to be alive”. I finally had answers - that just served to create even more questions.
And there was the inevitable thought - Why me?
I distinctly remember that first night in the hospital. I came to realize, rather quickly in fact, that there were really only two options facing me. I could either wallow in the pity party, the “oh woe is me” and the “why me” … or I could get on with this, learn, live fully, and get a handle on this to the degree to which I was capable. Much as Tim Robbins said in “The Shawshank Redemption”, “better get busy living, or get busy dying”.
I distinctly remember making the choice. It wasn’t a difficult one.
Many years later, on October 2, 1996, Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer – and vowed to overcome it. On October 2, 2005, Lance thanked the city of Austin for all its support over the course of 9 years and 7 Tour de France victories. But instead of acknowledging the day his cancer went into remission, or other moments related to his cancer survivorship, he stated that he had made a point of celebrating October 2 – the day his life changed.
This is the way that I remember February 18, 1981 – the day that would cause me to see the world differently.
It can take many people a long time to realize that life really is made up of simple, elemental, binary decisions that can have a huge impact on our world. I was fortunate – I learned this at an early age. I made a choice to take the world as it was and to make the best of it. Get busy living. I will be the first to admit that although I would never want anyone to experience this themselves, I do know that it set the foundation for what has made me who I am today. For that, I am forever thankful.
Part Two will describe how the next 17 days were insightful, thought-provoking, and probably chock full of more life lessons than I could have ever imagined.
Note: This post includes excerpts from “Rhubarb Diaries”, an upcoming book to be released in the not-too-distant future.
Photo credits: jpdodd
Allan Besselink, PT, DPT, Ph.D., Dip.MDT has a unique voice in the world of sports, education, and health care. Read more about Allan here.