I never thought I’d see the word cancer and my name in the same sentence. But it came to pass in January 2021. After that new year had begun, I was feeling lethargic and blah. I called my primary care physician. He said, come in today and I’ll check you over and take a blood sample. The following morning at 7 a.m., the doctor (not his physician’s assistant or secretary) called me to say, get yourself to an emergency room as soon as possible. He gave me some blood numbers to take with me.

When I did, giving the staff the results of the blood test, I got funny looks. I was immediately admitted into the hospital. The morning after that a very kind oncologist came to my room to tell me the bad news — I had a rare blood cancer. He said his team would begin chemo treatments the next day.

I had never heard of this cancer. I was stunned. I blurted out, “Am I going to die?” He said, “There is bad news and good news. The bad is that science has yet to find a way to cure or completely kill all multiple myeloma cells. The good is that because of intense research over the past 10 years, there are many effective treatments to fight this cancer and give patients periods of remission and opportunities to live a somewhat normal life.”

And so began my journey as a multiple myeloma (MM) warrior. I am now on my third different chemo, which my oncologist tells me is slowly becoming ineffective in beating back the myeloma cells in my body. I am preparing for a new treatment, CAR T cell therapy, sometime in the next few months. It looks very promising.

At the risk of repeating clichés you already know, let me share what I have learned from this affliction.

Did God give me this cancer as punishment for my sins? This is often the first place we go when something bad happens to us. But to travel this road is to transform God into something akin to a capricious and mean judge, doling out punishment to some but not to others. This is not the God in whom I place my faith. I find the “why” question unanswerable. Better to deal with my diagnosis forthrightly, with all the support that medicine and faith and friends can offer, and ignore the “why me” question.

Empathy for the Sick

Greater empathy for the sick. From my birth until I was 63, I was only in the hospital once, for an emergency appendectomy when I was 28, which is to say, for most of my life I was very healthy — and not very understanding of the challenges of the sick. This is true despite all the hospital visits and home visits I made as a priest.

My own sickness has made me much more sensitive to the illnesses and diseases of people around me. It also taught me to embrace my powerlessness. Simple human acts like walking up a flight of stairs, getting out of a chair or carrying groceries become major problems. I often need help to carry out basic daily activities and am grateful to accept help from friends or strangers.

Appreciation for those who offer prayers. Like most of my readers, I probably said, “I’ll pray for you,” hundreds if not thousands of times over the course of my ministry, encouraged in the Letter of James (cf. 5:16). And I meant it. But in no way could I feel the emotional and spiritual impact such a simple kindness has when I am on the receiving end of such a prayer. I know people mean what they say. This prayerful support is impossible to underestimate in keeping my hope alive and my faith strong. I cannot show enough appreciation for all who keep me in their prayers.

Challenges

Dealing with MM is a roller coaster of feelings. Multiple myeloma is a sneaky cancer. Just when you think you are experiencing a time of remission, it comes back. Each visit to a doctor, each review of the results of a blood test, are moments to feel elated by positive results or dejected by new challenges. You never know. I have found it is important to keep my feelings under control and deal straightforwardly with what is going on in my body, not too high and not too low.

Death is a lot closer. When you are healthy, death seems like a long-forgotten cousin in a faraway country. But with cancer — as with other serious diseases or health problems — death is more of a shadow that follows you everywhere. I cling to the Church’s teaching that death is a door into the possibility of eternal life in the blessedness of heaven — but not too soon!

Because of the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ, death will be my friend one day in the near future.

FATHER FRANK D. ALMADE is a retired priest of the Diocese of Pittsburgh in residence at St. Joseph the Worker Parish.