His latex covered fingers were deep in my mouth and whatever the doctor was pressing on did not feel good.

“Does that hurt?”

“Yethh.”

“That’s because you have a mass in your tongue. I’m almost certain it’s a tumor… throat cancer.”

After three months, I now knew what was causing my ear aches.

Over seven weeks this spring and summer, I got 35 blasts of radiation. Every two weeks, my body was jacked up with steroids and then infused with Cisplatin (that’s chemotherapy to the unitiated). My hair didn’t fall out but my mouth erupted in mucositis driven ulcers. Some nights, my tongue hurt so bad I wanted to die. Eating was limited, mostly room temperature soup. I lost twenty five pounds and towards the end, I got a robust case of shingles. No pain meds, couldn’t risk sobriety.

So, that’s what sucked. But my cancer was a gift.

At fifty, I experienced an outpouring of love, generosity and care that I hadn’t felt in such a condensed way since my wedding. Friends and family didn’t just offer their help but stepped up and gave it without asking. My bosses surprised me with a new contract, promised me anything I needed and were patient when I failed to meet my responsibilities. Again and again, I was reminded of how much good my life had dropped me into. Just when I should’ve been struggling with a mid-life crisis, I enjoyed a seismic affirmation of my place on earth.

And I got a puppy.

I had cancer lite. My journey was not all that hard, my fight was not a slugfest. I know lots of people that aren’t so lucky. I saw them daily at Memorial Sloan Kettering: sick beyond smiling, surrounded by broken faces and slumped shoulders. My chemo room was a party, we all knew I was going to live.

My whole life, I’ve been lucky. Drank too much, drove too fast, didn’t care enough, failed to appreciate… my shortcomings are endless. And I’m still here, loved and supported beyond my own comprehension.

When my treatment had made me the sickest, I made things worse. I had just written an email to my boss about all the work I was going to do when I got back in the office the next day. Before I could hit “send,” Lulu pulled up with a car full of groceries and I jumped up to give her a hand but didn’t make it to the driveway. Three steps in, I lost consciousness and my face hit the floor. Hours and stitches later, we got back home. I surrendered the idea of battling my way through not feeling good and took time off to heal.

Cancer kicked my ass but only for a little while.