Cancer Conversations

It was the cards, letters and emails that really touched him. The notes from people he didn’t know telling him his well-being was important to them, that they were lighting candles for him, that they wanted him to get well.

At first, he tried to answer them all, but they kept coming – by the hundreds. All he could do was be grateful. And try his best to fulfill their wishes. “It was tremendous,” he told me with more than a bit of awe.

Dave is a local celebrity. He co-hosts daily talk shows on television and radio. He’s a standup comedian, has appeared on nationally broadcast comedy shows, written for Jay Leno, and is hired to host events where being clever, humorous and glib are warranted. Dave doesn’t really believe he’s a funny guy, he just says what he thinks. His thoughts must be funny because he’s been called “the quickest wit around,” and “relaxed, likeable and funny.” “He adlibs better than most comedians write,” one reviewer said.

 

Being revealing

He’s also a guy people like. And so his fans were concerned when he revealed that he had pancreatic cancer.

All cancers strike fear, pancreatic cancer particularly so. It’s one with less than encouraging statistics, so publicly claiming it could be daunting. For Dave, however, there was no choice. “As a comic, every dime I’ve made has been from sharing my life. Why should this be different?”

Public reaction played a role in his initial approach to the disease. “When my first surgery was scheduled, my doctor had plans to leave town right afterwards and I was pretty concerned about that.” He decided to wait a week until the doctor could be there to oversee his recovery. “The reality was that I wasn’t up for it,” he admitted.

Postponing the surgery gave time for well-wishers to chime in. “The outpouring of support over that week really pulled me through. Those people might not realize how important their messages were. But they really made a difference.”

And they continued to make a difference. Six months out, Dave found he had weathered the surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments that are the usual stops on a cancer patient’s suspenseful journey.

 

Being funny

Emerging from treatments came with a big question. Could he still be funny? Or, given that he never considered himself funny, could he still think funny – out loud?

“I worried about how much of me had changed as a result of all this. To me, comedy is sharing your life, your attitudes. There are a ton of funny things about dealing with cancer. And I don’t mind talking about it.  But,” he conceded, “there’s nothing funny about the disease.”

Taking a walk one day, he gave the issue serious thought. “It was a really scary question. Could I still do it? After going through everything, could I still go on stage and face people, and be me?” For help with the answer, he looked to the day. It was April 19, the anniversary of his first stand-up performance. He walked home, showered, dressed, and drove to the comedy club where he had been playing before cancer. He walked in and asked if he could try getting back on stage. The response was an enthusiastic “You bet!”

On the stage appeared the Dave of old. “I did 10 minutes. And it worked. I realized that part of me was still here. It hadn’t been taken away because of a cancer diagnosis or the treatments.”

“I didn’t want to be the cancer guy. And I found out I wasn’t.”

 

Final Note

Dave passed away two years after his diagnosis. A memorial service for him included tender and funny stories that revealed how much he meant to many, many people. It also included lots of laughter.