You Only Live Twice

This is a guest post by Andrew Allers, 62, who was diagnosed with kidney cancer in 2015. Andrew lives in Connecticut with his wife Carole, children Lee, Chauncey, and Harrison, and his three dogs Persie, Jessie, and Becks. 

I think it’s fair to say that having cancer has fundamentally (and permanently) changed my life. 

I was incidentally diagnosed with stage II clear-cell renal cell carcinoma – kidney cancer – in 2015 after a soccer injury.  With no prior symptoms, this came as a complete surprise. My disease progressed to stage IV in 2019.  All told, I have had tumors in my kidney, brain, lungs, lymph nodes, rib, and hip. 

There have been countless doctor visits, consultations, and a seemingly endless series of phone calls and emails with insurance companies. I’ve had radiation (bone and brain), multiple surgeries (radical nephrectomy, emergency craniotomy, lung resection, and replacements for one shoulder and both knees). I’ve had an estimated 80 immunotherapy infusions and close to 300 additional infusions to manage the autoimmune reactions to my treatment. I have permanent neurological damage in my left leg as a result of the radiation to my hip. 

But I’m still here. Throughout this journey, I have learned a lot about cancer, but perhaps more important is what I’ve learned from cancer. 

Mostly what I’ve learned is that I am lucky. Lucky that this didn’t happen 10 years earlier when the treatment options were minimal. In the context of kidney cancer these 10 years mean  that I have access to ground-breaking treatments that could transform my disease from a death sentence to the management of a chronic condition.  And I’m responding to the treatments. 

Lucky  in my relationships. I have a loving wife, Carole, of 36 years and 3 children, Lee, Chauncey, and Harrison, that constantly rally around me and, when necessary, adjust their plans to accommodate my various ailments, treatments and complaints. I have a deep network of friends both near and far. I have met and befriended so many cancer patients and advocates and been privileged to join their resilient community. I continue to be inspired by them.

Lucky in my career. In 2023, after a nearly two-year medical leave of absence, I retired from a wonderful job working with smart, collaborative people who also cared about me.  Time off for treatment or even time recuperatively napping in the break room was never something I had to ask for. They wanted me to get well because they cared about me and appreciated me – not because they wanted me to get back to work.

Lucky to have magnificent health insurance that has freed me from worrying about costs of care or eligibility.

I have also learned to appreciate “now”.  

One beautiful Spring morning a few years ago I was sitting on my deck enjoying my morning cappuccino. The wind was softly rustling the leaves, music was playing  and I was petting my dogs as we all lazily enjoyed just “being”.  I distinctly remember thinking that this wasn’t just passing time. This was the goal. I can’t think of a pre-cancer time where I ever consciously appreciated just “being”. The dogs clearly knew how to do it, but it was new to me.

I have learned how important it is to prioritize self-care, both physical and emotional. I have a reinvigorated appreciation of and dedication to exercise, eating well, sleeping and managing stress.

I have learned the value of volunteering and advocacy. I am learning to look up from my own perspective and think more about others.  I have become involved in legislative advocacy and participate in the grant review process for federally funded kidney cancer research. I have become a volunteer child advocate in the foster care system.

I have learned that as a stage IV cancer patient in my 60s it is not too late to try new things.  Since my diagnosis I have taken up surfing and fly-fishing, although I’m not particularly good either. I now make my own pizza, including the dough – I’m even working on my own sourdough starter.  My life isn’t over because of cancer.

I have a favorite quote.  It sounds trite at first, but on reflection I think it accurately conveys what cancer has taught me.

We only have two lives. The second one begins when we realize we only have one.

Sure, I wish I didn’t have cancer, but I am thankful for what it has given me. I only have this life and I intend to make the most of it.