You need to see oncology tomorrow." I got that call 4 years ago today.

It was surreal. I visit sick people. I don't get sick.

My cancer, Chondrosarcoma, had only one symptom.  I had a minor ache in the back of my right leg when I would sit for a long time. That's normal for a 67 year old guy! Right? It turned out it was my tumor pressing on the sciatic nerve.

Since 1/25/2021 I have...

• had a huge surgery (21" incision),
• received hundreds of cards, thousands of prayers and countless well wishes by family and friends (CARE HELPS).
• been through six months of in-patient, in-home and out patient therapy, and continue to stretch my "tight" hip.
• made a remarkable recovery and
• seven times I have received the "all-clear" after CT scans!

Cancer changes everything, even when you make a recovery. There is always the chance of recurrence, which is usually more dangerous than the first occurrence and now I know it can happen to me.

I have adjusted to the strange feelings in my hip that, according to my doctor, "Will be permanent reminders of what my body has been through."

For too many people a cancer diagnosis is the beginning of a life filled with radical adjustments and panful battles. The cancer diagnosis is the unwelcome beginning-of-the-end for some.

When one receives the news "you have cancer," it is a date that is unforgettable. Before I learned the word, I could feel the significance of the date stirring in my emotions. Instead of the excitement of a happy holiday, a vague and general sense of anxiety  would simmer in my emotions. For me, it is a feeling of vulnerability and irritability that cancer is now part of my life. After four years, it still happens!

But my Cancerversary is also a time for profuse gratitude that I am cancer free and that I function normally.

When I exercise, go for a walk or mow the lawn, I not only recognize that I am cancer free, but that my doctor was exceptionally skilled and that, considering the size of my surgery, the crucial abilities to do those valued activities should not be taken for granted.

Also, I've known my doctor for four years now. We've had a bunch of conversations and, even though he has many patients, I feel like I'm his patient. He knows my name, my health history, reads my emails and helps me feel that he remains on top of my cancer and cares about my future.

So this cancerversary, I celebrate  and salute Dr. Nathan Mesko, of the Cleveland Clinic.

You can see and hear him describe his specialties and passions on a brief video on the Cleveland Clinic website (https://my.clevelandclinic.org/staff/19071-nathan-mesko).

I'm thankful for Dr. Mesko and the Cleveland Clinic, one of the top hospitals in the world. The preparation, study, training, effort, organization, concentration, dedication, teambuilding, equipping... are beyond understanding and measure. I benefit with minimal understanding of the

My cancerversary is personal. This cancer experience awakens in me the reality of the love and help of God and the value and support of friends and the blessing of exceptional medical treatment. I don't expect others to remember or understand what it means to me--I am still trying to figure out the full impact of my cancerversary.

But, this 4th Cancerversary, I will re-re-read the cards that have been sent, and in my email and this blog, I salute and give thanks for Dr. Mesko.

From now on, when I hear people talk about how many years they have been cancer free, or reminisce their day of diagnosis, surgery or chemo/radiation treatments, I will listen more attentively and ask them to describe the moods and details of that defining moment in their life.

By pausing to recognize someone's cancerversary, whether with tears or excitement, you will help them celebrate and feel cared for.