I had a lovely visit with one of my octogenarian patients a few weeks ago. I’d like to tell you about our conversation. His words reinforced a simple, but deeply meaningful, concept.
Mr. L just turned eighty-four. He was diagnosed with a localized mid-esophageal cancer in the fall of 2022. As his cancer was still localized, any treatment we offered was potentially curative. He agreed to a tough combination of multi-agent chemotherapy plus radiation followed by a few more cycles of chemotherapy. He did surprisingly well, especially for his age.
Sadly, a monitoring CT diagnosed metastatic spread of his cancer less than six months after this treatment. When this happened, I asked him if he could tell he has cancer, never mind one that will kill him within the next year or so. His quick-off-his-tongue answer was “no”. He was, and remains, asymptomatic from his now terminal cancer. Honestly, there isn’t anyone that would look at him and suspect cancer scatters his body. For now, he is healthy and strong and looks at least ten years younger than his eight-four years.
Together we decided to give palliative chemotherapy a try. His hope is that chemo will push his cancer back a little, affording his return to Arizona during the colder Canadian months that loom. He explained he has a Harley to get back to. He hopes to spend as many of his remaining days feeling the freeness riding a motorcycle has always granted him.
I saw him a few weeks ago after the first six of twelve planned cycles of chemotherapy we thought we could administer before his trip south of the border. We talked about his blood work – not much to say as it looked good. We discussed side effects – another short conversation as he wasn’t having any. We planned for the next cycle, which would be administered a few days later.
Before I left the room, I asked him about the motorcycle he has here in our city. My clinic nurse had spilled the beans before I went into the room and shared with me that he had taken a nice ride over the preceding weekend. I was curious. I had to ask.
He told me the bike he has here is not his prized Harley, but it does the trick. He went on to say his destination was a coffee shop a little outside of the city where he often meets friends. It’s about a forty-minute ride each way. He said it was the most beautiful summer day. The sun was shining. The wind was warm. His music was on, flowing from his phone to his Bluetooth helmet to his ears. There was open road.
He cracked a smile at that moment, the grin of a ten-year-old boy causing innocent mischief crept over his face. The mischief caused a sparkle in his eyes. The words that came out of his smile next were as beautiful as his face while he said them.
“It was just the perfect day for a ride with my tunes and my motorcycle and I thought to myself, it doesn’t get any better than this, you know?”
It was a rhetorical question, but I answered it nonetheless, “Yes, I know!” Because I do know. I know that feeling well.
I walked out of that room shaking my head. I was amazed, yet again, by the generosity of my patients, who allow me to see glimpses of their superhuman wisdom. This man, with his motorcycle, some music, and a sun-shiny day was living his best life at the age of eighty-four even while cancer was trying to overtake his body.
The best of life was invited for a motorcycle ride on that day. Contentment, joy, and gratitude went along too. Cancer, chemotherapy, and death were not invited. Only good vibes rode.
It doesn’t get better than this, you know?!
Author Notes:
“It doesn’t get better than this.”
It amazes me how many times I have paused and thought these same words over the last few years. In the last few months alone, I have thought and mouthed these words a dozen times.
It doesn’t get better than booking exciting adventures with my favourite person. It doesn’t get better than seeing my son eat crickets and grubs and have a giant tarantula on his stomach. It doesn’t get better than watching my daughter sing every word to a three- and-a-half-hour concert being performed by her favourite artist. It doesn’t get better than witnessing my best friends’ daughter marry her long-time love. That walk in the river valley with my dog every day . . . yup, you guessed it: It doesn’t get better!
Except it does get better, and then better still. Then, life gets worse, and then maybe a little worse yet, and then better again . . . then worse, then better, then worse, then better. These cycles ensure we are always aware of our surroundings. Peaks and troughs are part of this crazy ride of life we are all on. I have started to try to embrace all of it. I’m better at welcoming the good than the bad for sure, which I think is human nature. My patients often help me recognize it is okay to give a little love to the bad too.
Mr. L helped me do something I had been meaning to do for weeks before the visit I had with him – get my scooter road ready. I get it Mr. L. I really do. It doesn’t get better than this!! Until it does – again and again and again. Thank you for the reminder. I owe you a wave as we pass each other on our bikes one day.
I am curious, reader, do you have experiences that make you consciously say to yourself “it doesn’t get better than this”? What person, place, or thing helps you get to this?
