Cancer is No Gift, but it Needn't be a Curse Either

I've lost count of how many well-meaning people have told me that cancer was a "gift" or a "blessing in disguise." Usually, this comes after I share something positive from my journey, like writing my book, deepening relationships, or finding new purpose. Their eyes light up as they proclaim, "See? Everything happens for a reason!"

Let me be clear: cancer is not a gift.

Cancer is a ruthless disease that kills people, destroys families, and steals dreams. It's painful, expensive, terrifying, and unfair. The nausea from chemotherapy isn't a present you unwrap with gratitude. The fear that grips you - the scanxiety while waiting for test results isn't a blessing. The financial strain, the relationship stress, the physical exhaustion - none of these are gifts.

When people call cancer a gift, they're usually trying to make sense of senseless suffering. They want to believe there's a grand plan, a silver lining, a reason why bad things happen to good people. I understand the impulse. It's easier to think my two cancer diagnoses served some cosmic purpose than to accept that sometimes, shit just happens for no good fucking reason.

But here's what I've learned after being diagnosed with prostate cancer and Stage 3B colorectal cancer within 17 months: while cancer isn't a gift, it doesn't have to be a curse either.

The difference lies in what you do with it.

I didn't ask for cancer, wouldn't recommend it to anyone, and would gladly give it back if I could. But since I can't, I've chosen to extract whatever wisdom, strength, and purpose I can from the experience. Not because I'm grateful for the disease, but because I refuse to let it win.

Cancer taught me things I wish I could have learned another way. It showed me who my real friends are - not because others abandoned me, but because some stepped forward with extraordinary love and support. It abruptly clarified my priorities with brutal efficiency, stripping away the trivial pursuits that once consumed my energy. It forced me to confront my own mortality and, paradoxically, taught me how to truly live.

Most importantly, it gave me a story that helps other people. Not the cancer itself, but my response to it. The discipline I learned from triathlon and marathon training became my blueprint for navigating treatment. The mental toughness I developed during races prepared me for the endurance required to fight for my life.

I've spoken to lots of newly diagnosed cancer patients who have found hope in my experience. Not because cancer is wonderful, but because survival is possible. Not because the journey is easy, but because it's navigable with the right mindset and support.

The gift isn't the cancer - it's who you choose to become because of it.

Cancer will always be an unwelcome intruder that disrupted my life plans. But I've refused to let it be the final word in my story. Instead, I've made it a chapter that leads to something better: deeper relationships, clearer purpose, and the knowledge that I can handle whatever life throws at me next.

That's not a gift. That's earned wisdom, paid for with fear, pain, and uncertainty. But it's mine to keep, and yours to claim if you need it.

Every mile matters - even the ones you never wanted to run.