Why Me?
Survivor's guilt and cancer
Lauren and Derrick didn’t know each other, but they both died of cancer last Sunday. I met Lauren when I worked at LICADD and we remained in close contact since then, especially after she was diagnosed about 6 months after I was. Derrick was a triathlete and we traveled in the same circles, talking every few months about getting together for a bike ride that never happened. He had Stage 4 colon cancer and endured radiation, chemo and immunotherapy at MSK for more than three years.
I, on the other hand, visited my surgeon last Thursday, had a few more tests and gratefully celebrated the continued absence of my tumor.
As I celebrate clear scans and return to racing, two friends who fought their own cancer battles didn't make it. The randomness feels brutal and unfair.
The survivor’s guilt arrives in waves. Why did my treatment work while theirs didn't? Why did I get the "easier" cancers while others face Stage Four diagnoses with limited options? Why am I planning future races while their families plan wakes and funerals?
There's no logic to it, no fairness in who survives and who doesn't. Cancer doesn't care about your character, your contributions, or how much you're loved. It's not a Karmic system where good people automatically get better outcomes.
What I've learned is that survivor's guilt, while natural, can become counterproductive and paralyzing. The best way I can honor Lauren, Derrick and countless others who didn't make it is to live fully - to use this unexpected gift of time meaningfully. Their battles weren't in vain if my survival helps others get screened earlier, seek better care, or find hope in their darkest moments.
I'm alive not because I deserved it more, but because…actually, I’m not sure why, but I do know that I’ve got plenty of work to do and love to give.
I “get” to.