CARLTON FLETCHER: The gift of a lifetime

Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy.

— Cat Stevens

So today is my birthday.

Before you respond, “Big deal,” please know that I do not share that information as a way of soliciting greetings and well-wishes. Birthdays — and other holidays — have become very much not a big deal in the Fletcher household. We find reasons to celebrate every day.

No, I bring up my birthday for a couple of reasons, the first being that it’s been late in life that I’ve done some cool things to mark the passage of another year. Things like swimming with dolphins, taking a first helicopter ride and — perhaps most memorably — being treated to my first, and most assuredly only, visit to a strip club.

I don’t think Tara believed me when I said I’d never been to such an establishment before, but when she found out I was being honest, she decided it was an experience I should have at least once in my life … plus, she wanted to see the expressions on my face as I watched the performers. Trust me, she got plenty to laugh about.

My first strip club faux pas was to put money on the floor of the dance area rather than putting it in the dancer’s G-string … figuring touching was a no-no. Then, when the three entertainers gave me a birthday lap dance of sorts, Tara laughed herself silly as, with three lovely young ladies performing the tricks of their trade, I sat on my hands and just blushed.

The second reason I note my birthday is that it reminds me to be thankful for every day. Most people who know me know this story, but I’ll tell it anyway. More than a couple of decades ago, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer. Frankly, I was too stunned after diagnosis, during treatment and during recovery to do any type of research, but I’ve been told by a number of people that every day I’ve lived since that diagnosis is a miracle.

I don’t dispute that contention. And even when I allow a little doom and gloom to enter into my life, in the back of my mind there’s always this little voice that says, “Think of all the things you’ve experienced in all those years since diagnosis … remember the amazing people you’ve met, the one-of-a-kind experiences. Take a moment, get yourself together and remember to appreciate every breath you’ll take from here on out.”

It’s sobering to hear that voice. It makes me think — no, actually, know — that there is a reason I’m here. And it makes me remember every day to appreciate knowing what it’s like to be loved.

If nothing else, part of the reason I believe I’ve been allowed to continue this life is that I have an opportunity to share this story. And I am more than willing to share it, to talk one-on-one with people who are going through similar diagnoses, people who are frightened out of their wits — as any sensible person would be — by the word “cancer.”

I’ve never been someone who speaks well in front of a crowd, but I will gladly tell any who will listen that a cancer diagnosis is not a sign to just give up, even if the dreaded “Stage 4” is part of the diagnosis. Certainly I feel that I owe my life to the three wonderful healers who were a part of my treatment: Oncologist Phillip Roberts — who is unquestionably one of the greatest men ever put on this earth — radiation oncologist Chuck Mendenhall and surgeon Doug Calhoun. But I also know that there was a greater power involved who decided I was one of the fortunate ones who would overcome what was considered at the time an almost sure death sentence.

I have an ask of anyone who is reading this, and it’s a simple one: Please, if you have any concerns about your health, get checked. Sure, these things are not fun … they’re embarrassing, they’re sometimes humiliating, there’s some pain involved, and they’re frightening as hell. But the best way to overcome cancer is to catch it early. And you do that by getting checked.

If one of you who reads this decides to go and get yourself checked out, you will have given me a birthday gift to treasure.