An Expedition Through Male Breast Cancer

Adventure Inspired My Life. Male Breast Cancer kicked it up a Notch.

I received a mechanical monkey for my eighth birthday; a battery-operated toy that would clap its hands and emit simulated howling sounds from deep within its metallic body, all covered by fake fur.  I was a curious kid, so naturally, I wanted to take it apart to understand the hidden mechanisms inside. It was the excitement of discovering the unknown and the wonder of exploring uncharted territories that made me happy to be alive. The little monkey had been manufactured in China, and inside that toy, I discovered hidden pieces of newspaper, which had been used as stuffing in the arms and legs, with the most beautiful Chinese writing that I had ever laid eyes on. I was fascinated by the letters I couldn’t read.  And I decided at that very instant that I would travel to China one day.

A life of adventure was always the draw that thrilled me as a kid. And that lure of excitement and discovery led me to sixty countries by the time I was a grown man.  As a full-time professional magician, my life’s work was rewarding and often challenging. I spent 30 years performing in many countries but not always on stage. In fact, the highlights of my career were the impromptu performances in Tiananmen Square in China, the outdoor shows along the trekking routes through the Himalayan Mountains of Nepal, the shows for kids of the Havasupai Indian tribe at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and the intimate programs in the Amazon rain forests in South America.  It was the unknown and unexplored that I longed for in my work and my life.

Male Breast Cancer, however, wasn’t exactly the challenge I had in mind.  The loneliness and devastation I experienced the moment I was diagnosed with male breast cancer in 2014 was a blow that reverberated deeply, shattering the vision I had for the years remaining in my life.  But like anyone who sees life as an expedition, I was determined to get the most out of my remaining time, however long or short that may have been.  Male breast cancer is an oddity in the medical world.  And 10 years ago, when just 1,200 men were diagnosed annually with the disease, there was a lot of confusion about how to treat us.  And to make matters worse, the mortality rate for guys was and is much higher than that of women, given the fact that we are more likely to delay seeing a doctor when our symptoms first appear.

The simple truth is, men have breasts and breast cancer in men, though exceedingly rare, does happen. The odds of a man contracting cancer of the breast when I was diagnosed were about 1000 to 1.    Those are about the same odds as a person accidentally drowning in any given year.  Given the choice, I have to say that I’d take my breast cancer over drowning any day.

But because of the rarity of this “orphan disease” and the lack of support from the pharmaceutical industry, since the payback for development is minimal, those of us afflicted find it necessary to get deeply involved in our own survival and recovery.   It’s a difficult task for any man, but for guys who have always wanted to live life by welcoming every opportunity for adventure, one of the challenges is in learning to give up some of the activities we once cherished.  For much of my life I had been a competitive runner with hundreds of 10K races and more than a dozen marathons under my belt, but with my male breast cancer diagnosis I began to realize that parts of my life needed to change.

  “LIFE IS A DARING ADVENTURE, OR NOTHING AT ALL!”  Helen Keller

Cancer itself doesn’t necessarily preclude us from carrying on with our active lives, but chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery for those who choose it as a course of action can hamper our ability to be engaged in the physical recreations we enjoy. So, when the day came that I made the decision to give up running, it was not without some serious reluctance.  But suddenly, cancer was my preoccupation, and surviving it was my sole purpose. For a time it seemed like the first thing I would think about each morning on awakening, and the last thing I remembered each night before retiring to the safety of my dreams,  was climbing mountains and running through open meadows at the break of day.  But life had a different plan for me, and it was necessary for me to learn the lessons of acquiescence and acceptance. 

I don’t think we have one-sided lessons in life. Just as a broken bone heals stronger at the point of fracture, every defeat allows us to grow a little too. I believe that each time my cancer knocked me back a few steps, the hunger that I had for living and for the continued adventures, grew a bit. And that is precisely the nature of cancer.  It comes and goes. It reveals itself, then vanishes like a whisper. And its lessons are sometimes subtle, sometimes painful.  And often life-changing.

Now, after living 10 full years since my diagnosis and mastectomy surgery, I’ve come to realize that it has never been the length of my life that really matters. It is the breadth of my life. The view from side to side is what really gives depth and color to our time on Earth. The endless perimeters and paths that have broadened my experiences are the most precious gifts I’ve been given.  They are often subtle and sometimes challenging, like the cancer that was found in my body, but at the end of the day—indeed at the end of a life, these diverse moments widen our view of existence and give dimension to every experience as our expedition through life continues.

Photo courtesy of author.