From an early age, I knew I was different. Not better, just different. Not Mensa different, not child-prodigy different, not born-to-be-the-next Thomas Edison different. More like red-head different (approximately 1-2% of the global population naturally has red hair); chubby grade school kid different (who gets picked last to be on teams in gym class); or growing up Jewish in Minnesota different (In 1960, Jews constituted less than 2% of Minnesota's population). All of that was/is fine - and survivable (I'm living proof of that). So, my diagnosis and life with Multiple Myeloma is true-to-form with those other differentiators (in the United States, the average lifetime risk of getting multiple myeloma is less than 1%). Here too, I can live with that.
There are many other forms of cancer with higher rates of incidence. And even more cancers with tragically, dramatically lower rates of occurrence - known as "orphan cancers" (as defined by the National Cancer Institute/NCI as one which affects less than 200,000 people in the United States; for perspective the US population as of 12-31-24 was 340MM). Again, I'm not better or worse (off), luckier or unluckier (than others). Just different.
It's part of what motivates me to share my journey. For the sake of those few within my specific Multiple Myeloma cancer cadre (to know that they are not alone). For the sake of others who are similarly oncologically encumbered with their own medical challenge and journey (all cancers are not the same, but what we all feel or fear or fight has unique commonality). And, for the sake of all others who are not afflicted or affected themselves (though impossible as it may seem to not be touched at all directly or indirectly by the Big C, it's enriching as a human being to empathetically connect, or maybe even prepare for the unfortunate possibility of being "touched"). So, what does it all mean?
Being unique can be fun and provocative - in all kinds of instances. Fitting in can also have its merits and value. There is a time and place for everything, and in many cases the choice to be different is not our own. Nor is the distinction of dissimilarity always discernible. Being diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma is clearly not the kind of "different" that I wanted to be. But let me show you: what a red-head is like inside, what a chubby kid can become, what a Jew from Minnesota may be thinking - and glimpses of what a person with Multiple Myeloma is all about.
