Because I Survived, I Have Thrived

By Dane McCormack

A cancer treatment saved Dane’s life, but left him with limitations that he would have to figure out how to live with. By developing strategies to manage them, Dane became the master of his own fate. He didn’t just survive, he learned how to thrive.

My name is Dane McCormack. In 2018, I battled a severe and complicated case of T-cell Lymphoma cancer. While I lost a lot during my journey, I also gained a lot and am better because of my illness. I lost the toes off my right foot, parts of my bowel, my ability to eat meat and seafood, my long and short term memories, my father who passed away from cancer while I was having bowel surgery, my sense of smell, my sense of taste, and my sense of place.

Some of the medication I was taking had drawn the blood away from my extremities, causing my toes to become gangrenous, and resulting in the toes on my right foot being cut off. This, in turn, caused balance issues and severe nerve damage on the soles of both my feet, making it very difficult to walk. I’m now a slow walker who likes to sit down a lot. Slowing down has changed how I view the world. I now see all the beauty on Earth, which has allowed me to become more appreciative of everything. In fact, there is wonder in almost everything I see—not just nature.

Walking along the street, I see people building garden beds with seats and fountains. I see fathers teaching their kids. Even at home, it’s delightful to watch my father-in-law teach my son, Moby, how to build and maintain a garden, especially since I can’t do it myself due to the complications from cancer. It’s wonderful to watch my wife teach Moby how to play guitar. I can’t wait to see him groovin’ up on the stage someday.

When adhesions formed in my bowel, the doctors removed 30 centimeters of it. This caused me to regurgitate meats, fish, and other foods that are hard to digest. I moved to a vegetarian diet and made sure I chewed thoroughly to make it easier to digest, so I wouldn’t throw up. Strangely I don’t crave the foods I can no longer eat. I have accepted that my life has changed and that I may never be able to eat those foods again. I thank my parents for instilling this ability in me at an early age. I’ve moved on quickly and quietly. I recognize that a vegetarian diet and chewing my food more thoroughly is healthier for me. Acknowledging these additional benefits helps me deal with the loss. I’m now a slow eater, who likes to chew a lot. I lost my sense of smell and my sense of taste, but slowing my chewing down allows me to appreciate food much deeper. So despite not being able to taste food anymore, I can still greatly enjoy it because of how it makes my body feel. It’s no longer about food being delicious, it’s about it being nutritious. I think that since I lost my primary senses of smell and taste, my other senses have been heightened, so I’m much more aware of everything. I no longer just look, I see. I no longer just hear, I listen.

By far the worst side effect from my cancer treatment was an acquired brain injury, caused by bacteria from one of my surgery wounds infiltrating my brain. This resulted in short and long-term memory loss. I have no memory of the time I contracted cancer, or when the symptoms arose, the diagnostic stage, the treatment stage, or even my first admission into hospital. I don’t remember being released or any time I spent at home.

My first memory of the entire journey was walking into the hospital for my second admission, looking down at my feet, noticing the toes on my right foot had been cut off, and asking the nurse and my wife what had happened to my toes!

My acquired brain injury causes severe mental fatigue and I’m now unable to do the wide thinking needed to develop business strategies, which is a job that I love. When I returned to work, with an amazing boss who did everything he could to get me back up to speed, and even though I tried my hardest, I couldn’t give them what they needed, so they had to ask me to resign.

My brain injury also prevents me from being the father I want to be. My father taught me how to build and maintain an awesome backyard, full of green plants and vegetables. We would build patios, garden edging, dog kennels, and cubby houses. I strongly desire to teach these same skills to my son. However getting low to the ground, digging, hammering, sawing, and swinging my head up and down all results in severe brain fatigue. I also can’t be the husband I need to be, as noise now affects my head quite badly, so I’m unable to go out to bars and restaurants. Going out to watch my son play soccer and my wife compete in an Ironman involves walking up and down steep embankments, which destroys my nerve-prone feet.

I’m dealing with my short-term memory issues by taking more notes, making sure my calendar is up to date, and setting reminders. Because of these new habits, I’m remembering more things now than ever before! I’ve also developed routines to help my memory issues. For instance, when it comes to housework, by doing the same things every day I don’t forget to do them. Before my cancer journey, I had never been great at doing all the jobs around the house. My mother had taught me the basics and I would do things here and there, but it now gives me a sense of pride to be able to help out more. I’ve become a proud house husband!

In order to deal with my long-term memory loss, I set out on a mighty quest to find those lost memories and wrote my autobiography. My cancer journey has reawakened this creative writing talent which I had greatly enjoyed during my childhood but had drifted away from. It’s now given me a new source of happiness that was desperately needed after my journey took away many of my previous sources of happiness. I can no longer ride a motorbike, bushwalk through Tasmania’s beautiful scenery, or play field hockey. However, writing my autobiography has allowed me to sit back and admire how I’ve created my career and life. It reminds me of all the other times I’d conquered tough circumstances, which gave me hope that I will resume a happy life. I have now resumed that happy life and am writing a book about my great-great-great-grandfather, who was a convict transported to Tasmania. He was assigned to a free settler, married the free settler’s daughter and lived happily ever after. This is the rainbow I’ve been praying for. It’s going to be a bright, bright, sunshiny life!

The cancer treatment caused so many different complications which limited my ability to live a happy life, so I’ve called them “limitations”. But there’s no point getting angry about these limitations. The cancer treatment saved my life, these constraints are a byproduct, now I just had to figure out how to live with them. I can thank my father for this one. He taught me that every time you hit a problem, don’t get angry—stop, think about a solution, and then fix the problem. But before you can fix problems you have to know what they are. I took the time to understand what my limitations were. Once I had identified a limitation from the complications, I stopped, thought about the right way to deal with them, and develop strategies to manage them so they didn’t affect me as much.

This allowed me to live with them day-to-day. It’s so important that I don’t rush this process, because if I rush and don’t succeed, it will make me sad, and there’s already enough sadness in the situation without adding more. My belief is this: if you do unfortunately get struck down by an illness, try not to let yourself get caught up in anger and regret. Be master of your fate, be captain of your soul. Focus first on surviving, because if you do survive, you will thrive.