My sunglasses fight cancer & Why Lance Armstrong matters

From 1999 through 2005, I wasn't a huge Lance Armstrong fan.  I didn't even really follow "Le Tour" all that closely, other than to get occasional updates on TV and Sports Radio.  I did like that an American was winning, and that this was absolutely irritating the Europeans, but I wouldn't have called myself a huge fan of Lance, nor of the US Postal or Discovery Channel teams.


Now that I have finished school, residency, and school again and have more time for both cycling and watching it, I still don't have a clear favorite.  There are riders and teams I like and dislike, but for the most part I just watch for enjoyment.  What I really like is the scenery, the colors, the equipment, the chaos, and the heroic attacks, climbs, and chases.   I'm a casual fan at best.  I had hoped that Lance would do well in his second comeback to cycling, and last year he did just that.


Regardless of how you feel about Lance, cycling, his love life, or any allegations of doping, what matters most (to those dealing with cancer) is what he survived.  He was diagnosed with Stage 3 testicular cancer, but he also had metastases to his brain, lungs, and abdomen.  Although it is commonly cited that he was given a less than 40% chance of survival, I've read elsewhere that some doctors evaluated his chances to be as low as 3% for survival.  


Lance Armstrong finished his chemotherapy over a year before I even began Pharmacy School, and it wasn't until our 3rd year that we even touched upon oncology.   Despite Lance's high profile case being well known by then, it was pretty well taught that metastatic cancer was extremely difficult, if not impossible (despite Lance), to cure.  This is why Lance Armstrong matters.  He is the only person to have ever won seven Tours de France.  On the other hand, he beat metastatic cancer.  It is no wonder he stands as the world's most famous cancer survivor and largest source of inspiration.


I don't have an opinion on Lance's love life, his relationships with certain Astana teammates, nor any circumstantial allegations of doping.  Maybe all I want is to be inspired that someone with chances so much worse than my own survived and came back to dramatically improve on his life's passion.


Before I had cancer myself, I had enjoyed Lance's first book and I was impressed with the Lance Armstrong Foundation: Livestrong.  Both were inspiring to many.  I had heard firsthand accounts of how Livestrong helped cancer patients.  I'd spent some time on the Livestrong website and occasionally donated, especially if someone I knew was involved in a race or something.  Only after I was diagnosed with cancer did it really mean something to me.  The Livestrong Guidebooks (free!) were a great first source of information for Sarah and myself.  It was amazing how much we didn't know we'd be in for, but soon learned from the books.  I still refer to them on occasion, and would recommend them for anyone dealing with cancer.  (As I would his "Not about the bike" book.)


Which brings me to my new sunglasses.  The night before my big VATS operation, Sarah gave me the great gift of a Livestrong sweatshirt.  It was this one in fact, and she knew I'd been wanting it long before I had cancer.  We were pretty sure of what my diagnosis would be, but I found the gift sort of inspirational.  So, it has now been two years since I've ordered new prescription sunglasses and I was due.   I had my heart set on a pair of Milwaukee Brewers sunglasses, since they match what I wear most of the time, and yet these Livestrong ones seemed so much more appropriate for me.  (You can read about Lance's relationship with Oakley here.)  While I don't 100% agree with everything that Livestrong advocates for politically, I do wholeheartedly support what they are doing for cancer patients like myself.


Lance Armstrong's story is inspirational.  As I'm teetering on some of my least favorite days in my chemo cycle, as the stomach and mouth sores begin again, as my skin bleeds while dressing my new line, and as I slowly lose my taste for favorite foods and drinks, it is comforting to know that someone who had it so much worse got so much better.