We're All In This Fight Together

I couldn't imagine the terror in Japan when the tsunami hit land and wiped out entire villages. I could in some small way imagine the pain people were feeling after having their lives ripped apart.

Hearing that I have cancer was one of the scariest times of my life. Everything was turned upside down and inside out. Even so, my problems seem minimal compared to the disaster in Japan.

It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you see so many others suffering.

That's one truly stunning thing I saw the moment I walked into the waiting room at Cedars-Sinai hospital in Los Angeles: People were putting aside their own problems to reach out to complete strangers.

There was no hiding, no embarrassment about why we were there. Everyone was there for pretty much the same reason, which created an instant support network.

Watching coverage of the tsunami and nuclear emergency in Japan on the TVs in the waiting room didn't make anyone feel better, so people just turned to each other.

One couple, Cathy and Ricardo, welcomed everyone with a smile and a kind word even as they waited for the doctor. They discussed the remodel of the cancer center and the fate of the fish in the tank that had been in the waiting room; examined the problems with expensive foreign cars; and rated the best restaurants in Beverly Hills.

Pretty quickly, everyone in the waiting room was smiling and having a good laugh. Two ladies broke out a deck of cards and invited me to join them for a game of gin while we all waited for Dr. Edward Wolin, one of the leading carcinoid specialists in the U.S. I'd never suggest going to the hospital is a lot of fun, but we made the best of it with a few snacks and some pleasant conversation. Actually, it was kind of like a party.

Surgeries and chemicals are the prescribed treatments for cancer, but just as important is the strength patients and their families can gain from just a few words of support.

I was talking last weekend with NHRA driver Jack Beckman about his own successful battle with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Jack's mother also suffered from cancer and he's since been a major supporter of cancer research and support groups. I've known Jack for years so I was certain he would understand what I was going through.

The weight of the depression recently felt like a 50-pound pigeon sitting on my head, but Jack reminded me of two things: pigeons don't usually weigh 50 pounds and there's no reason I can't beat this cancer.

I've discovered there's an amazingly close-knit community among cancer patients. The heart-felt comments I've received just in the past week have been wonderful and I thank you all.