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Having cancer is like being kidnapped, being 1)harried to a dark and deadly place by an unexpected 2)assailant who has pressed the cold barrel of a gun to your skull. You might be strong enough or lucky enough to escape, to survive. Then again, you might not. And when you’re 3)cornered in that 4)bleak and narrow place, you can’t help but think about mortality. Will I be alive in six months? In six years? Sixty years?
But after going through Stage 3 5)prostate cancer and its treatment, I find that I no longer fear death. Post-cancer, more than ever, I am 6)stung by the fact that I am here, that I am this I, this7)improbable soul. For me, death is no longer abstract. I have wrestled with death, 8)in the guise of the cancer that 9)fed on my body. And I agreed to let death, in the form of 10)radiation, 11)pulse into my flesh so that it could kill my 12)mutinous cancer cells.
I have even had the privilege—and I don’t use that word 13)lightly—to watch death at work inside my body. I was hospitalized for six weeks in 1984 with an acute case of 14)ulcerative colitis. Before my entire 15)ravaged 16)colon was removed, my doctors let me peer through the 17)scope and take a look at it as it died. The colon was18)ablaze, like a 19)bone-dry 20)bale of hay soaked in gasoline and then set afire. I saw yellow-white 21)explosions in my 22)gut, and it seemed as if23)magma 24)seeped through my 25)bowels.
So after all that, no, I don’t fear death. But it’s not that I want to die, either. I’m 54 years old, and when I think about it that’s a long time. I was born in October 1957, one day after the Soviets 26)lobbed the 27)Sputnik satellite into orbit. I’m a true Space Age baby. Computers were the size of football fields, and Americans were energized by the prospect of the new Interstate highway system—not that other “inter,” the Internet. So, yes, 54 years is a long time. But I’m in no rush to visit the 28)boneyard. I want to remain a wise pillar in my two sons’ lives as they marry, have children and discover their own truths. More than anything, I want to see how their stories turn out.
The most disturbing part of my recent post-treatment depression was when this thought—“Why don’t I kill myself?”—would float to the surface of my consciousness, like a fat 29)trout feeding at dusk. I would quickly 30)nudge it away, never let it set its awful hook in my gray and foggy brain. I’m not afraid of death. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it a hand.
This morning as I write, the 31)stark 32)gnarl and 33)tangle of winter is 34)sugared with snow, deer tracks 35)stipple the backyard and the pale yolk of the sun is 36)oozing through the thick clouds. These things happened infinite times before I ever tasted this sweet life. And they will keep on happening after I’m just memories and dust. But, most important, they are happening right now in front of me—miracles 37)in a minor key.
I can’t worry about tomorrow, can’t 38)fret about death. I’m 39)reveling in the here and now.
罹患癌症就像是被人绑架了一样，如同某个歹徒出其不意地把你劫掠到一个漆黑可怕的地方，用冰冷的枪口指着你的头。你可能会因为强壮有余或者运气很好而逃过一劫，幸存下来。又或许，你没那么幸运。当你被逼入那阴暗又无处可逃的角落时，你就会情不自禁地想到死亡。我还能再活六个月？六年？还是六十年？
然而，在经历了前列腺癌的第三个治疗阶段后，我发现自己不再害怕死亡了。患了癌症之后，我越发深刻地认识到这样一个事实——我还活着，我就是这样的我，一个连自己都觉得不可思议的灵魂。对我来说，死亡不再抽象。我曾与之搏斗过，它曾披上癌症的外衣蚕食着我的身体。我同意死神以放射线脉冲的形式打入我的身体，从而杀死我体内那些桀骜不驯的癌细胞。
我甚至有过这样的“特权”——用这个词毫不夸张——亲眼目睹死神在体内发威的过程。1984年，我曾经因为得了急性溃疡性结肠炎而住院六个星期。在切除那整个溃烂的结肠之前，主治医生们让我透过观察仪器看看那段坏死的组织。只见那段结肠泛着焰光，像一捆极干燥的干草浸到汽油里后被点燃了似的。我看见黄白色的汁液散布在我的肠子里，看上去就像稠液从我的肠道里渗出来似的。
于是，自那以后，不，我不害怕死亡。但这并不意味着我就甘愿撒手人寰。我今年54岁，有时想想这确实是一段漫长的日子。我出生于1957年10月，就在前苏联发射第一颗人造卫星“斯普特尼克”升空进入轨道的后一天。我是一名真正的太空时代的孩子。那时的电子计算机足有足球场那般大小。当时让美国人倍感振奋的是新州际高速公路“网”带来的美好前景，而非如今的“因特网”。所以，是的，54年是一段漫长的岁月。但是，我还不想那么快就睡进墓地里。我仍然想要成为我两个儿子生命中的伟大支柱：看着他们结婚、生子、发现他们自己人生的真谛。还有，我还想要见证他们各自的人生轨迹。
在我癌症治疗后出现的抑郁症状中最困扰我的一点是，总会有“为什么不去自杀？”这样的念头在我的意识里浮现，如同薄暮时分肥美的鲑鱼浮上水面等待喂食一般。此时，我会迅速地将这种念头拭去，决不能让这种可怕的想法驻留在我灰黑迷糊的脑海里。我不害怕死亡，但我绝不能助死神一臂之力。
在我写下这些文字的这个早晨，窗外冬日的枯枝扭节上被撒上了如糖霜般的雪花，后院里有驯鹿们留下的点点足迹，天空中淡黄色的太阳光芒正从厚厚的云层里散射出来。在我品味这美好人生之前，这些事物出现过无数次。而在我成为回忆和尘埃之后，它们还将继续出现。不过，最重要的是，它们此刻正一一呈现在我的面前，宛如生命乐章中的精彩小调。
我不能为明天而忧愁，不能因死亡的威胁而烦恼。我只为此时此刻而欢笑。
But after going through Stage 3 5)prostate cancer and its treatment, I find that I no longer fear death. Post-cancer, more than ever, I am 6)stung by the fact that I am here, that I am this I, this7)improbable soul. For me, death is no longer abstract. I have wrestled with death, 8)in the guise of the cancer that 9)fed on my body. And I agreed to let death, in the form of 10)radiation, 11)pulse into my flesh so that it could kill my 12)mutinous cancer cells.
I have even had the privilege—and I don’t use that word 13)lightly—to watch death at work inside my body. I was hospitalized for six weeks in 1984 with an acute case of 14)ulcerative colitis. Before my entire 15)ravaged 16)colon was removed, my doctors let me peer through the 17)scope and take a look at it as it died. The colon was18)ablaze, like a 19)bone-dry 20)bale of hay soaked in gasoline and then set afire. I saw yellow-white 21)explosions in my 22)gut, and it seemed as if23)magma 24)seeped through my 25)bowels.
So after all that, no, I don’t fear death. But it’s not that I want to die, either. I’m 54 years old, and when I think about it that’s a long time. I was born in October 1957, one day after the Soviets 26)lobbed the 27)Sputnik satellite into orbit. I’m a true Space Age baby. Computers were the size of football fields, and Americans were energized by the prospect of the new Interstate highway system—not that other “inter,” the Internet. So, yes, 54 years is a long time. But I’m in no rush to visit the 28)boneyard. I want to remain a wise pillar in my two sons’ lives as they marry, have children and discover their own truths. More than anything, I want to see how their stories turn out.
The most disturbing part of my recent post-treatment depression was when this thought—“Why don’t I kill myself?”—would float to the surface of my consciousness, like a fat 29)trout feeding at dusk. I would quickly 30)nudge it away, never let it set its awful hook in my gray and foggy brain. I’m not afraid of death. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it a hand.
This morning as I write, the 31)stark 32)gnarl and 33)tangle of winter is 34)sugared with snow, deer tracks 35)stipple the backyard and the pale yolk of the sun is 36)oozing through the thick clouds. These things happened infinite times before I ever tasted this sweet life. And they will keep on happening after I’m just memories and dust. But, most important, they are happening right now in front of me—miracles 37)in a minor key.
I can’t worry about tomorrow, can’t 38)fret about death. I’m 39)reveling in the here and now.
罹患癌症就像是被人绑架了一样，如同某个歹徒出其不意地把你劫掠到一个漆黑可怕的地方，用冰冷的枪口指着你的头。你可能会因为强壮有余或者运气很好而逃过一劫，幸存下来。又或许，你没那么幸运。当你被逼入那阴暗又无处可逃的角落时，你就会情不自禁地想到死亡。我还能再活六个月？六年？还是六十年？
然而，在经历了前列腺癌的第三个治疗阶段后，我发现自己不再害怕死亡了。患了癌症之后，我越发深刻地认识到这样一个事实——我还活着，我就是这样的我，一个连自己都觉得不可思议的灵魂。对我来说，死亡不再抽象。我曾与之搏斗过，它曾披上癌症的外衣蚕食着我的身体。我同意死神以放射线脉冲的形式打入我的身体，从而杀死我体内那些桀骜不驯的癌细胞。
我甚至有过这样的“特权”——用这个词毫不夸张——亲眼目睹死神在体内发威的过程。1984年，我曾经因为得了急性溃疡性结肠炎而住院六个星期。在切除那整个溃烂的结肠之前，主治医生们让我透过观察仪器看看那段坏死的组织。只见那段结肠泛着焰光，像一捆极干燥的干草浸到汽油里后被点燃了似的。我看见黄白色的汁液散布在我的肠子里，看上去就像稠液从我的肠道里渗出来似的。
于是，自那以后，不，我不害怕死亡。但这并不意味着我就甘愿撒手人寰。我今年54岁，有时想想这确实是一段漫长的日子。我出生于1957年10月，就在前苏联发射第一颗人造卫星“斯普特尼克”升空进入轨道的后一天。我是一名真正的太空时代的孩子。那时的电子计算机足有足球场那般大小。当时让美国人倍感振奋的是新州际高速公路“网”带来的美好前景，而非如今的“因特网”。所以，是的，54年是一段漫长的岁月。但是，我还不想那么快就睡进墓地里。我仍然想要成为我两个儿子生命中的伟大支柱：看着他们结婚、生子、发现他们自己人生的真谛。还有，我还想要见证他们各自的人生轨迹。
在我癌症治疗后出现的抑郁症状中最困扰我的一点是，总会有“为什么不去自杀？”这样的念头在我的意识里浮现，如同薄暮时分肥美的鲑鱼浮上水面等待喂食一般。此时，我会迅速地将这种念头拭去，决不能让这种可怕的想法驻留在我灰黑迷糊的脑海里。我不害怕死亡，但我绝不能助死神一臂之力。
在我写下这些文字的这个早晨，窗外冬日的枯枝扭节上被撒上了如糖霜般的雪花，后院里有驯鹿们留下的点点足迹，天空中淡黄色的太阳光芒正从厚厚的云层里散射出来。在我品味这美好人生之前，这些事物出现过无数次。而在我成为回忆和尘埃之后，它们还将继续出现。不过，最重要的是，它们此刻正一一呈现在我的面前，宛如生命乐章中的精彩小调。
我不能为明天而忧愁，不能因死亡的威胁而烦恼。我只为此时此刻而欢笑。