Why I have a beard
- Ryan Chapman
- May 19, 2022
- 3 min read
Let me begin by saying that this isn't something I like to bring up. Strange, right, that I would then write a blog post about it? Luckily, Ryan on The Office said that blogs are out (though that episode was probably released in 2007 or so). So, here it is.
My beard is like Linus' blanket, literally and figuratively. Linus carries that blanket everywhere as his protection and as his safe-space.
I grew a beard while recovering from cancer. I was diagnosed with melanoma in 2011, the malignant skin cancer that is very nasty if it spreads too much before it is caught. So, the beard is my protection, as the hair keeps the skin under it safe from the rays of the sun. Further, my beard serves as a reminder to me of where I am now versus where I was, but also to let me know that everything is going to be okay, no matter what happens next. I have been cancer free since the surgery that quickly followed the diagnosis, as long as nothing goes haywire again, and I feel extremely lucky to say that. I will not take it for granted.
Cancer is a monstrous thing that is hard to conceptualize, and the unknowns make it worse. The immediate aftermath of the diagnosis for me was a wild ride, and something that felt like I had little control over. The appointments were made before I was even told, and the tests, procedures, and surgery all happened within weeks of the original biopsy. And it wasn't until I was laid out on my couch, with my sweet little dog asleep on the floor beside me, that it was really dawning on me what I was up against. My body had betrayed me. I could no longer trust the sun. My life had instantly changed. It was a month before I could really be back on my own feet again, and that was followed by two more months of physical therapy. I still made it to that U2 concert in Baltimore, where Florence +the Machine opened, and I still drove the Jersey Turnpike after the show to crash at my buddy's place in White Plains before hitting a Yankees game the next day. I absolutely recognized then, and now, that what I experienced is significantly easier that what millions of other cancer patients have on their plates. I know. My brush with that monster was hell. And if it was hell, what term is apt for what so many others are going through right now as you read this?
Honestly, it was years after the surgery that I discovered just how bad melanoma could've been to me. Once the cancer enters the lymphatic system, it quickly spreads to other areas of the body, making detection almost impossible before it's too late. Melanoma patients that have this happen have an small chance of survival. In fact, according to the American Cancer Society, only 30% of melanoma patients that have this happen survive. Think about that for a moment: less than one of three patients will make it. And those that do have to survive a world without their lymph nodes, and thus without a piece of their immune system. Further, the constant checking, combing, testing, and procedures that occurs over the next several years adds another menace to their thoughts. And of course, the treatment that the patient has to go through when the melanoma is found in a new part of the body, whether it's in the lung, liver, bone, etc. Again, I know how lucky I am.
I also know what my father went through when he was treated for prostate cancer. I know what my grandpa when through when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I know what cancer did to my father's father. I'm aware of the multitude of women who are contacted by their doctor about irregular cells, and the famous and not so famous victims of pancreatic, colon, and breast cancer. I know about the children who are living their lives in the hospital due to the monster. I met a young lady in 2011 when I was in for a pre-op, and I'll never forget the light in her eyes. And I know how lucky I am.
This is why I have a beard.
P.S. -- Please consider donating to organizations designed to help treat the bodies and minds of cancer patients and their families:
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