Sean Cassidy doesn’t like to put things off anymore.
The 72-year-old retired Lewis-Clark State College professor recently went to see the Kīlauea volcano’s active lava flows on Hawaii’s Big Island. In a selfie, Cassidy smiles while plumes of red-hot lava burst into the air miles behind him.
“I feel like I can't hesitate,” he said. “If I want to do something, I need to go do it.”
Cassidy has crammed a lot of adventures into just a few years. Two years earlier, he went on his second tour around the globe that included Australia, Thailand, Laos, Sri Lanka, Italy and Iceland. Last year, he visited Japan and Mexico.
“I've been reminded of my mortality,” Cassidy said. “That's what cancer did for me.”
That first reminder came during a routine surgery to remove a kidney stone more than four years ago. It’s a surgery he might not have gotten, he said, except that he wanted to be proactive as he planned travel following retirement.
“When I came out of the anesthetic, I'm looking at my doctor,” Cassidy said. “He's looking at me. And I'm saying, ‘Oh, well, OK, did you get it?’ And he goes, ‘No. We didn't get it. I went in there and when I looked around, your kidney is riddled with cancer tumors.’”
A biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. Cassidy ended up removing his kidney.
But, he said, those tumors continue to come back. Last summer, he had three removed. The summer before that, doctors removed eight.
“Before that, I can't remember how many they took out,” Cassidy said.
More than four years after the initial diagnosis, Cassidy’s prognosis isn’t bad, he said. But he doesn’t plan with the expectation he’ll have another year.
He lives on an annual cycle: Surgery, biopsy and waiting for results. That last part is the hardest, he said.
“The thing about cancer — I sort of describe it as living in a house full of snakes,” he said. “Some of the snakes are poisonous, but you don't know which ones are the poisonous ones, and you don't know when they're gonna bite you or not bite you. So, every time you follow up, you're dreading going into a new room.”
Cassidy is no stranger to cancer. Before he was diagnosed, he watched his mother, two sisters and his grandparents all die of cancer.
He said one grandmother was treated for cancer with brachytherapy, in which tiny radioactive pellets are placed inside or near a tumor. Cassidy’s grandmother suffered, he said, after that treatment was mistakenly left too long by doctors.
“I've seen how devastating it is. So, coming out of anesthetic, that was a moment where I felt ill,” he said. “Just sort of like, ‘Oh my God, my life is over. I'm done.’ And I absolutely was wrong.”
For patients going through treatment, Cassidy said, having a doctor he trusted, researching his options and bringing someone along who could help take notes were all important for him.
Asking his doctor the right questions also made it easier to decide how he wanted to treat his cancer, he said.
“He gave me a recommendation. And then I said, ‘What would you do if it was you? I hear the percentages and I see this, but how do you weigh out brain fog, chemo, surgery, trauma, death?’” Cassidy said. “And I got a different answer.”
Cassidy said focusing on others helps, too. Even though Cassidy isn’t particularly religious, he said volunteering at St. Vincent de Paul, a local Catholic charity, is the highlight of his week.
“I meet people who are struggling with so many things I take for granted,” he said. “Being able to directly assist them … is as gratifying, in its own way, as seeing a volcanic eruption.”
His relationships with friends and family also keep him going. Cassidy remembers his initial reluctance when friends organized a meal train after his first surgery years ago, before realizing how much he enjoyed receiving the gift of homemade meals shared by loved ones.
Years later, he said, regular meetings and walks with friends are an essential part of his weekly schedule. Discussion topics range from psychology to artificial intelligence, to politics, music and literature.
“It sounds like (those conversations) might all be hoody-doody, intellectual things. They aren't,” Cassidy clarifies, smiling. “A lot of 'em are really silly.”
One of his greatest joys is photography, a passion he’s fostered since he was 10 years old.
Creativity helps pull him out of his rumination, Cassidy said, whether it’s about his health or the state of the world. It’s one of the practices that have helped him through his toughest days.
But Cassidy said he doesn’t consider himself an optimist. Instead, he found the term “cheerful fatalist” fits better.
“Every doctor's visit is a new possibility that they're gonna tell me this is the end,” he said. “I hope (if they do), I have a sly smile on my face and even as I am in the hospital, that I am still able to make some jokes.”
Until that happens, he said, he’s grateful to have another day.
“Before I would've probably been moaning about, ‘Oh, I'm old, and my feet hurt,’” he said. “Now it's like, ‘OK, it hurts. But man — I'm still here to hurt.’”
