The prompt for this one came from the Book: Five Lessons I Didn't Learn From Cancer and One Big Lesson I Did, by Shelly Lewis. The Prompt: "Cancer doesn't change who you are, it confirms who you are."

There are likely a million lessons I didn't learn from cancer; when I was diagnosed I knew exactly who I was and where I was.

I discovered in college that I was black, and in grad school that I was a man. Shortly after that I discovered that love is what you make it; only that, and nothing more. And that I was tired of life.

About six months before I was diagnosed with cancer I received an answer to the biggest question of my life: why am I such a ----up? I had just been fired from a job with no clue why, realized that like every other job I had made no friends and had no social life. I happened on a website where the people were just like me. A little therapy and a visit to a so-called expert confirmed that I have Asperger's. Suddenly all the mysteries came clear. And just as suddenly I had friends, people who became worried when I lost my appetite and a lot of weight, people I cared about enough to slide down my stairs that fateful night and drag myself into the ER.

Who am I? A man who has a partner who came from Scotland to take care of him, a man who is surviving in spite of having my world torn apart and my belongings scattered across three states, who thinks that even if he goes down in flames again, he's still going to emerge, a dusty, nasty looking worm that will grow into a phoenix.

It's true I didn't learn or confirm anything by having cancer. I managed to have one that eventually will kill me, one that can't be cut out or radiated away.

I haven't learned a bloody thing. It just means I'd better hurry up and get life done before I go down in flames again.

Does that mean I learned something? I don't know. I still have Asperger's and I'm still a mixed blood ----up. Take away the cancer and - ah - my family would not know about the Asperger's. not that they understand. "Just get rid of it," they say, as if my things are not who I am, not my family.

I have to get rid of my things. I can't manage them any more.

Aha.

The cancer has not killed me. It has killed my family. Does that mean I learned something?