A Monumental Victory
Jack Martin's project of healing
At first glance, it's an incongruous pair-cancer
and Northeastern. Not only incongruous but unnatural, and certainly not
the usual stuff of this column.
Writers for the "Talk of the Gown" column
have addressed such relevant topics as heading the Faculty Senate or the
trials and tribulations of a journalism professor. What could Northeastern,
a living, working, prospering institution that suggests the picture of
health, have in common with cancer?
But then I thought of my metaphor. When I was
diagnosed with Stage IIIII colon cancer in the fall of 1998, my instinct
was that I needed a way of thinking about the life-threatening disease
that could make it manageable. The standard comparison of cancer as a war
to be fought-a "battle with cancer"-was less than palatable.
I had already experienced real war in Vietnam and was not anxious to repeat
anything closely resembling that.
Next, I thought of a journey: the road, hopefully,
to recovery. But with cancer, there is no known destination. And since
my life had abruptly changed forever, this was not a journey from which
I would return the same, with only a scrapbook full of happy memories to
show for it. No, the metaphor needed to be something with which I was familiar,
something I could hold on to while enduring whatever it was I was going
to have to endure.
When I thought of the words of the Holocaust survivor
and eminent psychologist Viktor Frankl, who said, "Everything can
be taken away from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms-to
choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's
own way," I knew my metaphor was to be found where I had spent my
college years and thirty-plus years of my professional career-Northeastern.
And so the relationship between my cancer and N.U. unfolded.
I decided to treat cancer as a project to be completed.
Since I oversee the
planning and building of the university's facilities,
completing a project was familiar territory. And, as with the Marino Recreation
Center or the new West Village Residence Hall, I knew where to begin. I
would make lists similar to those I use with staff and contractors: lists
that can range from ranking of the nation's top architects to cataloguing
potential shades of precast concrete. These lists, both functional and
exhaustive, would help me organize my cancer. Lists of surgeons, hospitals,
possible treatments, people who had recovered, and what needed to be done
at Northeastern while I was undergoing treatment-these helped to objectify
the disease, to put it in its proper perspective so that it could not overwhelm
me.
After the lists came the fact-finding phase. As
with any project, responding to the cancer diagnosis required extensive
research. Internet searches, interviews, and books armed me with the knowledge
needed to make informed decisions.
If I wanted to survive, I really had little choice
but to have surgery. Once the decision was made, I was ready for the challenge.
Drawing on my project
management skills and accounting background, I
recorded everything and made sure I had documentation of every process,
procedure, and discussion.
I logged 100 doses of radiation, six months of
chemotherapy, and three major surgeries. I checked off the days on my calendar,
giving myself a year from start through completion. Although these dates
were artificial, I wanted to ascribe a finite quality to a disease that
promised no neat conclusions. When setbacks occurred (and there were many),
I looked at them as change orders that needed to be taken care of to stay
on schedule. To face the unexpected radiation burns or the next round of
chemotherapy, I thought of these occurrences as delays in the project,
not as a sign of something grave.
Perhaps most importantly, treating this disease
as a project allowed me to make it public. Disclosing my cancer was one
of the most difficult decisions I have ever made. I consider myself a very
private person, but I firmly believe separating my cancer from the rest
of my personal life has been critical to my survival.
I now know that cancer has touched the lives of
most of us at the university. People on every level of the institution,
from the trustees to the faculty, administration, staff, and students,
have dealt with this disease. How do I know this? Because these people,
in various walks of campus life, have approached me confidentially and
shared their cancer experiences with me. I gained strength from their strength,
wisdom from their wisdom, and the will to go on from their kindness.
Surprisingly, along with the words of inspiration
that I gained from my colleagues and friends at Northeastern, I also gained
inspiration from my old routine. Maintaining as many of my vice presidential
duties as my doctors would allow during treatment and recovery allowed
me to focus on the positive, the constructive, and the goals I had set
for myself the previous year.
My fax machine, computer, and cellular phone allowed
me to conduct business in the hospital and at home. A few meetings on the
major projects of the past year (West Village, the Warren Conference Center
at Ashland, Stetson East Marketplace, the university's master plan, the
new garage, and the Behrakis Health Center) were held in the waiting rooms
at St. Elizabeth's Hospital. At other times, staff members pulled up chairs
in my dining room to discuss possibilities for centralized conferencing
or renovations for Matthews Arena.
The difficult part was when I was not involved
in the daily goings-on at the business office. A close friend of mine told
me that one of the most surprising things about cancer is that it is a
truly humbling disease. Part of this humility stems from having to relinquish
total control-allowing my directors and staff to take over when I was unable.
The effort of my staff during the past year was monumental, but not unexpected.
Their ability to keep everything on schedule and in focus is testimony
to their dedication to the university and to their professional talent.
My off-campus responsibilities continued, including
leadership positions in organizations and on boards. Ironically, these
increased my strength. The encouragement I received from my colleagues
involved in the Emerald Necklace Conservancy, which secures funding to
preserve parkland; the Fenway Alliance, working to establish the Fenway
Cultural District; the Massachusetts Association of Nonprofit Schools and
Colleges, formed to preserve the charitable status of independent schools
and colleges; and the Greater Boston YMCA taught me two things: how special
Boston is, and how big the hearts of Bostonians are.
But there were times I did not feel strong. I
am fortunate that I am comfortable in my faith, for there were times I
was tested. During chemotherapy and radiation and in the first weeks after
surgery, your natural state is exhaustion. The questions I asked myself
were, "How can I handle this? How can I go on positively?" I
sought answers to these questions in books such as Stephen Hawking's A
Brief History of Time, Senator Max Cleland's Strong at the Broken Places,
and Sebastian Junger's The Perfect Storm, and in the poetry of Patrick
Kavanagh.
Although these works were inspirational, comfort
when I was at my weakest often came from something to do with Northeastern.
The Black & White Business Profile Award for the university's efforts
in supporting minority businesses and my induction ceremony into the athletics
Hall of Fame were events that lifted my spirits and reinforced my pride
in N.U.
Now, three months after the final surgery, I am
back in my office at 122 St. Stephen Street. I think about the amazing
support of my wife, my mother, my family, and my friends. Then I think
about N.U., and the support I have received from the president's office,
the trustees, and my colleagues in the administration and faculty who,
through their thoughtfulness and concern, treated me like family.
I know that without them and their belief in me,
this project would not have been completed. It is not complete in the usual
sense of the word, such as a building being completed, because I will live
the rest of my life with the knowledge that this disease can recur. However,
I am so fortunate to have had Boston's best doctors, nurses, and technicians.
My prognosis is excellent and I am forging ahead with the personal strength
that can only be gained from knowing that there are people who truly care
for you.
As I look back over the past year, I realize that
although Northeastern had nothing to do with my cancer, it had everything
to do with my healing.
Jack Martin is the university's vice president
for business.
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