Editor’s note: The following is a column written by St. Charles Chronicle sports editor Ron Zahlman during the summer of 1989. Ron was undergoing treatment for cancer at the time. He was sports editor of The Northern Star in 1983 and a graduate of NIU.

on passed away Friday evening at the age of 27. His message remains.

Reason for absence? Cancer

by Ron Zahlman

The last two months have been very enlightening for me.

First, I took a vacation to Washington, D.C., my first trip to the nation’s capital.

Second, a doctor told me I have cancer.

So for the observant readers who have been wondering where my byline has been, it has been with me in the hospital. After two weeks of testing and biopsies at Geneva’s Delnor Hospital, I was diagnosed with a germ cell cancer. I have since been receiving chemotherapy treatment at Loyola Medical Center in Maywood, and I am halfway through my regimen.

June was one of those months where I reached both extremes. Washington was thrilling, a must-trip I’m glad I made. As it turns out, I’m glad I made the trip to a hospital emergency room one night after I returned to town, but the end result was mighty depressing.

The good news is that although the cancer has spread dramatically throughout my body—with most of it settling in my lungs—my doctors are giving me very strong chances for a cure. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ve been able to avoid the constant testing, surgeries and chemotherapy, but it’s all worth it when you’ve been fighting for a cure, a complete recovery.

That was the good news-bad news of my stay at (Delnor) Community (Hospital). The day after the open biopsy of my left lung, an oncologist confirmed what my doctors probably feared all along—that I had cancer. But he quickly followed that up with the good news, that my cancer is highly treatable and highly curable.

The good news certainly helped to cushion the blow.

But it wasn’t always that way. Testicular cancer wasn’t always curable. Sports fans and movie buffs will remember Brian Piccolo or the movie of his short life, “Brian’s Song.” Piccolo, a young star running back for the Chicago Bears back in the mid-60s who was friends with superstar Gale Sayers, died of a form of cancer similar to the one I have.

When you look at things from that perspective, it is amazing how far medical science has come, particularly in the study of cancer. People who had no chance of survival are now given a chance for a cure, and I feel fortunate to be one of those people given a second chance.

That’s what it feels like, really, like I’ve been given a second chance at life. Not everyone has that opportunity, and fewer of us know what to do with the gift.

I know my life has changed since my diagnosis. Certain things aren’t as important to me anymore, while other things have taken on greater importance in my life. My faith in God has risen. My love of family is stronger than ever. My love of life has never been fuller.

As I live life now, I don’t want to look back with regrets. All of a sudden, I realize life is precious and much too short, and it should be enjoyed to its fullest.

Sometimes, it takes having a doctor tell you that you have cancer—or some other serious illness—before you wake up and realize how valuable life really is.

Now it makes sense to me why high school students can watch friends get drunk and die in an automobile accident, then turn around, get drunk and drive around themselves the next night. The tragedy, although enormous, didn’t hit the surviving friends personally enough for them to change their lives around, didn’t force them to reassess life more.

That’s not meant to indict all high school students, because I am sure some are touched enough by others’ tragedy to change their own lives. But I have found out myself that until death stares you in the face, change doesn’t come easy.

I’m not back to work for good. As I mentioned earlier, I’m only half through my chemo regimen; I go back to the hospital next week, as I’m in one week, out two. I thought while I had the strength I would spend a few mornings in the office, trying to put my life back in order. Work would be therapeutic, if nothing else.

I would be remiss if I did not thank my family and friends for their support and strength. They have played a huge role in my recovery process and have helped me put my life into proper perspective. They also have helped me find out what I want from life.

To you, the readers of the Chronicle, I’ll meet up with you when I can. I appreciate your thoughts and well wishes.