My Blue Hat

Barry Bokhaut

May 15 (2005) was a very special day for me. It marked my eligibility for inclusion in the five year survivor's list. I can't express my overwhelming sense of relief and excitement that I experienced. I don't have to describe my journey over the past five years; each and every one of us touched by this disease has their own personal experience. Instead, I thought I would tell you about my hat. I told this story at my "5 Alive" party on May 15th. It was a wonderful gathering of friends, relatives and supporters who have helped me through my ordeal. Our newspaper sent a reporter and a photographer to cover the event. The former Deputy Prime Minister of Canada was there even though he didn't know me. He explained that people had been supportive of him when he was battling EC, and he felt compelled to provide support to others. I was told that there wasn't a dry eye when I recounted the story of my blue hat.

I purchased a hat about 10 years ago, when I was still working. It was cotton, with a small brim that could be turned up in the back and turned down in the front. A fedora, like Frank Sinatra would wear. It was definitely not fashionable. And it was blue, in a shade that didn't match anything of my clothing.

It hung in my office, and I would wear my work hat on sunny summer days as I strolled downtown on my lunch hour. It was wonderful to feel the warmth of the sun, and to watch others enjoying the summer weather. I smiled a lot. I felt lucky wearing my hat, lucky that I had a job that allowed me to step away from work for a while and enjoy the good weather.

In the summer of 2000, my work hat transformed, into my treatment hat. I wore it to every session. It weighed heavier and heavier on my head as the treatments wore on. But I felt lucky wearing my hat, lucky that I had survived, and that there was some chance of a future for me.

It was then that I made a pledge. In the tradition of my ancestors at the time of the Temple in Jerusalem, I would make a "korbun", an offering before God. I would keep my hat for five years, then dispose of it, as a symbol of my having survived and overcome my illness.

Within a year, my hat transformed, this time into my travel hat. There is always at least one picture of me and my blue hat wherever I traveled. It was wonderful to see new places and live the dreams that Barbara, my wife, and I had envisioned for ourselves should I be healthy enough to travel. I felt lucky wearing my travel hat, lucky that our plans for enjoying life were being realized.

On May 15, 2005, I celebrated my 5 Alive, the fifth anniversary of my recovery from esophageal cancer. I had a gathering of the friends, relatives and medical staff that had helped me through my ordeal. We numbered about 100. It was time to follow through and give up my hat.

But I could not do it. My hat had transformed again, into my security hat. The studies have concluded that I am cured of cancer. But I can't part with my hat. I will put it away, hopefully never to be seen, and never to be worn again. But it will be there, just in case I need to call on it again to see me through another difficult time.

I wore my hat for one more time that day. I covered my head in the tradition of Jewish prayer, and recited the "Sheyechiyanu". I thanked God for granting me life, for sustaining me, and for allowing me to reach this wonderful point in my life.

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