For people who follow sports, or even many many other aspects of life in general, we are drowning in data and inundated by the mind-numbing parsing of said. Just to set the record straight, let's take a look at the "tale of the tape" (as they say). Multiple Myeloma is a relatively uncommon cancer. In the United States, the lifetime risk of getting multiple myeloma is 1 in 132 (0.76%). And to be perfectly frank, or to put my overall "journey" in perspective, about 34,920 new cases will be diagnosed annually (19,320 in men and 15,600 in women). To further bring that number home, that equates to 1,010 total new cases in New Jersey per year - for 2020 (both genders combined). Yes - there are mortality statistics as well, and fortunately I am beating those odds. So we're just going to focus on today, and doing what I can and what they tell me, to keep my streak going.
So what does it all mean? Am I special? Am I lucky? Am I unlucky? If I had been living a lifestyle that increased or contributed to the propensity for developing a certain kind of cancer, then the probability would be higher and the result less puzzling. Even then, the stories of people who smoke their whole lives without any carcinogenic repercussions are as prevalent (and mysterious) as the folks who never once "lit up" and still contracted lung cancer. No matter where you look, in the data or in our daily lives, there seems to be no logic to the likelihood, no rhyme or reason, no method to the madness.
But this is not a treatise on "why me?" It just strikes me as curious that here I am (here we are), swimming in a statistical sea, keeping my head above water, floating along as best as I can - at times feeling as anonymous as a plankton and at other times feeling as unique as a yeti crab. In the end, I'm not falling victim to worrying about the odds, but rather rolling the dice and looking to keep beating the house.
