For James Clem to beat cancer, he had to go all in. And so did so many around him.
It was lack of hearing that had led him to the doctor’s office that particular afternoon in March 2020. Fluid was backing up into his ears due to acid reflux, so he went to an Ear, Nose, and Throat Doctor, who sent him to a gastroenterologist. He was also having trouble swallowing.
James underwent a series of tests, and then had an appointment on a Thursday to go over the results.
“But they called me on a Monday, they said ‘we’ve got an opening at this time in the afternoon and you need to bring somebody with you.’ Being the joker that I am, I’m like ‘oh yeah, this must be serious then.’”
Ironically, for all the anguish and anxiety attached to the mere mention of cancer, it’s a word James Clem didn’t even hear the first time it was said in his presence.
Inside the office that Monday, the doctor went over the scans. James recalling him saying “This looks great,” and then pointing to a chart and talking. James nodded “OK.” Then he heard his wife make a comment.
“The cancer has nothing to do with that,” the doctor said.
And then it hit James. He hadn’t even heard the word, cancer. The unbearably hard response that follow is … what’s next?
What happens next is both insurmountably difficult and uniquely awe-inspiring. After being diagnosed with esophageal cancer, behind his 28 radiation treatments (completed on a daily basis five days a week), his chemotherapy, his sickness, surgeries, and subsequent weight loss, there’s a great lesson for the greatest challenges we face in both our professional and our personal lives.
That’s that we don’t face them alone. The support the following weeks and months came from places where James couldn’t have anticipated pre-cancer. Some he knew from the office. Others he knew in his community, or out on the ball fields. Some, he didn’t know at all.
Some challenges are an all-in investment. James learned that an all-hands-on-deck approach can conquer much more than if one travels the treacherous journey alone. Below, just a few of the key sources of strength, of stamina, and of support.
The support from family.
James’s wife has been his rock from the beginning onward. His nurse, his shoulder, his source of positivity.
“She kept everything going. I don’t know how else you describe it,” James says.
Also, his two girls. James coaches both of their softball teams, and those groups became an extended family of support throughout his chemotherapy.
The support from his team.
“Softball is a community,” James said. “They were a really big help doing this for me, and just sending up prayers throughout my treatment.”
Team parents, his players, and even opposing coaches sent gift cards, started prayer chains, and simple well wishes to remind him that he wasn’t going through cancer alone. James’s involvement with the sport isn’t stopping anytime soon. His oldest daughter recently earned a scholarship to play softball at Texas Women’s University next fall.
There were his teammates at Datamax as well. He recalls supportive conversations he had with David Rhodes, emails, phone calls and well wishes from people like Clay Mils, Linda Narcho, Daniel Ketchum, Robert Caldwell, Steve Kennemer and many, many others. Rachel Rhodes also spearheaded a meal to be delivered to the Clem household.
“Datamax has been a big part of it all,” James says. “It says a lot about the company and how they genuinely do care. It’s not just about the numbers. It’s about the people and the culture.”
The support from a stranger.
At one point, James had a chance to converse with someone who could honestly relate to what he was going through – longtime Datamax consultant Mike Riordan. Mike, who had survived the same type of cancer many years ago, called James to offer his support. James had attended one of his training classes once.
“He was just so energetic. He told me about his experience, the ways he was able to get through it. To speak to someone like him, who could fully relate to what I was going through, was so encouraging for me personally."
The support from within.
“Really, I just knew that I was always going to beat it because I knew that God was in control,” James said.
To date, he’s done nothing but that exactly. He’s finished his chemo and radiation, and must have his throat stretched several more times. He’s eating more and more, and gaining strength back. Things, slowly, are returning to the way they should.
He speaks candidly about what it felt like in late September, to be out on the field again, with his softball team. It was tough, it was tiring, but seeing a glimpse back to normalcy, to be watching the girls on the field improving every day, he says motivated him to keep going.
And then James is asked about the coming fall, watching his daughter play softball at the next level. What will that feel like, after all that he’s been through?
And James pauses briefly. His voice quivers a bit. He mentions again all the people who have supported him in the past half-year, and he reflects.
“I still had young kids. You want to be a part of their lives and walk them down the aisle. And you want to play with grandkids one day. I’ve been married for 20 years, I’d like to keep pestering my wife for many more,” James says.
“It’ll mean a lot to see her out there playing at TWU. More than I can describe.”