The doctors gave him a few months. A year and a half later, Michiel van de Stadt (26) is still alive – in the meantime he has completed his education and found work as a consultant. ‘I have come to see myself more as part of the bigger picture. I believe in the power of the collective.’
At the age of 26, Michiel van de Stadt has already had more to do with the finiteness of existence than he would like. At the age of 15, his mother unexpectedly dies of a heart attack. This puts an end to a ‘happy, wrinkle-free’ childhood. Until then, he is part of a ‘loving standard family’ in Santpoort, together with his parents and older sister. That belongs to the ‘well-to-do middle class’ – summer holidays are spent camping in France. Michiel is a social, cheerful boy who plays hockey and has many friends. His father is the breadwinner, his mother takes care of the children: ‘She was always there for others, she herself came last.’
Because of her death, he is partly alone at home, just entering puberty. His father does his best to be there for him, but also has a busy job as a technical consultant, while his sister is studying in Groningen. Michiel has to do his part in the household: ‘I was catapulted into adulthood.’ He tries to escape that reality for almost two years, partly through drinking. With all that entails: dramatic school results and problems due to aggressive behavior at hockey parties. From grammar school he ends up at havo. Thanks to a rector and an economics teacher, he finds his way up. Successes on the sports field and therapy also help: ‘The pain will always be somewhere, but I’ve learned to see her death as a signal to really make something of my life.’
In 2020, at the age of 24, disaster strikes again. He then lives with his girlfriend Sanne in Barcelona, where he studies at a prestigious business school. He also plays for the first team of hockey club Barcelona, of which he quickly becomes top scorer. At the end of that year he starts to suffer from fatigue, on the hockey field he moves with increasing difficulty. In the hospital, doctors found 3 liters of fluid in his right lung: ‘Bizarre amount, they did not understand that I had continued playing with it.’ He turns out to have an extremely rare type of cancer, which means that there are tumors all over his body. His doctors give him several months.
A year and a half later, after the maximum number of fourteen rounds of chemotherapy, he is miraculously still alive. Despite his illness, he was able to complete his master’s degree cum laude and found a job as a consultant at the consultancy organization PwC in Amsterdam. There he is involved in sustainability projects, among other things: ‘That is quite ironic. I may not be here in two months.’
How did you react to the announcement that you are terminally ill?
“My world collapsed. You have no idea what it means. ‘Incurable’, so you only have a few months to live – what do you do with that time? That’s what I first wondered. There is no answer to that at all, it is such overwhelming news. But I also immediately had the thought: ‘People with HIV are also incurable and can grow old, so why not me?’
“On that first day, I gathered my family, my in-laws, and my closest friends. I immediately made the decision that I wanted to finish my studies. After the death of my mother, I have had a lot of trouble with my school problems. I definitely didn’t want to do that again.
‘I also quickly went to see a psychologist to talk about my fears. That seemed better to me than pushing it away, I wanted to be able to be open about death. I also wondered: what am I leaving behind to Sanne? After the diagnosis we got married, I really wanted that. But things like buying a house and having children are still surrounded by uncertainty. Sometimes that gets too much for me. I cried a lot, I admit that easily. I was dancing with her in the kitchen and a song came up about tomorrow. Then I burst into tears, because tomorrow might not be there.’
What is heaviest for you?
“It’s especially painful when I have to leave all this beautiful thing behind. Let nature do its work when I’m 80 or 90, but not now. I especially like the sadness. When someone dies, it’s so big, I know that about my mother’s death. I find it a terrible thought that people should mourn me. Especially my father and sister I do not want to cause such great sorrow again. And neither does my wife, of course.’
It is your second confrontation with mortality. What is the difference for you?
‘When my mother died I was still a child and mainly concerned with myself. I’ve been out of balance for at least two years. I was sedated for the first six months, only then did her death really sink in. My feeling was: my father is on his own, I want to help him. I still got a lot of love from him and saw how hard it was for him. We were trying to get through it together. But I did flee from my pain, including in alcohol. I thought, ‘Fuck it, carpe diem, live like there’s no tomorrow.’ It took a long time before I found some peace again. I am not proud of that period, absolutely not, but see it as a necessary evil. To put it roughly, I had to go on my beak to be able to get up. I have crossed borders, in order to find out later on who I want to be.’
Who do you want to be?
‘My illness has made me especially aware that we have to live life together. I already got that we-perspective after the death of my mother, when I regained balance, but then it was only about my loved ones. Now I have started to see it more broadly. Because of my illness I heard more and more about what happens to others – everyone has problems, apparently life is like that. For example, I now realize how many people suffer from cancer – one in three gets it. Life is hard, but we can do something about it: together we can achieve a lot. So I went with friends to collect money for cancer research. In addition, I have also become more aware of world problems, such as the climate.’
Has the disease made you more idealistic?
‘Yes. Funny, I never said it that way, but that’s the bottom line. I have come to see myself more as part of the bigger picture. The world becomes a better place when we hang out together. Then we can accomplish much more: more comfort, more strength, more beautiful inventions. I really believe in the power of the collective.
‘The illness has also made me more gentle and forgiving, I have started to live more consciously. The contact with the people around me is much more intensive than before my illness. Then everyone was living their own life. Now we’re closer than ever because we’re all having a hard time with this. That brings a lot of love and happiness, we are now talking about real problems.
‘During my chemo period, I had a lot of time to think about what I want to do with my life. In the beginning I mainly used it to process my illness. In the long run I moved on to the next phase: inspiring others, activating them.
‘I have an inner urge to fight. I set myself a goal and then I go for it completely. That was the case with my studies, but also with hockey – I wasn’t a huge talent, but I got it through hard work. I also try to apply that fighter’s mentality to the cancer and transfer it to others. Primarily you need an intrinsic motivation, that applies to everything you do.
‘That fighting spirit of mine is therefore an essential component. But at the same time, external factors help enormously. If the people around me don’t encourage me, it gets much harder. You don’t have cancer alone, but together. He managed to get it across in the hospital. People found it inspiring how I dealt with it. Then I replied: ‘I like that, but now see if you can also have such an impact on others.’ That’s the activist in me.’
What do you see as the source of your fighting spirit?
‘Especially the realization that I only do it partly for myself, I also do it for others. I then come back to the loss of my mother. When I see the impact that has had, it gives me the strength to want to spare others. That’s why I do everything I can to survive. And I also fight for the cancer patients in the hospital.’
But is it a struggle?
‘I do use that word myself, while when others do, I think: ‘I’d rather not.’ Whether a chemo works or not, you have very little influence on that. So you can lose without being able to do anything about it. I find it painful to say ‘he has lost the battle against cancer’. On the other hand: mentally and physically it is a very difficult process. Then it helps if you don’t want to know about giving up. I have seen people who are mentally different from me fall away. That is confrontational. Fight or not, I’m honestly not over it.’
Has your view of death changed?
The short answer: yes. Above all, it has become much more tangible, because I am confronted with it every day, just because of all the pills I take. There is no evidence for their effectiveness, it is experimental. Things can go wrong. I almost get tears in my eyes when I say this.
‘Death is necessary, it is part of life, I fully realize that, after two years on this rollercoaster. When it comes to that, Michiel van de Stadt’s body will stop, but we don’t know about the mind. I am an agnostic, everything is possible as far as I am concerned. Moreover, you only really die when your name is no longer mentioned. So do you really die when you exhale for the last time? The memories remain.
“Anyway, I still have my hands full with what’s happening here and now. I am mainly concerned with death in light of how I want to be remembered: as a good person, someone who is there for others, a listening ear whenever possible, idealistic. And as someone who takes on the toughest battles with a smile on his face. That’s how I look at death. But I still find it difficult. I just want to stay here. I have no fear of death, but above all a will to live.’