Christian Living
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No Cure for Being Human: (And Other Truths I Need to Hear)
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • The bestselling author of Everything Happens for a Reason (And Other Lies I've Loved) asks, how do you move forward with a life you didn't choose?
"Kate Bowler is the only one we can trust to tell us the truth."-Glennon Doyle, author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Untamed
It's hard to give up on the feeling that the life you really want is just out of reach. A beach body by summer. A trip to Disneyland around the corner. A promotion on the horizon. Everyone wants to believe that they are headed toward good, better, best. But what happens when the life you hoped for is put on hold indefinitely?
Kate Bowler believed that life was a series of unlimited choices, until she discovered, at age thirty-five, that her body was wracked with cancer. In No Cure for Being Human, she searches for a way forward as she mines the wisdom (and absurdity) of today's "best life now" advice industry, which insists on exhausting positivity and on trying to convince us that we can out-eat, out-learn, and out-perform our humanness. We are, she finds, as fragile as the day we were born.
With dry wit and unflinching honesty, Kate Bowler grapples with her diagnosis, her ambition, and her faith as she tries to come to terms with her limitations in a culture that says anything is possible. She finds that we need one another if we're going to tell the truth: Life is beautiful and terrible, full of hope and despair and everything in between-and there's no cure for being human.
"Kate Bowler is the only one we can trust to tell us the truth."-Glennon Doyle, author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Untamed
It's hard to give up on the feeling that the life you really want is just out of reach. A beach body by summer. A trip to Disneyland around the corner. A promotion on the horizon. Everyone wants to believe that they are headed toward good, better, best. But what happens when the life you hoped for is put on hold indefinitely?
Kate Bowler believed that life was a series of unlimited choices, until she discovered, at age thirty-five, that her body was wracked with cancer. In No Cure for Being Human, she searches for a way forward as she mines the wisdom (and absurdity) of today's "best life now" advice industry, which insists on exhausting positivity and on trying to convince us that we can out-eat, out-learn, and out-perform our humanness. We are, she finds, as fragile as the day we were born.
With dry wit and unflinching honesty, Kate Bowler grapples with her diagnosis, her ambition, and her faith as she tries to come to terms with her limitations in a culture that says anything is possible. She finds that we need one another if we're going to tell the truth: Life is beautiful and terrible, full of hope and despair and everything in between-and there's no cure for being human.
Editorial Reviews
"I began reading No Cure for Being Human after dinner one evening and didn't move until I finished the last gorgeous page. As I finally put this masterpiece down, I thought Kate Bowler is the only one we can trust to tell us the truth. Bowler is a prophet and her new offering is another true gift to the world. This book will open minds and warm hearts."-Glennon Doyle, author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Untamed
"With grace, wisdom, and humor, Kate Bowler encourages us to cut back on self-help Kool-Aid and teaches us what it means to be human."-Adam Grant, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Think Again
"Bowler offers an alternative to the good vibes/prosperity gospel approach: honesty with room for mystery and humor."-The New York Times
"Kate Bowler has paid through the nose to become a writer of uncommon spiritual wisdom, coupled with an amazing sense of humor and a heart full of love. She fills me with hope."-Anne Lamott, New York Times bestselling author of Dusk, Light, Dawn
"Kate Bowler refuses to jump on the bandwagon of toxic positivity. Instead, she leads us to a truer truth: The work is unfinishable, and so be it."-Kelly Corrigan, New York Times bestselling author, host of the podcast Kelly Corrigan Wonders and PBS's Tell Me More with Kelly Corrigan
"Kate Bowler is the rare author who can explore difficult subjects with both breathtaking honesty and lightheartedness. She brings profound insight and love to the human experience."-Gretchen Rubin, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Happiness Project
"In a culture that asks u...
"With grace, wisdom, and humor, Kate Bowler encourages us to cut back on self-help Kool-Aid and teaches us what it means to be human."-Adam Grant, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Think Again
"Bowler offers an alternative to the good vibes/prosperity gospel approach: honesty with room for mystery and humor."-The New York Times
"Kate Bowler has paid through the nose to become a writer of uncommon spiritual wisdom, coupled with an amazing sense of humor and a heart full of love. She fills me with hope."-Anne Lamott, New York Times bestselling author of Dusk, Light, Dawn
"Kate Bowler refuses to jump on the bandwagon of toxic positivity. Instead, she leads us to a truer truth: The work is unfinishable, and so be it."-Kelly Corrigan, New York Times bestselling author, host of the podcast Kelly Corrigan Wonders and PBS's Tell Me More with Kelly Corrigan
"Kate Bowler is the rare author who can explore difficult subjects with both breathtaking honesty and lightheartedness. She brings profound insight and love to the human experience."-Gretchen Rubin, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Happiness Project
"In a culture that asks u...
Readers Top Reviews
ZenReaderMeagan H
The truth she needs to hear? No cure for being human. Unfortunately this not an accurate description of whats in the book. After learning she has stage 4 terminal cancer -launches into the elaborate and trying "cure" for cancer offered by medicine. She is in affect attempting to stop and reverse her weakness of being human and therefore susceptible to illness. She highlights the struggle of a patient in the world of specialist and the unknown outcome. There are in the first half of the book some very poignant moments of how life changes for people with this diagnosis .Navigating the world of these who are "well" (people who are well generally try to ignore the possibility of death). Doctors who generally deal in the world of potential outcomes. There are some references to Christianity and faith, positive thinking, gifting for miracles which are brief and dismissive. I assume people who follow her podcast and other works must acknowledge these brief references are "meaningful" but to me they were just throw away lines. In the situation of this book she neither explores or tries any these approaches to framing ones death in a context. The book focuses on "the author" and her thoughts about her own illness in the context of her own thoughts. Everyone else mentioned in the book are simply props for the main show. As a professor of Christianity at Duke --there is surprisingly nothing in the book. One scene she describes an endless parade of priests entering her room and praying for her. Buts that's it. There's not explanation or credence given? For me, I found the ending particularly puzzling. She ironically states --after agonizing over her impending death --she has by some "miracle" the type of cancer that may respond to a new experimental cancer. Less than 3% have this type of cancer. As a Duke professor and access to Duke Medical, and obviously extreme privilege is granted access to the drug trial. A mere normal "human" would not be privileged to this "cure for their human weakness". There is the usual descriptions about how "brutal" the experimental therapy is, how trying the treatment is and tough to get to in Atlanta --again with no realization on her part of how extremely privileged she is to be getting anything at all! To make it worse even this agonizing treatment is mitigated by her personal Duke doctor. Her doctor is granted authority to give the treatment outside the trial so she doesn't have to travel?? Some might say "miracle" set of events, others might say "extreme privilege" that the others of us will never see --I would say sorry --you did get the cure of being human. Six years later she's still cancer free. The title should be "Well some of us get the cure for being human, but we also get to bitch about it too!"
Jenny LynnZenRead
Kate's writing style is very inviting. My therapist reccomended this book for me. I am having a very hard time accepting where I am at, along with several new diagnosis'. This book (and The Holy Spirit) helped me to remember to tending to my needs first, then others. To savor every moment. And that we are all human. Through vulnerability and authenticity (in a safe space) we can share our journeys others and not feel so lonely. I really enjoyed how Kate kept it real and left 'church-speak' out of it. I find myself in a better place of acceptance now that I've read "No Cure for Being Human". I definitely needed to hear the other truths too. This book helped me anchor into self-grace and allow myself the same courtesy I offer others. Thank you Kate for leading, sharing and loving God and others so bodly. Claiming continued healing and cancer-free in Jesus name! 🙏🏼🛐📿
david WilsonJenny
Insightful, heartbreaking, wry, and witty. Great read for those who see through - or who need to learn to see through - the cruel illusion of the prosperity gospel and self-help subculture: we are not in control. Our lives are precarious and fragile. But this fragile, brief life before we enter into the eternal with God is filled with love and wonders which transcend the suffering.
White Rosesdavid
this book is thought provoking and would be a great one to discuss in a book club. as a medical professional I thought her experiences gave insight into how we can be supportive but also cause frustration. Her conclusion at the end was well thought out and in many ways gave the reader a breath of fresh air. Well written and helpful on so many levels.
White Rosesdav
Love everything about this book and Kate Bowler! So inspiring and wise.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
Best Life Now
I was in bed in the surgical wing of Duke University Hospital when the doctor popped his head in the door and smiled apologetically before flicking on the fluorescent lights. It was 4:00 a.m., the end of my second night in the hospital, but no one in a hospital sleeps in the conventional sense. There are only intervals of sleep without rest, interrupted by unfamiliar voices.
What's your date of birth? On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your pain?
To this day, if you wake me up from a nap, I will immediately tell you my birthday.
I opened my eyes and saw a boyish face. The doctor wore a white coat too large for his frame and his eyes were bleary either from a day that had only begun or from a night that had gone on too long.
"Six, sixteen, 1980. June 16."
"Right," the doctor said, then paused. "So . . . you're thirty-five."
I nodded, and my eyes began to water. I brushed the tears away quickly. Not the right moment for that now, thank you.
"If you keep replenishing my fluids, I'll just keep crying," I explained. "Maybe keep me in a stage of light dehydration for the next few days."
The doctor suppressed a laugh and began to riffle through my case history. "The patient has a history of abdominal pain after meals. Significant weight loss. Nausea and vomiting. No ultrasound evidence of gallstones or cholecystitis, but results of hepatobiliary scan led to a surgical consult to remove the patient's gallbladder . . . then you got a CT scan."
"No," I corrected. "I yelled at a surgeon for the first time in my life and said that I was not leaving his office without a scan. Then they ordered a scan."
This had been the biggest showdown of my life, the doleful surgeon with his arms folded and me loudly demanding some kind of treatment. It had been five months, and I had lost thirty pounds. I was doubled over with the pain. "I can't bear this much longer," I had said, again and again as doctors benignly shuffled me along.
The young doctor glanced up at me and then turned back to his notes.
"The scan revealed that the liver has multiple focal lesions; the largest are seen within the caudate and right hepatic lobe in addition to several scattered subcentimeter lesions, some are noted within the periphery of the liver and some are subcapsular. The large left transverse colon mass was what created the functional obstruction for you, hence the pain." He looked up at me quickly. "And then there are local regional lymph nodes that are worrisome for early peritoneal carcinomatosis."
The heart monitor beeped softly.
I cleared my throat nervously. "Um, so, this is my first real conversation since the diagnosis. I mean, I know I had surgery, obviously."
Flustered, I tried to start again. "The day before yesterday, a doctor's assistant called me on the phone at work to tell me that I had Stage Four cancer. But I don't know what these terms mean except that it sounds like I am a spaghetti bowl of cancer. People keep saying ‘lesions,' " I said. "I haven't had a chance to google it. What are lesions exactly?"
"Tumors. We're talking about tumors."
"Ohhhhh," I said, embarrassed by another flood of tears. "Right. And are there more than four stages of cancer?"
"No."
"Okay, so I have the . . . most. The most cancer," I finished lamely.
The doctor stood there for a minute, raking his hands through his hair, whatever plans he had for this conversation deteriorating. He lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed but remained bolt upright as if to remind us both that he could leave at any time. The room was warm and stale. A silence folded over us, giving me a moment to look at him more carefully now, his mussy hair and anxious expression, wrinkled coat and brand-new sneakers. He is too young for this. God, we are both too young for this.
"I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."
"By all means."
"I'd like to know what my odds are. Of living. I'd like to know if I will live. No one has mentioned that." I kept my voice invitational. I will not shoot this messenger. This is a friendly exchange between interested peers.
He paused. "I only know how to answer that by telling you the median survival rate for people who share your diagnosis."
"Okay."
"Based on the information we have about people with Stage Four colon cancer, the survival rate is fourteen percent," he said and began to scan the room as if looking for a window to climb out of.
"A fourteen percent chance of survival," I repeated in a neutral voice. My head felt suddenly heavy as if I were pushin...
Best Life Now
I was in bed in the surgical wing of Duke University Hospital when the doctor popped his head in the door and smiled apologetically before flicking on the fluorescent lights. It was 4:00 a.m., the end of my second night in the hospital, but no one in a hospital sleeps in the conventional sense. There are only intervals of sleep without rest, interrupted by unfamiliar voices.
What's your date of birth? On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your pain?
To this day, if you wake me up from a nap, I will immediately tell you my birthday.
I opened my eyes and saw a boyish face. The doctor wore a white coat too large for his frame and his eyes were bleary either from a day that had only begun or from a night that had gone on too long.
"Six, sixteen, 1980. June 16."
"Right," the doctor said, then paused. "So . . . you're thirty-five."
I nodded, and my eyes began to water. I brushed the tears away quickly. Not the right moment for that now, thank you.
"If you keep replenishing my fluids, I'll just keep crying," I explained. "Maybe keep me in a stage of light dehydration for the next few days."
The doctor suppressed a laugh and began to riffle through my case history. "The patient has a history of abdominal pain after meals. Significant weight loss. Nausea and vomiting. No ultrasound evidence of gallstones or cholecystitis, but results of hepatobiliary scan led to a surgical consult to remove the patient's gallbladder . . . then you got a CT scan."
"No," I corrected. "I yelled at a surgeon for the first time in my life and said that I was not leaving his office without a scan. Then they ordered a scan."
This had been the biggest showdown of my life, the doleful surgeon with his arms folded and me loudly demanding some kind of treatment. It had been five months, and I had lost thirty pounds. I was doubled over with the pain. "I can't bear this much longer," I had said, again and again as doctors benignly shuffled me along.
The young doctor glanced up at me and then turned back to his notes.
"The scan revealed that the liver has multiple focal lesions; the largest are seen within the caudate and right hepatic lobe in addition to several scattered subcentimeter lesions, some are noted within the periphery of the liver and some are subcapsular. The large left transverse colon mass was what created the functional obstruction for you, hence the pain." He looked up at me quickly. "And then there are local regional lymph nodes that are worrisome for early peritoneal carcinomatosis."
The heart monitor beeped softly.
I cleared my throat nervously. "Um, so, this is my first real conversation since the diagnosis. I mean, I know I had surgery, obviously."
Flustered, I tried to start again. "The day before yesterday, a doctor's assistant called me on the phone at work to tell me that I had Stage Four cancer. But I don't know what these terms mean except that it sounds like I am a spaghetti bowl of cancer. People keep saying ‘lesions,' " I said. "I haven't had a chance to google it. What are lesions exactly?"
"Tumors. We're talking about tumors."
"Ohhhhh," I said, embarrassed by another flood of tears. "Right. And are there more than four stages of cancer?"
"No."
"Okay, so I have the . . . most. The most cancer," I finished lamely.
The doctor stood there for a minute, raking his hands through his hair, whatever plans he had for this conversation deteriorating. He lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed but remained bolt upright as if to remind us both that he could leave at any time. The room was warm and stale. A silence folded over us, giving me a moment to look at him more carefully now, his mussy hair and anxious expression, wrinkled coat and brand-new sneakers. He is too young for this. God, we are both too young for this.
"I'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."
"By all means."
"I'd like to know what my odds are. Of living. I'd like to know if I will live. No one has mentioned that." I kept my voice invitational. I will not shoot this messenger. This is a friendly exchange between interested peers.
He paused. "I only know how to answer that by telling you the median survival rate for people who share your diagnosis."
"Okay."
"Based on the information we have about people with Stage Four colon cancer, the survival rate is fourteen percent," he said and began to scan the room as if looking for a window to climb out of.
"A fourteen percent chance of survival," I repeated in a neutral voice. My head felt suddenly heavy as if I were pushin...
