BLINDSIDED

Longtime journalist and former television producer Cohen recounts with aplomb and high character his years battling chronic illness.

This couldn’t have been easy to write. The author is reticent by nature, so laying bare the impact of multiple sclerosis and cancer—his malfunctioning limbs, numb appendages, bad gut, loss of vision, his anger, his fragile grip on life—is an act of emotional health that, though salubrious, clashes with some of his basic instincts. Multiple sclerosis has no treatment, no certain outcome, no definitive cause, and no cure; it is a process, a grim pileup on the central nervous system. Cohen tested limits, postponed consequences, and practiced denial, then started learning the art of candor: to whom and when to be honest about his illness. After stints in Gdansk and Beirut, this television producer on a rip admitted that his death-defying behavior was absurd, that he was not right and fit as rain. Nonetheless, he wanted (along with other things, like walking upright and seeing straight) a woman in his life and a family. He found Meredith Vieira, also in the TV business, whose desire to be a hands-on mother made her a cause célèbre among some in the 60 Minutes studio. And Cohen was busy elsewhere, with their children, learning that “those who battle with illness are blind to the fact that even in our pain, we give to our loved ones, even as we receive.” As a parent, he realized, “a temporary ileostomy was the least of my worries. . . . I laughed ruefully, bitterly, at the situation and at myself.” Via a number of sources, Cohen ultimately learns that coping is “just a quiet task aimed at emotional well-being, if not survival,” and that there will likely be many jarring moments ahead for everyone. He lays out these lessons in unflappable prose, freely acknowledging that his behavior is not always so even-tempered.

A sharp and affecting piece of perspective-setting.