Expectations...

In September of 2008 I was starting my last semester of college. I was carefree, single, and considered myself an avid outdoorsman. There was not a day of my last summer in Logan, Utah (the location of Utah State University) that I did not spend some time in the mountains, on a river, or on a lake... I was embarking on numerous solo trips throughout Logan Canyon and surrounding areas to try and bag as many peaks as possible with my trusty sidekick Shadow.

A couple days before the beginning of the semester one of my best friends and housemate, Scotty John, had decided that he and another close friend of mine, Brandon Latham, were going to spend a week traversing the entire Wind River Range in Wyoming starting the next Monday. I had declined the offer because I was starting my last semester and was taking a class that had over a 70% fail rate and on top of that, I was growing up. I needed to put rash, immature decisions behind me and start acting like an "adult." I used my dad's credit card to buy all of my books, got some new binders and highlighters and put them in my backpack all ready to start school on Monday.

Sunday night I got into bed and tried to fall asleep to the sounds of Sportscenter anchors in the background. At 10:00 PM Sunday night, I packed up my backpacking bag, called Scotty on his cell phone and let him know I would be joining him at 8 am for the drive to trail head:

Scotty: Hey Sudsy (he has Caller ID)
Me: Hey du... (Scotty interrupts)
Scotty: You're coming aren't you?
Me: Yes... yes I am.
Scotty: Typical.
Me: My bad, I really did not think I was going.
Scotty: Yeah, I bet you didn't. See you in the morning.
Me: Sausage Egg McMuffins are on me.  See you early. Stoked.
Scotty: I expected as much.

On the second day of the trip we had hiked past our expected trail head by about three or four miles. This can obviously bring your spirits down while you are out in the wilderness. Exerting any extra energy just pisses you off... but we got it together and began to find our way to our desired trail. Which meant climbing over 2000 vertical feet and over 10 (extra) miles with 60 pound packs on. At some point Scotty and I were climbing together at a fairly grueling pace and I was the lead. During the climb up I had realized that I had not been drinking water for a couple hours and I was starting to get dizzy, I pulled off and Scotty trudged on, we could see the top and Scotty didn't want to ruin his momentum, especially with being so close. I pulled to the side and watched him disappear above the saddle. I was upset with myself for being dumb enough to let the beginning of dehydration to set in and frustrated that Scotty had beaten me to the top (my competitive nature makes me find a competition in everything I do, even if the other person has no idea that I am in a private comp with them... do not judge me). Once I had gotten it together I began to go catch up to Scotty who would be waiting at the top, completely rested, eating a peanut butter honey sandwich, and gloating about how I messed up. 10 minutes later I get to the top and find Scotty; he is sitting on a rock, backpack still on, with his head between his hands. What we had expected was the top, ended up being only about 2/3's of the way... a common misconception while mountaineering. Mentally, it can feel like a kick in the nuts (I still remember what it feels like people) and can/will turn the nicest people into total ass holes. I waved at Scotty and kept walking... he needed some time alone.

                                            Scotty and I at a saddle in the Wind River Range

7 weeks ago, a crew from Skullcandy decided to go on a backpacking trip to King's Peak in the High Uinta Mountains, which is the tallest peak in Utah. This would be my fourth trip to the peak, and I had only been successful getting to the top once due to weather conditions. At some point during the 7 mile trip to our first campsite everyone wanted to know what we could expect:

How far is it from here? Is it hard to get to the top? Is that the peak over there? How long does it take? Will your dog make it to the top? (that question actually bothered me, of course she will make it to the top... well before you will, pal).

I reply with the same answer every time, "Do not have any expectations. You will not make it to the top if you keep trying to put a landmark on the final destination."

In July of 2004 I was at Indiana University where I had just had my lymph-nodes removed from behind my stomach. My parents were anxiously awaiting the news of where my cancer was... Dr. Foster came in and told my parents they believe they had caught it all. I would now have to get checked up every other month with a CT scan to make sure my cancer was not returning. After two years there would be a 95% chance that my cancer would never come back and I would only need to get checked up every 6 months. After four years, there was a 99% chance that my cancer would never come back. No one has ever been documented that had my type of cancer and treatment to have their cancer return after two years. I was stoked to hear the news in the hospital, I was even more pumped after two years, and after 4 years I had expected to never deal with testicular cancer again.

Last Monday I arrived at the hospital with Kasia and my Dad who is visiting from Georgia. I was to start my 2nd round of chemotherapy of doing it every day for five hours straight. Things were on schedule and I was going to be done with cancer on December 30, 2011... I had expected to be done with cancer before the new year and be able to celebrate being cancer free while bringing in 2012. Once I had my IV's in they drew my blood to check my tumor marking and cell count. The nurse came back and said, "we cannot do chemo this week. Your white blood count is too low." In fact, my white blood count was almost non-existent. Which meant that I would not be able to fight off any infection, nor would I be able to deal with poisons being injected into my bloodstream. The best way to understand the situation is like this: A common cold would kill me.

In each situation explained above my expectations were annihilated by reality. The peak in the Wind River Range was another couple miles up, we were 800 feet from King's Peak when we had to turn around (and run) due to a lightning storm, my cancer DID come back, and my chemotherapy has been extended a week... to be finished on the 7th, they expect.

Expectations can ruin friendships, romance, backpacking trips,  movies and a McRib. This is of course, if you expect your expectations to always come true or to never change. Not to say you should not set goals and make expectations for yourself, you should. Through my "trials and tribulations" I have found ways to expand my expectations:

I expected to make it to a peak(s) and to finish off the traverse of the Wind River Range.

I expected to have a good climb and hang out with friends on the way to King's Peak.

I expect to receive a new PlayStation for Christmas (not to be used as an example). 

I expect to beat cancer.

I have climbed and reached more peaks than I can remember. I have beat cancer once, I will beat it again.


There is a quote that has to do with lemons and lemonade... it would work great here. Look it up.



On the bright side, my dad got in last Saturday and due to me not having to do chemo last week I felt better than I have in 2 months. Which meant that Gary and I got to ski more than we thought; we spent a day at Deer Valley reminiscing all of the good times there since I was three. We also spent two days skiing with all my friends from Skullcandy at the Canyons. Gary is also fairly famous down here in Utah, due to spending so many weekends coming to Utah State to watch hockey games he has built up a pretty good following of my derelict friends. So in consequence we have had a bunch of dinner dates with good friends from college and even high school (the one and only Chad Austin). In closing, I am more grateful today than I ever have been in my short life... think of how grateful I would be with a brand new PlayStation.

Dad, Ski's, and Delays by Kasia

This week we have been blessed by the presence of Mr. Gary Sutherland himself, the legend.  Mr. Gary flew in on Saturday afternoon to kick off round two of chemotherapy.  By everything you have read to date, you can only imagine what this does to Robert's spirits.  You would almost think that cancer was scared straight out of Robert’s body, and that he was 100% healthy, strong, and cancer free.  The last few days have been filled with endless jokes, sarcasm, hockey, ski days, and a feeling of normality and routine.  It seems that the motherly comfort of Mrs. Fran, followed by some brotherly love, the sprinkle of sisterly inspiration, and topped off by the strong father-son bond, was just what the doctor ordered.  Cancer had no fighting chance in round two.

Best. Picture. Ever.

On Monday we woke up early and were ready to kick start the long week of chemo.  We shuffled into the car, drove down to IMC, picked the leather chair with the best view of the mountains and most privacy, watched as the nurse put in the IV that would stay in all week, and then we waited for the first bag of clear liquid fight.

We waited.  

Eventually our nurse came out, empty-handed.  Then came the words that none of us expected,

"We cannot do chemo today."

Let me backpedal a little bit to give you a better understanding of this situation.

From the first day of chemotherapy Robert has been hosting a full-fledged battle, silently through the night, continuing from sunrise to sunset.   He has an active battlefield crusading through his bloodstream, with natural cells stampeding through his body calling for the back up of chemo to beat quickly multiplying cancer cells.  

A few weeks ago, in an effort to dumb down the nearly impossible explanation of the effect chemo has on the body and cancer cells, our nurse created a very understandable analogy:  cancer cells are like light bulbs and our body's cells are like a mason jar.  Since cancer cells are quickly multiplying they do not take the time to fully develop into strong cells our body develops.  Our bodies create quality, while cancer creates quantity.  The cancer cells may win by numbers, but when calling in chemo, they cannot withstand the treatment as some of our body’s cells do.   The "light bulbs" easily shatter while hitting the ground, while the "mason jars" take a good beating, but are not completely shattered or broken. 

Our body also creates fast multiplying cells such as white blood cells and the cells that make up our hair.  Last Monday Robert started to lose his hair, and is currently sporting a very sleek and handsome dome.  This should be a relief to many of us since this means that chemo is destroying the fast multipliers, good and bad.  Chemo and Robert are killing cancer.

Mr. Clean never looked so good.

Inevitably with the destruction of evil, there are often casualties.  As previously mentioned, white blood cells, the fighters, often drop along side other, very important, naturally occurring counts in the body.  Mayoclinic.com gives a great explanation of these side effects.

With a low white blood cell count and, in particular, a low level of neutrophils (neutropenia), a type of white blood cell that fights infection, you're at higher risk of developing an infection. And if you develop an infection when you have a low white blood cell count, your body can't protect itself. Infection can lead to death in severe cases. Even a mild infection can delay your chemotherapy treatment, since your doctor may wait until your infection is cleared and your blood counts go back up before you continue. Your doctor may also recommend medication to increase your body's production of white blood cells.”

Yesterday, Robert's blood counts were far too low for him to move forward with his regimen.  His white blood cells, the fighters, were far below what I will call the "red line”, a magic number that all the doctors follow closely through chemo.  For this particular count, doctors do not want patients falling below a 1.5.  To put this into perspective, before starting therapy he was a 2.6.

Today Robert is a .2.

In layman's terms, this means that his body is lacking the ability to fight infection.  Being exposed to a common cold can be extremely dangerous, and we cannot do chemo.

I assume that everyone’s first questions are the same as ours were: Why? What could have been done to prevent this?  The answer is, chemo and nothing. There is nothing that we could have done to prevent this, it can happen, and it obviously does happen.  The next 3 days Robert will be given a shot to boost his counts.  When above 1.5 he can continue chemo, hopefully this coming Monday. 

When I say that our first questions were those above, I do not include Robert in “our”.  His first question may have been “why?” but his second question should not have come as a surprise to any of us.

“Can I ski?”

Robert Manley does not let anything break him down.  He is a rock with a focus on the pursuit of happiness.  He lives by the rule that many of us could benefit from: Happiness is health.

Robert can ski, he can be happy, and he will be healthy.  His numbers will be increased by the help of the doctors and he will continue his fight towards the total destruction of cancer on the Sutherland battlefield, all while skiing the slopes of beautiful Park City.

Thanksgiving and Toilets

 

Today is the Monday following Thanksgiving, and it has been a long time since I have posted on my blog. The last three weeks have been fairly hectic; my mom came in for a week, my brother followed her for 2 days, I had one day of chemo following the previous weeks five days in a row of chemo and on Wednesday I will undergo one more chemo treatment. Wednesday I will finish my first round of chemotherapy with two more to follow.

Truthfully, I have not been my usual "happy, go-lucky" self, at least not as much as I would like. The chemotherapy has had some negative effects physically on me, which has carried mental issues with it as well... I can only assume. Everyone has their own experience with chemotherapy and the drugs/poison will effect every person in a different way. It makes me feel as though I have just woken up from a weekend bender with the boys and I can't shake my hangover... not that I have a lot of experience with hangovers (insert smiley face here). The feeling has a number of similarities to a hangover: headaches, constantly feeling dehydrated, heavy feeling, you either don't want to eat or you eat way too much making yourself more sick, needed extra sleep, puking, and spending way too much time sitting on the toilet. The last part is true, I spend approximately 34.89% of my entire time on the toilet. It. Will. Not. Stop.

This has been the hardest part for me: the diarrhea. Even typing diarrhea is difficult for me to complete. It seems that due to cancer my intestines have shortened to 4 feet in total length, making food go through me in t-minus 26 seconds flat. Currently, I wake up 2-3 times a night to make a sprint to the bathroom before I ruin everyone in the houses and possibly within a mile radius' slumber. Because of this issue I have not slept through the night in two weeks, so if someone has an insomnia issue let me know and we can Skype. Other negative effects have been my irritability and lack of patience for anything... which is why I have constantly decided to not update my blog. I also am on drugs that make me stupid: Lorazepam and Marinol. Marinol is straight THC, some of you are thinking, "ohh sick brah, Suds' gets to get high all the time." And you would be right. I do get high all the time, but I feel like shit... the only reason I take the Marinol (which is maybe once a day) is to calm my stomach and get my head to stop spinning. The other drug is Lorazepam, this drug makes you retarded. It literally slows down the functioning of your brain and nervous system so you can settle your body/mind down enough to relax or sleep. I try my hardest never to take this drug as it is extremely addictive and like I said, it makes me stupid which closely follows losing my patience and showing my irritability. You lose all reasoning and cognitive thought, even when it comes to simple understanding.

As an example, today I went to purchase some things for Kasia's birthday (yes, today is her birthday, most guys can relate). I walked up to cash register to purchase my item, watched her ring it up, put the contents in a bag, and she stared at me... I sat there wondering why did she not push my items back so I could exit. Annoyed with the teller, I recount the events in my head: picked product, brought product to cash register, teller rings up product, puts product in the bag... ohh that's right, why am I assuming this stuff is for free? I have to pay! It is a fairly simple concept that I should be used to at this juncture in my life (being 27 and all) but I could not comprehend it at the time. Feeling sheepish, I take out my wallet, give a "can't win em' all" laugh, pay, and leave the store. Don't think it wasn't awkward for the poor lady either. It was. It took me a good two minutes to realize what was going on... in complete silence.

Throughout all of this there is great and joyous reason to be thankful:
My mom took a week out of her life to come up and help Kasia and myself deal with the first round of chemo. During desperate times or times of distress people sometimes believe they are being watched by an angel or some force that somehow makes them feel better. I have that in my mom. She is a walking, talking, physical angel that God has possibly made to strictly make sure I feel better. Frances Denny has seen me at my very worst and only responds with extreme understanding and love... something only a mother could pull off, I assume.

My brother also came to visit for Thanksgiving. The two days he was here was two of my greatest days I had while dealing with chemotherapy. We went on walks, to dinners, breakfast, hot tubbed it up, and even went out on Main Street one night for a couple hours.

On the day of Thanksgiving I awoke to my sisters message to me: "I am so thankful that I have a brother like you who inspires me everyday to be a better person. Your strength, courage, and confidence are just a few great qualities that make you the person I look up to. I love you more than anything and wish we could be together today. Happy Thanksgiving!" So in typical fashion when Lindsey says anything to me I sat in bed reading it with tears streaming down my face. Lindsey is the best of us, and I have taken pride in knowing that I was somewhat a part of her growing up to be the beautiful, sweet, and generous person she grew up to become. I don't know where or why there was such a gap in my brother and myself in regards to these traits but it is possible that it skipped us to make her so radical.

Gary will be in arriving in Utah on Friday. My friends and I are extremely excited to see him. Everyone who reads this blog or knows me has an idea of how I feel about my dad. If I keep talking about him his head will get too big...

I am thankful for my family.

Kasia and I cannot thank our friends enough for reaching out to us and helping out. Our community in Park City/SLC has helped keep me busy with ski movies, small visits, meals, and constantly offering there help. We spent our Thanksgiving at our old bosses house, whose family, the Kosiba's, has become our surrogate here in Park City, and I stayed up the entire day... and I didn't have an embarrassing bathroom situation. So all in all, it was a great Thanksgiving. I also have a number of friends growing mustaches to help raise awareness for testicular cancer and to support me personally... that is awesome. Here are some photos:

I also have a great friend from my college hockey days, Ben Froehle, who created a wrist band that says: SUDSTRONG. It has caused quite the demand for them. Hopefully we will figure out a way to supply the masses so all you people will be stoked.

I am thankful for friends.

Last week I went skiing at Solitude with a number of friends, including my friend Alex John, who is a ski patrolman at said resort. So he brought us to the good snow patches on the mountain where we found little pockets of powder and a few rollers to throw grabs and weak 360's. During the skiing I was elated. I could not have been happier. After spending the entire week before having 5 hours of chemicals pumped into my body every day, to spend a Saturday doing my favorite activity was a priceless experience. I had a smile on my face the entire time and was counting my blessings on every run... until I stopped. The adrenaline carried me through most of the day, but once I stopped, I hit a brick wall. I slept for 14 hours straight, woke up and continually puked and crapped for another 4 or 5 hours straight. I would do it all over again without thinking twice. So I did. On Sunday I went to the Canyons.



 I'm thankful for snow and skiing.

My body is rejecting everything from solids to liquids, I sleep 3-4 hours every night, I take medication that makes me dumb(er), my body is constantly itching, and I am currently feeling like I am always hungover. I am alive. I have caught a disease before it has gotten out of control and I will beat it. I have gotten a better appreciation for life, family, friends that few people get the opportunity to see from my point of view. I am the lucky one.

I am thankful for cancer and the ability to beat it. I am thankful to be alive.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

PS- I am thankful that Kasia loves me for some reason and that she was born on this day 28 years ago. I mean, I really am thankful... what would I do without her?!

30 Days by Kasia

It’s been exactly one month since Robert was diagnosed with his second round of testicular cancer.  30 days ago the fresh beginning we had started as a newly engaged couple took a turn and our lives changed in a way neither of us could have anticipated.  Although Robert had previously had an orchiectomy, the removal of a testicle, and had undergone a very difficult RPLND surgery, nerve-sparing retroperitoneal lymph node dissection, he had never undergone chemotherapy.  Robert, his family, and I all braced ourselves for a journey that had no defined boundaries.

Cancer is very unique in the sense that it provokes so many emotions at once. It is very difficult to prioritize feelings and allow yourself to really feel any one feeling at a time.  There is an abundant amount of anger, sadness, and fear that hit you.  Much like an unexpected ocean wave, you find yourself gasping for air, not knowing up from down.  The world moves quickly around you as you struggle to understand the reality of the situation. 

You are also flooded with an immeasurable amount of love.  In a strange way, the love, is a fuel to all the other emotions.  The stronger your love, the stronger your sadness and fear may grow.  In parallel, courage, faith, and trust grow rapidly.  Faith that this mysterious disease will be beat, courage to be strong through the process, and trust that all decisions and actions in the coming days, weeks, and months are the right decisions for the perfect outcome.

We are at an age where our lives are beginning to move to a more stable rhythm.  We are independent, have made career choices, and are building our own homes and families.  When cancer floods the established path it is hard to keep focus on the destination.  Courage and strength can often dwindle away as the negative feelings take their beating on you.  This is when your eyes open up to find everyone who is standing around you, ready to hold you up and make you laugh, just when you thought you may not be able to take another day.  Family and friends, in a sense, are much like the chemotherapy used to fight cancer.  They enter our lives to help fight off dysfunction, sorrow, and bring us to a state from which we can start building our health back up.  

Robert and I have had so many people reach out to us.  Many people are a part of our daily lives, others may have been distant friends, and many are people we may not have spoken to for years or had the privilege to grow closer with.  Every single one of these people are extending a helping hand and putting us in their daily thoughts and prayers.  I regret that no amount of words, written or spoken, will ever be able to express the gratitude that we both have towards every single person who gracefully passed a positive thought our way.  This has warmed our hearts and is something we will forever carry.  Thank you.

Tomorrow starts week two of treatment.  Robert was a true superhero through week one.  He sat day after day for hours voluntarily allowing a poison to enter his body.  He knew that the poison was not his kryptonite.  He knew that although this may break him down physically, this was temporary.  He was doing it not only for his own health, but also for his friends, and his family.  He was not going to take a chance that could have resulted in a shorter life.  He was not willing to allow us to miss out on a single day of his humor or his extraordinary outlook on life. 

It is bitter sweet to know that you are starting a winning fight, but knowing that things will get worse before they start getting better.  I cannot claim I know what is going through Robert’s mind.  I will not be able to empathize with his mental or physical feelings, because these are untouchable and indescribable feelings.  However, in his silence I like to think he is hard at work with plans for his next feat. 

On Saturday his feat of choice was a ski day.   His mother and I worried, but there is no way to deny such a fighter something that will cause them so much happiness, especially before the chemo takes its toll on his body.  When I texted Robert in the middle of his ski day asking how he was doing, he replied “Best day ever”.  Robert has skied back country, in over 4 feet of powder, in the best conditions imaginable; yet, I really believe this was the best day ever for Robert.  In the midst of being broken down, he was able to stand high and untouchable, even if only for a few hours.  

Robert has one treatment this week, one next week, and then another full week of treatments the following week.  He will then rinse and repeat through the holidays and we hope his last treatment will be the day before New Years Eve.  The new year will bring new adventures, a new baby for Derek and Brooke, two new additions to the Sutherland family, and a new ball.   We will welcome all of these with happiness, open hands, and open hearts.  We will, however, slam the door in cancer's face.  This is one guest that was and never will be welcome.

Chemotherapy

Today I sit in a chair. The chair is faux leather, gray, and smells of chloroform. It is in a room of about 18 of the exact same chairs that are filled with adults who are suffering from similar ailments. Nurses with half smiles on their faces at all times tend to the patients' every need... in my case I have a couple of non permanent nurses in my mother and fiance, as well as my main man Doug, the real nurse, making sure I am comfortable.

I am in the chemotherapy section of the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah. So far, I am the youngest person in the room by at least a decade. Life is currently crazy.

Kasia, my mom, and myself sit here for nearly five hours everyday. We read magazines, they discuss the upcoming wedding, and we get on our computers. I am currently checking Facebook every five minutes... In going through the book I realize how bad peoples lives are. I am not kidding, I find at least every five status updates that make the claim: Worst day ever.

In no way will I diminish how bad someones day is. No one has the right to tell someone they are having a harder day than someone else. I just find it a bit hard to believe that every 5 of my friends on Facebook are having the worst day of your lives, and if you think you are, lets put this in perspective:

Today, I sit in a chemotherapy room where families gather around their loved ones to offer support and comfort in their fight against cancer. In almost every case the family is having a harder time with treatment than the actual patient. Sitting next to me is a woman in her 60 or 70's seemingly going through chemotherapy for the very first time. Her husband, three daughters, son, and grandchild (who is a newborn) are all here to offer their love and support. Her daughters teared up when they inserted the needle into her wrist to administer a poison that will hopefully keep her alive so she can watch her granddaughter grow up, spoil her, and make sure her granddaughter will always feel the same outpouring of love that she is feeling today.

My mom is sitting in front of me, very patiently dealing with my new found quietness. She flew in on Friday from Atlanta, GA to be here for her youngest son's initial bout with chemotherapy... her trip, although a huge relief to her, myself, and Kasia, is not a happy one. She is watching her youngest son fight for his life. Kasia, has gone from complete jubilation (naturally, I asked her to marry me) and calling everyone she knew to tell them she was engaged to the man of her dreams (I can only assume) to being in a hospital room five days a week, answering phone calls from friends and family every hour or so offering their condolences in regards to me dealing with cancer, again. I am my fathers son, there is no one in the world that I look up to more and no one that I am closer with. He is my psychologist, my best friend, and most importantly my dad. I do my best to model how he handles situations and deals with difficult times, which usually starts off with a prayer to the Big Guy. To Gary's dismay, he will not be here for another two weeks, which means he can not physically be here for me like in all other cases. I am assuming he paces his bedroom alone once he is done watching hockey, most likely reciting the Serenity Prayer. Don't get me started on my sister, she is a mess. Derek, my brother, seems to handle these issues with a grain of salt. He believes to his core that I will get through this with barely breaking a sweat and I must say, I agree.

These people, with the exception of Derek, are having the worst days of their lives. Facebook approved.

Dealing with chemotherapy is strange. The first two days are not supposed to have much effect on you. Today they will mix the drugs into me that "knock me on my back" tomorrow. I will start to lose my hair over the weekend (fingers crossed for my stache staying around).

My body currently just feels off, it is impossible to explain. It is like I have the flu but I do not shake or get cold necessarily. In a strange way I am looking forward to how I will feel in the next few weeks... I do not deal well with the "unknown." Unknown variables are the only things that make me nervous. Pain is easy for me, and strangely makes me feel better, as if I am feeling the cancer leave my body. Emotionally, I am fine. I have become reserved and very quiet. You would assume that this would make most people in my family happy... but it is having and adverse effect on everyone around me. In this case, I do not know how to change it. It seems that my mouth and yearn for talking about myself has taken a back seat to me getting lost in my thoughts. My thoughts are not deep, I am not becoming Aristotle nor do I have a Plato to teach me secrets of the universe. If anything, cancer gives you time to reflect on the type of human you are and ways to be better.

For anyone that knows me fairly well, they know that I believe my first bout with cancer was a blessing. It made me grow up, which is something I was lacking at the time. The second bout is no different. Everyday I learn something new about myself or I find lessons in every situation... it is a good situation for someone like myself to slow down and do some self evaluation and come to realizations. Not that I ever thought there was necessarily anything wrong with me before, but it would be selfish and fairly obnoxious not to learn from any life altering event in my young life.


Ever the optimist in all situations, this will work out. It always does.

Thanks for the perspective cancer... on Facebook and in real life.

Today I sit in a chair. This is not the worst day of my life and I am thankful.

Beginning the Regimen by Kasia

Our apologies for the delay in posts the last couple weeks.  Robert and I have been keeping busy with appointments and a lot of planning for the weeks to come.  (We have even slipped in a bit of wedding planning!)

Our minds, and time, have mainly been occupied by all the planning for Robert's chemotherapy that starts tomorrow.  We are so lucky to have Mrs. Fran in town with us for the next week.  She is the breath of fresh air that was needed in our home.  Robert has been able to enjoy his favorite comfort foods (our friends and I have been able to benefit from this) and we have been relaxing and watching a lot of football.

Tomorrow reality will kick in.  It may be a bit before we are ready, but in reality, no one is really ready to see their loved one go through a struggle.  Luckily our loved one happens to be Robert who is more than capable of kicking cancer's butt.  I am confident that he will crack jokes through the entire process and be the strong one out of all of us.  Even though Robert is the victim in this situation, he tends to worry about everyone else around him.  He worries how his family is doing, and how I am handling the situation.  If he is scared, or upset, he is putting up a professional front.  He stays strong so that we can all stand strong around him.  His attitude is contagious.

We are very lucky to have such amazing friends and family surrounding us.  Thank you for every prayer and kind word.  Tomorrow is the beginning of a difficult couple months that will end with a stronger, unified, happily ever after.

The Fall and the Exaltation

Here we are, three weeks into being re-diagnosed with cancer and before I get to writin’ I want to thank everyone that has been reading the blog and has reached out to offer his or her support and prayers. All of it has been overwhelming and more helpful than a few words typed on my MacBook could explain.

                                                                                  Moustache Movember

Kasia and I went down last Friday to meet my new oncologist, Dr. Frame and find out my schedule for chemotherapy. Doctor Frame turned out to be a great individual; eccentric, just humble enough, and assuring. Kasia had a number of inquiries for Dr. Frame that he handled wonderfully and answered with the utmost professionalism.

In 2004, I remember sitting in the doctor’s office at Indiana University and discussing the options of having chemotherapy. Dr. Foster did not believe that my cancer had spread past the testicular stage and traveled past my lymph nodes, so it was his belief that I would not need to do chemotherapy after receiving Retroperitoneal lymph node dissection (RPLND)… he was right. It looked as though the cancer had been caught in the early stage and we would not need chemotherapy. This was great, because like most young adolescent men I was fairly obsessed with how I looked (not to say I am currently not, in some faucets). It was bad enough that there was a mammoth sized scar going down my abdomen; I didn’t want to lose all of my hair and look like a Jr. Mr. Clean… I was scared of what people might say and mostly how I would handle it mentally.

I consider myself a psychologically strong human being. I also seem to have at least faked people into believing that I do not typically get scared. This could not be further from the truth… my “scary” escapades in the snow, climbing, or on expeditions are dwarfed by my fear of losing someone close to me and/or having to go through the same thing I am. (Note: my escapades do not compare to some of my friends adventures that are reading this, do not assume I am world class at any of my hobbies.) Kasia mentions in her last post that I told her I would rather have cancer than have to deal with someone, including herself, having to go through it. This could not be any closer to the truth.

My mom, a couple months ago found a lump growing underneath her shoulder blade. This news was troubling to yours truly; I lost sleep; bit my nails, and called her nonstop demanding that she tell me all of the information that I was positive she was keeping from me. So when she called to tell me it was just a mass with no cancer implications I cried with joy. Fran is more of a caregiver rather than someone who receives care well, such as myself. I am a master care receiver. That last sentence is a fact. No one can accept being taken care of better than I can, and don’t kid yourself readers, it is an art.

Back to when I was sitting in Dr. Frame’s office, I was mostly thinking of how terrible this is for my mother and Kasia to have to go through this. I was also thinking about how I am afraid of what I was about to go through… for the first time in a long time, I was actually frightened of something I knew was coming. It’s different when I am in my ski’s standing on a ridge overlooking a cliff, excited and scared of the possibilities that lay ahead. Will I shatter my hand, break my neck, or “ski so hard I hurt myself” again? Or will I come out of it unscathed with a feeling that is completely impossible to understand unless you have been there? The difference in the two feelings is that I look forward to the fall before the exaltation. I am not looking forward to the fall before the exaltation in beating cancer. Although, I have gotten past the embarrassment of looking like Mr. Clean, homeboy makes cleaning a kitchen and bathroom look tough. I don’t know one person who would want to get caught in a dark alley with Mr. Clean… and if you do find someone to say so, you have also found yourself a liar.

Dr. Frame let us know that my timetable for chemo would start next Monday. My regiment will be five hours of chemo for five days straight followed by chemo every Wednesday for two weeks. Repeat until cancer leaves body forever.

Fran flies into Utah on Friday, which is more of a relief to her than myself I assume. There is little doubt that she has had a hard time dealing with this, and making it harder on her has been not being able to physically take care of her baby boy. If you are in Park City it would be in your favor to make an appearance at my house and have my motha cook a meal for you, pour you some sweet tea. I am pretty sure you can’t get cancer from being in the same room as someone diagnosed but I am no scientist. Consider this an open invitation to anyone looking to meet a sweet southern woman with an unworldly ability to cook “feel-good” meals.

In other news, I have created a Movember team that is going to take over the world in growing moustaches and bringing in awareness to men’s related cancer. No offense, but it seems way more fun than wearing a pink ribbon. If you would like to join my team go to: http://mobro.co/lovestronglivestrong

Kasia and I have also received shoes from Tom’s, who is doing a Movember campaign. We would like to thank them so much for sending the shoes and everything else they are doing to raise awareness about men’s related cancer. Check out the guy ones, they’re pretty rad:

 So Monday morning I will commence the fall (chemo in this case… get the analogy?). The fall will not be fun. But the feeling after I beat cancer, again, will undoubtedly be much better than any feeling from jumping off a cliff and landing in soft, milky powder has provided me… and that’s a good feeling folks. See below:

In closing, Mr. Clean lives to clean so you can clean to live. Mr. Clean is a lot like chemotherapy. Chemo’s motto would be a bit dissimilar: Chemotherapy exists to clean so you can live.

Coping by Kasia

I was watching one of Robert’s sports channels and they were talking about the intimidation factor among athletes.  There is some truth behind the saying "you should fear the quite ones the most".  One football player used red contacts to "reflect the glare in practice" then kept them because they are very terrifying, or because he truly believes that red contacts reflect glare (doubtful). Other athletes talk smack and pull out the handbook of “your mom” insults on their opponents.  Then, there is the silent type; the show zooms in on Tom Brady with a look on his face like Jack Nicolas in the Shining.  (No one agrees with me but I swear Tom Brady looks like him.  Google “Tom Brady angry”).  Troy Polamalu also falls into the silent category.  One of his opponents said something along the lines of "there is nothing scarier than talking [smack] to an opponent and having them return a silent stare".  You never know what is going on in their minds and the silent ones are most often the ones who have pent up anger or feelings. 

This takes me to my point that is much less aggressive and entertaining than large football players and their peculiarities: the danger of silence and an unoccupied mind.  When my mind is left to itself it tends to go to the extremes and create scenarios that are far from reality.   Since Robert’s diagnoses I have made it a point to keep my mind from the extremes.  It actually had started on the opposite side of the spectrum of unrealistic positive thoughts and beliefs.

Robert: I have cancer

Me: Maybe it's something else

Robert: My tumor markers are high and the ultrasound shows a lump

Me: Maybe it's an infection or a cyst

Robert: Doc just called.  I have cancer and I am scheduled for surgery on Tuesday.

Me: Maybe after Tuesday everything will be better and we can be done.

Robert: I will need chemo.

Me: Maybe you won't.

Fast forward.  I was wrong and didn’t want to face the truth.

Reality kicks in, and then an automatic occupation of the brain.  I am currently a master cleaner, hostess, cook, and hold a full time job.

Keeping my mind occupied is only a temporary relief from reality, and although temporary, it is great training for domestication and guidelines to being the perfect wife.  I swear Robert planned all of this out. Although, I know he wouldn't get cancer just to build a good wife, but I wouldn't completely put it past him.  

On a side note, completely unrelated to this topic (yes I have a wandering mind) when Robert and I went on our first road trip ever, with 5 hours in the car alone, Robert told me his first cancer story.  I cried, I laughed, (of course) and said I just couldn't imagine him going through everything.  He then, with a very serious yet surprisingly soft tone, said "I would take cancer again over having any of my family members diagnosed.  I would prefer to get cancer again then ever have you have cancer...” He said he knew he could handle it and laugh through it but he didn’t think he could handle anyone he cared about going through it.  

When he was diagnosed I told him that he took the bullet for one of us, I cried.  He nodded that single nod that both him and Mr. Gary do when approving of something, or after proving that they are correct.  The nod is always followed by a modest smile.  I use modest loosely.

The initial point of my rambling is: you need to allow yourself to cope with the feelings you have.  Keeping yourself busy is wonderful, but sometimes you get so occupied by cooking and cleaning and planning, that you forget to just sit down and spend time with the person who is carrying the burden of everybody else’s sorrow.  The person who knows that due to their condition there are people who are so hurt and upset, and there is nothing that can be done about that pain.  Remember that is ok to be sad and cry, and its ok to feel happiness in the midst of all that’s happening.  If you can’t laugh and cry in the same day, then you cant begin to cope and understand what you truly may be feeling.  I always internalize what I feel and tend to smile through the rough times.  In the end it leaves Robert to pick up the pieces when I finally fall apart, and that is not fair to him, or myself. 

This is a learning process for everyone involved.  We can learn from our reactions and begin to plan out our future actions.  I am not saying that when faced with trying times you should sit and cry, but make sure to balance the busy and the down time. 

I can happily say, I don’t think I have had a stage 3 break down since last Sunday. Robert has been laughing through every day.  Today seems normal. It may be the calm before the storm, but we have to take what we get, one day at a time.  We will welcome the tears just as much as we welcome the laughs.

Donate for the Fight

Hey Everyone,

I have been asked by some extremely very nice people to put up a PayPal account to the blog so people can donate to help out. You can see it on the header of the blog, and at the very bottom. I do not want anyone to think that they have to donate to read the blog. It is there for people who would like to and are able to help out with my current situation.

Think of it as the donation plate that passes you in church, but if you don't put any money in there, the person sitting next to you won't judge you.

Having cancer costs a lot of money, so I appreciate every dollar that goes into the donation. If Kasia and I receive anything over helping to cover the costs of my medical bills we will donate the rest to Livestrong. My family has been making donations to Livestrong ever since I was diagnosed in 2004, and it is a very worthy cause.

Thanks everyone for your support, kind words, and prayers. All of everyone's compassion towards our situation has been unbelievable. I don't know how to describe how thankful Kasia and I are for everyone in our lives... 

So again, if you would like to donate go ahead and do it... if not, NBD.

Check Yoself, Fools.

Ever since my first diagnosis with cancer people ask me, "How did you find it?!" My reply is often surprising to them, which is surprising to me, "I found a lump on my ball."

People look at me bewildered that it is either so simple or that my answer is so matter of fact. Girls seem to get a bit uncomfortable when you are upfront about discussing your testicles... so if you happen to be in the same situation, proceed with caution. With my second diagnosis the question has changed slightly from the masses, "How did you find it, this time?" Again, my reply is met with bug eyes, "I found another lump on my ball."

The issue with young men finding a lump on their testicle is not that they don't know that something is obviously wrong. It is simply that they don't want to discuss with ANYONE their most private and cherished of body parts. From an extremely young age you protect your testicles as if there was a miniature Fort Knox inside of your underwear, and if anyone was trying to get to them they would be killed (*this goes only for aggressive moves towards your junk, with the intent of injury. There are scenarios when you should be allowing, nay promoting aggressive moves towards your junk).

When young women start having their period, they go to see a doctor on a regular basis to make sure their plumbing is working correctly and to check for any issues such as cancer. If anything, when boys reach maturity a doctor comes to your PE class, grabs your nuts, and tells you to cough. It is a very uncomfortable experience, and quite scary for a 13 year old boy. There is little to no pleasantries, his hands are cold (otherwise it would be WAY bigger, right?!), and there is no discussion about illnesses that possibly can show up and what symptoms you should be looking for later down the road.

Although, the old man grabbing your balls at age 13 has nothing to do with you checking them on a regular basis throughout life. You have to be proactive kids! The general population needs to move past the embarrassment of discussing your privates. It is not just an issue for diagnosing cancer... it is also a way to prevent STD's and other genital issues that can be avoided by just recognizing something is different and being vocal. I don't know about all of you dudes, but growing up I had a hand down my pants almost all the time. I knew my twig and berries better than I knew anything else in life... I cherished them, kept them clean, put protection over them for sports, and made sure they were in prime condition.

So freshman year in college, when I was sitting in my dorm room playing Tiger Woods' golf, and I put my hands down my pants I knew immediately that something was wrong. There is a bump there that was not there before... something was definitely wrong. Lucky for me, I was/am far from being embarrassed about talking about my testicles. I was living with one of my best friends of all time, Larson Welsh. Larson and I went to high school together with a group of friends that I am lucky enough to remain my best pals with to this day.

Within a couple seconds of finding it I called Larson into the room. The discussion went almost exactly like this (picture inset is Larson and I at Nascar):

Robert: Hey guy, I think I found something very interesting.
Larson: Yeah? I am fairly excited about the possibilities...
Robert: Yeah. I just found a lump on my testicle, if I touch it, it really hurts.
Larson: oooohhhhh, ok ok. Well bro, I have a lump on my testicle too.
Robert: You do?
Larson: Perhaps we should compare them to see if we both have the same thing.
Robert: I definitely think we should compare them.

  *it somehow made sense to Larson and myself that because we lived together, slept in the same room, ate every meal together, and worked out together that we definitely would be suffering from the exact same ailment.


Larson and I then proceeded to figure out how to do this in the most mature and medically acceptable way possible. It was decided that whoever was touching at the time would put a t-shirt over his hand and the touchee would hold the infected area and direct where to press. We decided on who would go first the same way we handled every situation involving a disagreement... there would be a DUEL.

I guess you could consider Larson and myself 1700's gentleman, who find the romance and allure in the old ways... We respect our forefathers and how they handled disputes. Knowing that we could not shoot each other with real bullets, because we would die, we agreed that metal BB gun rifles would be the best alternative to decide any situation in our new household.

The rules are simple: remove your shirt, rifle rests at your waist until the word GO, shoot until the other person can no longer take it and drops their rifle. If you shoot at the face, you are automatically disqualified and must face the firing squad. The firing squad consisted of three friends on the opposite side of the room. The "face-shooter" must get on his knees put his hands behind his back and face the opposite wall... someone would yell, "FIRE!" and all three would simultaneously shoot you in your bare back. Needless to say, you tried your best to not shoot near the face. The best strategy is to shoot for the upper thigh or chest, but to consistently hit near the same spot. I am waaaay more mature than this now...

Larson won this round. He put the shirt on his hand and touched my bumped testicle. He immediately pronounced that my bump felt nothing like the one he had. I confirmed. So the discussion continued...

Larson: Maybe we both have different tumors (we had come to the conclusion that we both have tumors). Something is definitely wrong with both of us.
Robert: I don't know man, I just found it today. It was definitely not there a couple days ago.
Larson: Ohhhhhhh, ok. Cool.
Robert: Why? How long have you noticed your tumor?
Larson: I'm not sure, I think I found it when I was in 6th grade.
Robert: Are you f%#king kidding me Lars?!! You think that you have had a cancerous tumor since 6th grade? Don't you think you would be dead?!
Larson: I don't know bro, maybe I am dying. I don't know these things. Do not judge me.
Robert: I can't believe you are comparing my tumor to one you found 7 years ago. This extremely scientific experiment is flawed and now failed.

We probably laughed for a while, went to the gym, played some TWoods, and I left for hockey. On this specific day of practice we were leaving for a road trip immediately following practice which meant that the team doctor, Dr. Jim Davis, would be there. I figured he would know more about the situation than Larson. After practice I took a shower and then told Doc what I had found. Doc had me drop my pants, he put on gloves (gloves! genius!) and felt the lump. Dr. Jim Davis is the head of medical at Utah State University, a former NCAA football player, a emergency room surgeon, and an all around unbelievable human. To this day I still consider Doc as my main physician, one of my closest confidants and one of the smartest people I have ever met.

Doc's prognosis in the locker room was that it was a swollen gland. Although, he did remind me that he was not a urologist, and if it was something that I was worrying about than I should most definitely should go get a second opinion.

Doc's prognosis was good enough for me. I was fine, and if it got worse, I would go see a doctor. That first check-up took place in the beginning of the month October, hockey season had just started.

Over the next few months there were very noticeable changes going on physically and mentally. I had an excuse for them all:

1. I started seeing black dots in my vision whenever my heart rate would go up. As a hockey player, this became an issue... for I was searching for a black cylinder puck whenever I touched the ice. This resulted in me constantly being flattened on my back by opponents. I would not let anyone know what I was feeling/seeing... it would pass.

2. My nipples become large cones. I figured I was going through another round of puberty. I would be more manly, nay a superhero once this one finished up. In actuality, I found out later that this was happening because my body was no longer producing more testosterone than estrogen.

3. I never slept anymore. Meh, I was excited about being in college. It was the first time I was away from home so that is why I couldn't catch some sleep eye.

4. I had a huge lump on my ball that was getting larger. I don't know on that one.

Overall, I was an athlete and my dad had taught me to play through the pain. Be tough. He explained to me as lovingly as he could, "You don't come out of the game unless there is a bone sticking out of your skin or if you are puking blood." You attempt to play the sick out of you. At age 17, I played Midget ice hockey with a broken hand and wrist for a week until my mom came back from vacation and noticed my swollen extremity. She brought me to the orthopedic to find out that I had broken my wrist in a number of different places. I felt proud though, I had toughed it out.

SIDENOTE: Gary (dad) played hockey through college, was a player/coach for Toledo University, still plays roller and ice hockey weekly and still competes in tournaments around the country. By all accounts from family members and friends has never lost a fight on the ice... back when they played old time hockey... Eddie Shore? Gary is no joke.

                                                         Derek, Gary (stache), Fran, and me


Gary raised tough boys. I would ignore the pain until it went away... this was no different than anything else I had assumed at the time. When the season ended, I went back home for Spring Break, in March. Seven months after the first check up. My dad had set up a visit with the urologist, who let us know three days later that I was diagnosed with cancer.

I had the testicle and tumor removed by my urologist in Las Vegas. Went to Indiana University to get treated by urologist Dr. Richard Foster, MD. Dr. Foster revolutionized the way testicular cancer is now treated. My family had read the book, It's Not About the Bike, by Lance Armstrong immediately after my diagnosis (a gift to us from my Uncle Jim, who is, or used to be an avid rider. I believe he is a professional golfer now, but you'd have to ask him) and according to my mother, "I was going to the same doctor as Lance Armstrong! The best!" I was already wearing the yellow bracelet, so I figured what the hell. If you get a chance, read the book... it is the most inspiring thing I have ever read.

After the exhausting and sometimes terrible recovery I was left with one testicle. Throughout my treatment I had not once felt the lone testicle. I was scared of what I might find. Was I a freak now? Would I ever be able to get married? Should I get a prosthetic? How would I explain this to future female suitors?

I decided to weigh the options for a few weeks before I decided my next course of action. The next few weeks were eye opening. I had a premonition: One Testicle is Way Better Than Two.

Here are the reasons:

1. I was streamlined.
2. I could fit in a cramped car with more comfort than the two-baller sitting next to me. Or in my case, a cramped hockey bench was not an issue anymore.
3. I got WAY less Swall. Mom, this a hyphenated word originating sometime in the 1600's that stands for "sweaty balls." Someone will have to check the place of origin, I'm guessing celtic?
4. Chicks dig it.

So kids, to wrap it all up... the lesson we learned today: Check your balls often and thoroughly and if you get the chance to get rid of one of the berries, do it. Be tough. But don't be an idiot. Don't be afraid to talk to somebody about it.

Scribble that down somewhere.

You can die from cancer.

Last night Kasia broke down. We were sitting there watching tv, she was working on her computer as I controlled the stations between ESPN, ESPN2, Monday Night Football, and numerous hockey games (so I was obviously busy) and Kasia just started crying.

I have seen this before. I have been watching numerous sports before and Kasia was stressed out on something or another, and she just starts crying. I can't always decode the new language she seems to pick up when she starts these "episodes." I can usually pick out a few words that she mixes into her jargon that sound something like these English phrases: something about listening to her (which I can't, because I cannot UNDERSTAND her), not ignoring her, she is not taking this [poop] anymore, something about me growing up, and other ridiculous claims that I can barely hear over the TV announcers voice who seems to effortlessly be putting full English words and phrases together into full sentences. I usually/always find out through these "conversations" that I am the one who is wrong (and to tell you the truth, once she settles down, I do see her point 73% of the time) and I apologize for my actions.

In an effort to speed up the process, last night when Kasia started crying I blurted out, "I'm sorry." It didn't work. She continued to cry and then said something very surprising and heartbreaking, "I'm sorry."

Kasia and I have had friends in and out of our house ever since I have been diagnosed with cancer. The distraction has been wonderful. But that is exactly what is was, a distraction. We have had a whirlwind last two weeks: engaged, doctor visits, diagnosed with testicular cancer again, preop, surgery, and more doctor visits have kept Kasia's brain busy without having to think of the inevitable thought with any substance: I have cancer. Someone with cancer is dying. I am dying.

My dad would have a hard time with me saying that. He does not like to think or see anything that portrays a negative connotation towards my health, or anyone's health that he loves. But it is the undeniable truth. People with cancer are dying, which means that I am currently dying. I have had this sobering thought before when I was first diagnosed and it sits in the back of my mind now, I have already accepted that I have a disease that is killing me. I have also refused to let it.

I have made up my mind that I was not going to let cancer beat me, but that I was going to beat cancer. My sister, Lindsey, posted a quote from Lance Armstrong that embodies my feelings towards having the disease:

"If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or fight like hell!" -Lance Armstrong

                                        Myself; My Nephew/Godson, Maddux; My Dad, Gary. In Florida in September 2011.



Apparently I have issues with discussing my feelings. I really do not enjoy doing it, and most times I get more annoyed and my feelings get more negative if people try to talk to me about it. So Kasia has no idea what is going on in my head in regards to my attitude through cancer... which is completely unfair to her.

Last night Kasia could no longer take putting on a happy face. She was not happy and was tired of acting like it. She was sorry that I had to see her like that, she was sorry that she wasn't stronger, she was sorry that she could not make it all better.

It is easy to get caught up in yourself when you have cancer... everyone is talking about you and it seems the world wants to know what is going on with you in that moment. It can be exhilarating and at the same time completely exhausting. You forget the effect that cancer has on everyone around you, especially the people who truly love you. It is not just hard on you, but just as hard, and sometimes it is harder on your loved ones... it would benefit me to tell my loved ones how I feel and to listen to their concerns as well. This way, I don't have to spend so much time on the breakdowns, because they won't happen as often and in reality, this is all about self preservation. I am all about self preservation and living...

You can die from cancer, but that is up to you.

So for all of you that are having a hard time with this, let me explain my thought process:

I have cancer. I am dying. I will beat cancer. I will live.