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.