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.