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.