Happy New Year

I broke down. Kasia and I walked out of the doctor's office after ringing the bell and finishing my last chemo treatment, the last time I was going to have poison injected into my blood. My thoughts were jumping from place to place as I walked to our car; getting engaged, finding the tumor, telling my parents, Kasia's fear, calling doctors "no matter what, I promise I am going to be okay," losing another testicle, over a hundred hours of chemotherapy, delays, low-white blood cell counts, puking, spending nights in the bathroom, my friends, family, and parents that had to endure all of this with me and it came at me like a tidal wave.

Out of everyone that had been there for me, my parents were second only to Kasia. My mom flew out for the first chemo treatments and my dad spent four weeks in Park City helping drive me to treatments, walk Shadow, and made sure I watched plenty of hockey. They also might have had the hardest time with it, as they were there every step of the way in my first diagnosis and thought we would never have to deal with it again. I knew they would be the first people I would call after my treatment, they more than anyone else needed to experience the high of their youngest son beating cancer after enduring the hell of going through cancer. As I dialed my Dad's cell phone all of my emotions built up inside of me. I didn't even know if I would be able to get any words out but once I heard my Dad's voice I knew it would be over...

-Ring ring, ring ring
Gary: Hello! Did we do it?!
Robert: ...Dad, I 


...and the call dropped. Silence... after all of that, a dropped call? Mother trucker, I call back.


Gary: HELLOOOO?
Robert: I'm done Dad. I'm done. 




"I'm done." I barely get the words out when the wave crashed. I broke down hard. Throughout the entire thing I had kept it together. Not once did I have a breakdown, I wouldn't allow myself. During the treatment I needed to be stronger for everyone around me and for myself. I no longer had to keep it up, the weight of an elephant had been lifted off of my shoulders and I fell apart. The other end of the phone consisted of faint sounds of my mom sobbing in the background and my Dad telling me how proud of me he was of me in between falling apart himself. Never in my life have I felt that amount of emotion hit me with such force... it was absolutely an unexplainable amount of relief for all of us hitting at the exact same time.  After ALL of that, I had to call my sister... much of the same, but shorter.

I had done it. I had beaten cancer for the second time in my young life. And I called it too. 

I knew that I was going to beat cancer. Not once from the moment the doctor told me, "you have cancer" to the time I rang the bell did I let myself think that I would not come out of this alive and stronger (at least mentally) than ever. I had just made a promise to someone that I would spend the rest of my life taking care of her and I wasn't about to break it... not then, not ever. Kasia has spent the last four months as my primary care-giver, the job my mother took on in my first diagnosis. There is not enough that is said about the care-giver for cancer victims. She put up with mood swings, late nights, feeding someone without much taste for food, staying in 90% of the time, balancing a full-time job, and therapy treatments. Not to mention the emotional strife in dealing with her new fiance battling a deadly disease. She did it all with a smile on her face (mostly) and did not complain nor question the role she never asked for. I will spend the rest of my life making up the six months she spent nursing me back to health and I will forever be in her debt. I don't have adverse plans on being anywhere else so it should work out. We are both extremely stoked to be able to enjoy our new engagement and Kasia surprised me by letting me know we were headed to Mexico in three weeks to celebrate being cancer free with one of my good friends Adam Lain, his wife Annie, and family. Laying on a beach and not doing much else is exactly what we both need at this point.

A support system is the closest people in your life who band together to make sure you beat the disease and feel your pain almost worse than the actual victim. Without my support system, I would have failed. I cannot thank the people who have been here for me enough and as I type tears fall on my keyboard in recognition of my gratitude.


Cancer doesn't care about how bad this is for your family, how much you hurt, what organ or body party you think you need, and it certainly doesn't give a shit if you ask for mercy. It is unyielding, heartless, and will take your life given the chance without a second thought. Your support system is your family, hurt when you hurt, would give their body parts, and are there to offer their mercy. They are unyielding in support, are made of all heart, and would give their life to save yours without a second thought. 

I have a new lease on life. God has granted me the opportunity to appreciate life more than I ever have before and I mean not to waste it. I will do my best to not take the little things for granted and at the same time to let them slide. I hope to be an inspiration for people going through cancer on keeping a positive outlook not necessarily just on life but the experience as well.


There is a long road ahead of me. I will not be feeling well for another couple weeks and I will not be back to normal for 3-6 months. But I am on the up and up and things could not look better in the future. Again, I want to thank everyone who reads this blog and I will continually make updates and blog about Kasia and my engagement, skiing, vacations, wedding, and whatever else I choose to write about.

January 18th will forever be my New Year. And I am going to party like a 16 year old girl on MTV... next year. Until then, I will be recanting how lucky I am to be here and to have this opportunity to live.


I'm done Dad, I'm done.