WHAT THE HECK?????!!!!! ME??!!! CANCER???!!!

I AM A SURVIVOR

I have cancer.  If this is the first you have heard of it, I apologize.  My family and closest of friends were told in person.  I chose to tell the rest of my friends via Social Media because, frankly, it is the quickest and most efficient way to get the word out.

Why would I blog about something so personal?  First, because I am feeling prompted to do so.  Second, because in battles like this, it is easier to win as a team rather than as an individual or even as a couple.  I just invited you to join my team.  Third, to give others hope.  This cancer is so common that I know a lot of you have it or will have it soon.  Fourth, to easily keep everyone updated.  And finally, and probably most importantly, because it will be over the top therapeutic to me.  I need that.

In this first blog entry, I’ll write about the emotions of being diagnosed with cancer and how I plan to beat it.  Other blog entries will include dealing with my anger at God, how was I able to go on a mission, all the medical stuff, the horrible decisions I must now make, what to say to someone who has cancer, and I may even write about the most supportive, wonderful wife and companion a guy could ever have.  If my writing slips into “we”, that would be her.

I was diagnosed with cancer on February 13^th.  It will now be one of those days that I will never forget as it comes around each and every year.  Prostate cancer.  They say it is a very common cancer.  That most get through it.  Most men die with it rather than from it.  I even kind of saw it coming as my PSA had been high for over two years.  But tests and exams and ultrasounds and CT scans all showed no cancer.  The last step the doctor insisted on was a biopsy, just to make sure.  I was confident that the results would be negative, like all the others, and I would rejoice that things were OK and that the testing and poking and prodding was done.  So, when the Doctor, who came into the exam room obviously more somber than he had ever been before with me, and got right to business saying, “you have cancer,” I went into shock.  And the emotions hit.

Identifying emotions and dealing with them is supposedly a healthy thing to do.  That night, I just didn’t feel like healthy.  I felt like medicating.  I even made a mental list of ways to medicate myself to kill the intense emotions I was having.  I don’t drink or do drugs but rest assured that meth and booze were both on the list.  I finally set my mind on food.  Perhaps I could eat myself to death that very night and then I would feel better.  We left to a favorite restaurant that we hadn’t been to in over a year and both did our best at “death by fried chicken and mac n cheese.”  Then we went to the Ice Cream place and ate an inordinate amount of ice cream.  Medication.

Half way home from the Doctor’s office, the first wave of emotion hit.  It was utter anger at God.  “SERIOUSLY???!!  I JUST GAVE UP SIX MONTHS OF MY FREAKIN’ LIFE TO SERVE YOU AS A MISSIONARY, WORKED MIRACLES TOGETHER WITHIN YOUR HANDS, AND THIS IS WHAT I GET AS A BLESSING???!!!”  Trust me, it isn’t the first time I have yelled at or even cursed God.  I am not perfect.  I have since simmered down.  It was a blessing that I even was able to serve a mission.

Once home, I sunk into my easy chair and just……. just……..tried to breathe.  Cancer.  Cancer kills.  I actually have cancer.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Hanna thought I was trying to nap, so left me alone.  I could only take a few moments alone before I had to go find her and ask her to sit with me.  And then we had the hugest cry we have ever had as a couple.  As we held each other.  Once the tears ended, we went to find death by chicken.

I kept waking up during that night to find Hanna clutching me closely, sobbing her eyes out.  I feel blessed that she is still here.  Seems like I end up in one problem after another.  She keeps telling me “we are in this together.”

The alarm went off at the usual 5:30am and we both went about our day as usual.  Reading of scriptures.  Other reading.  Then I jumped on the new treadmill.  I guess I wanted to prove that I was still healthy.  10% incline at 3 miles per hour.  A fast, tough pace for me.  20 minutes.  My heart was racing.  It felt good.  I was healthy.  But as I stepped off, I realized that I STILL HAVE CANCER.  It won’t just go away like a cold or the flu.  No amount of changed diet or running or rest will make it subside.  If anything, it will get worse.  If I have a bad day, I’m used to going to bed and starting over the next day and things are usually better.  That does not happen with cancer.  You just wake up, still with cancer, and wondering if it grew or got worse during the night.  One night closer to death.

Hanna disappeared quickly to the kitchen.  I followed a bit later and there I was “heart attacked.”  There were red hearts all over the counter with love notes on each one.  I just sobbed as I read them.  Another good couple cry.  I felt loved and that is important.

As a missionary, I found a real purpose in life.  To help bring others closer to Christ.  Coming home and going back to work in the tax business was tough.  Filing an accurate tax return to help folks save money just doesn’t compare to helping bring others closer to Christ.  And now work was even tougher.  I couldn’t focus.  I couldn’t get motivated.  I wanted to medicate.  More chicken.  I felt like I should be fixing this cancer, fighting it, doing something.  But for once in my life, there was really nothing I could do right then to fix the problem.

After work, we went to our Valentine’s Dinner at the BBQ joint.  Happy Valentine’s Day.  I freakin' have cancer.  We ordered up the all-you-can-eat BBQ buffet including Prime Rib.  We ate like we wanted to die from it.  Death by BBQ. 

But I woke up the next morning still alive.  And still with cancer.

Somewhere in all of that shock and turmoil, I came to the conclusion that I needed to identify my emotions.  And also that I needed to somehow be a survivor, not a victim.

Fear:  Check.  Fear that the prognosis was wrong, and the cancer would consume me before we even decide what to do with it.

Anger:  Check.  See my previous cursing of God.

Annoyance:  Check.  Almost any poking or prodding for the prostate is invasive.  Very invasive.  More of that on the way………..

But the big one was disappointment and sadness.  I realized that I am mourning what my life once was and am coming to the conclusion that from here on out, it will never be the same.

I’ve always tried to live my life as a survivor and not as a victim.  I’m not perfect, but I always give it my best shot.  I hate getting my butt kicked and certainly am not going to succumb to such kicking by cancer.  If I die from this, it sure as heck won’t be without a huge fight.

One of my biggest butt whoopings was my first attempt to climb Mt St Helens, the only active volcano in the lower 48 states.  In 2013, on a whim, we decided to climb the beast.  We didn’t prepare well, had no idea what we were up against, and two thirds of the way up, we found ourselves in a precarious position.  Exhausted, out of water, the last ones going on up with no one behind us to come upon us if we needed help.  And I was struggling with vertigo due to the heights of the steep mountain.  We surrendered, defeated, and came back down.  I swear I could hear the mountain mocking me as we drove away from it the next day.  It haunted me.  My butt was sore from the whooping.  So, we committed to try again.  We prepared.  We trained.  We planned.  We invented a way to carry more water. We bought equipment.  We practiced climbing snow banks with our new crampons and climbing poles.  And we tried to climb that bugger again.  It was the toughest physical day of my life.  Nine straight hours of climbing and hiking.  We summitted at 3:30pm on June 21^st, 2017, another date I will never forget.  I stood on top of Mt St Helens and, with my fist in the air, yelled, “I AM GOOD ENOUGH!!!”  I stood on the very top of a live volcano.  A survivor.

But what does a survivor of cancer look like on a daily basis?  I pondered that.  That is who I want to become.  But it baffled me a bit.  I can’t climb a volcano every day.  Yesterday, I found out what a survivor looks like.

I watched out my bedroom window as the caretaker for the 90+ year-old woman who lives across the street from us got stuck in her driveway.  It hadn’t been plowed all week and was an 18-inch field of solid slush.  I went over and offered to plow it out.  Elvie answered the door.  She told me her new housecleaner was supposed to shovel the driveway, but all he had was a shovel and he couldn’t keep up with it, especially last week.  She accepted my offer.  She thanked me profusely.

As I plowed the mess, which took a lot because it was deep and wet and unkept and heavy, I magically for the first time forgot I had cancer. 

Half way through, Elvie came outside and thanked me again.

When I finished, she came back out as I crossed the street and thanked me a third time.  She was incredibly grateful.  Like I was her hero.

And perhaps I was.  My Hero Superpower was my Troybilt 2410 24-inch self-propelled Snowblower with electric start engine.  Other than my JEEP, it is the most awesome toy I own.

But I got it.  To keep from becoming a victim, I must become someone’s hero.  Service.  Service = survival.  I can do this.  I will do this. I AM A SURVIVOR.  Watch me survive.

Tomorrow we will start to eat healthy again.  And look for someone to serve.