I am almost 5 weeks post-surgery to remove, as my oncologist
puts it, the “offending organ.” It has
been quite the ride physically, emotionally, and mentally to be certain. I have gained some new insights into my body
in particular and to the human body in general.
The complexity of the human body and all of its interacting systems
amaze me. If you don't believe me, just
try going through having a system get thrown out of whack.
I usually get asked a couple of questions. The first is what stage is your cancer? We are all pretty familiar with the stages of
cancer, typically 1-4. Testicular cancer
(TC) is a bit different. This particular
variety of cancer is staged by not only by if it has spread, but by
pathology. TC is staged with a number and
a letter. I was staged at 1B. I was staged as a “1” because the cancer had not
spread; and “B” because my tumor was mixed between the nonseminoma and
seminoma types of TC. Remember in my
previous post, I mentioned that TC comes in four varieties. These four are classified into two groups—seminoma
and nonseminoma. Because of the
non-seminoma portion of my tumor which is the more aggressive type of TC, my treatment will be just as aggressive.
Another question that I am asked a lot is how did I get
TC? Many times, this question comes
along with an answer. I’ve heard that it
is because of the Sweet & Low I use in my coffee. Hmmm.
That’s a thought, but according to the American Cancer Society there is
no direct correlation between saccharin and cancer. I’ve been told that it must be all the
running I’ve done in the last several years—you know, all that bouncing and
jarring and stuff. Nope. There’s no direct line between exercise and
TC either (there goes that excuse).
So what caused my TC? The truth of the matter is, I may never
know. My doctor said that most scientist
agree that for some types of cancer, no one knows what causes it to start, and
TC is one of those. I do know that
there are some ideas—perhaps it’s hard coded in my genetic material. We just don't know. And I have decided that I'm not going to waste
time and energy trying to figure out the answer to a question that at this point doesn't
really matter to me anyway, I'll leave that to the scientists.
Physically, I’m almost completely recovered from the
surgery. My strength is returning, I’ve
been able to walk quite a bit and that has helped. I've been back in the office for two weeks
and that’s been great. This is the great
irony of medical troubles. My family and
I have been given two weeks of relative normalcy before we start the next round
of treatment and I start to feel poorly again.
Chemotherapy, or more often just Chemo; there’s nothing
friendly about that word. In most of our
minds, it is quite ominous. We hear of
someone we know having to have chemo and we immediately get this pensive look on
our faces as if we can relate somehow.
Your attitude towards it changes a great deal once you have signed up
for chemo.
I’ve had many people ask me, why chemo? Why do you want to put yourself through that,
didn’t they get all the cancer with the surgery? My response has generally been this exact
phrase: “Better chemo than cancer.” No one wants chemo. No one volunteers willingly to undergo the
chemotherapy process, but it is a necessary evil. I could take my chances—this cancer has a 1
in 3 chance of recurring in the first year without treatment. Someone mentioned to me that means there is a
2 in 3 chance of it not recurring.
That’s true, but I’m not comfortable playing those odds. Look at it this way. I have three sons. Would I willing to risk one of those
boys? Absolutely not! As I was having this conversation with my
doctor, she told me that with treatment, I would have a 99% chance for total
recovery—those numbers I like much better.
What is this chemo treatment going to look like? There’s a lot I don’t know. I do know that I will have a PICC line
inserted first thing Monday morning, and to be honest with you, that’s kind of
freaking me out more than anything else so far. Many people have told me that it is nothing
to worry about, that it’s a standard practice.
I know that. The idea of carrying
a tube around in my body going from my arm to my chest—“somewhere near the
heart”—is not comforting. But hey,
that’s just me. If you’re into that sort
of thing, I can recommend some people to hook you up.
Chemo is the next big hurdle in this adventure I’m on. I’m not looking forward to it; I’m looking
forward to it being over with. I was
talking to my lovely wife and made this statement: “I’m okay with the next 6 weeks being rough, because
I’ve got a good 40 years or more left to live.” I may lose my hair-but that’s been an uphill battle
anyway, I may be sick for a while, and I may lose some weight. But at the end of this treatment, my odds of
a full recovery are much better. When I
look at my family and consider the alternative, giving 6 weeks of my life is
well worth what I’ll be getting—a lifetime of love, joy, and memories with my
family.
I’ll try
my best to keep everyone updated on my progress through the next 6 weeks. Truly my biggest concern is the burden I will be placing on my family. Please lift up my wife Laura, my three sons-Ethan, Alex, and Seth, and the rest of my family in your prayers as we go through this together.
As always, if you have any questions about diagnosis or treatment of TC, please let me know.
