Just a Little Sunrise

This morning, I was out early for a run.  Listening to nature as I ran towards our local park, the birds were singing, the water in the creek was rumbling, it was quite lovely.  The sun hadn’t been up very long at all, and I was reminded of the beauty of a new day.

This led to the thought of forgiveness.  Forgiveness is like the sunrise.  A new beginning, a new opportunity, another chance.  Can you imagine how dreary it would be if the sun never came up?  If night went on and on? 

Forgiveness is a new beginning, a new opportunity, another chance.  We need forgiveness like we need the sunrise.  The sunrise is automatic, forgiveness, not so much.  It’s a choice.

Without forgiveness, we grow angry, bitter, and resentful.  Have you ever noticed how when we go through a rainy season, everyone seems to get grumpy?  Or how when we go through a cold, gloomy, winter people are discouraged and even depressed?  But on that first beautiful spring day, when the sun shines forth, and the air warms, it’s like people are bursting out of their shells and everyone is in a great mood. 

Forgiveness does the same.  The Bible talks about a root of bitterness.  Bitterness comes from many seeds.  One of the most common is a lack of forgiveness.  We’ve all been in situations where we have grown bitter.  The description the Bible uses in talking about bitterness—a root—is phenomenal.  Think about what a root does.  It grows down.  Bitterness grows down into our own hearts.  A lack of forgiveness not only hurts others, it hurts ourselves.  Bitterness, if not plucked out, will grow to hatred.  How does that happen?  The root grows so deep into our heart that love is displaced by hatred.  And just as a tree root can break up a sidewalk, the root of bitterness can break our heart.  

Forgiveness comes from three directions.  First, we need to forgive others.  The Disciple Peter came to the Lord Jesus one day and asked how often he should forgive his brother that sinned against him.  Peter knew what the law said—7 times.  Let’s use this example:  you are shopping in a crowded store.  Someone steps on your toe.  They say something like “Excuse me” or “Sorry.”  You, almost automatically, “Oh, that’s okay.”  No problem, right?  A few moments later, they do it again.  They say I am so sorry.”  You still respond “That’s okay.”  We’ve all been there, right?  So, what happens if they step on your poor, abused, big toe 7 times?  Forgiveness isn’t going to come quite so easy.  Jesus looked at Peter and said no, 7 times 70.  Jesus gave the expectation that we would forgive those who, in our example, stepped on our toes 490 times. 

Forgiveness helps us grow more Christ like.  As a Christian, it should be our goal to be more Christ like every day.  Ephesians 4:32 tells us that we should be kind to one another, forgiving each other because God, for Christ’s sake, has forgiven us.  How many times have you asked the Lord to forgive you of something?  How many times has the Lord forgiven you?  If you were sincere in the asking, every single time.  How often do you willingly forgive those who have offended you? 

Second; we need to forgive ourselves.  We are not perfect.  We will make mistakes.  Please don’t translate what I just said into a license to do whatever you want to do.  I often hear people say “I’m just a sinner saved by grace.”  That is a true statement, but as Christians, we are expected to turn from our sins and grow in grace and knowledge.  Romans 6 is a great study on this topic.  Too many people cannot get past their past and move on.  We all have a past with things we regret.  We cannot cling to those regrets, those bad decisions, and allow them to hold us down.  

The Apostle Paul wrote about setting aside those weights that so easily beset us.  We often rightly attribute those weights to sin in our present life.  I also believe that we need to set aside those regrets of the past that we haven’t forgiven ourselves for.  How do we do that?  I think it should be a rather simple exercise.  First, and foremost, you should make them a matter of prayer and ask God to forgive you of those things.  Secondly, after you have settled it with the Lord, I would suggest you find a mirror, look into it, and tell yourself “I forgive you.”  Say it out loud.  Say it twice.  A third time if necessary.  Admit you made a mistake and move on.  Too many times, we confess our sin, we recognize that it was wrong, but we don’t forsake it.  We don’t leave it at the altar.  Again, this is not a license to sin, but an opportunity to get past the past and move on in your relationship with the Lord. 

Third, and most important, we need to have the Lord’s forgiveness.  The Bible speaks very clearly about our spiritual condition.  We are sinners.  We have sin in our life.  We need to come to the Lord, confess our sin, forsake it, and ask the Lord forgiveness.  The Lord will forgive us.  We cannot forgive ourselves, we cannot forgive others, until we first enjoy the forgiveness of the Lord.  The hard part has already been accomplished in our forgiveness--Jesus took that part on the Cross.    

Too long, we walk in darkness, wondering why the sun won’t rise on a new day when in fact, we are holding back the sunrise by withholding forgiveness. Enjoy the sunrise.  Enjoy forgiveness.  Pluck out the root of bitterness before it ruins your heart. 

Walking in Her Shoes

My wife is part of a wonderful organization called Jamberry.  They produce, and she sells, really cool nail wraps.  If you haven’t heard of Jamberry or nail wraps, head over to her website and check them out:  https://laurajane.jamberry.com/us/en/.  Every year, Jamberry has a conference where all the consultants and Jamberry home office staff get together and do whatever it is that they do.  There are speakers, informational updates, and all sorts of things, but I think it is mostly a giant slumber party.  (Just kidding, well, maybe a bit.)  Laura always comes back fired up and ready to sell more Jamberry and equipped to be a better team member and team leader. 

While she is away “conferencing,” I get to be Mom and Dad to our three wonderful boys.  We have all heard the old saying “Don’t judge me until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes,” right?  Well, I’ve walked a week in Laura’s shoes.  I’ve learned some things that I hope will make me be a better husband to my dear wife.  Here they are, in no particular order:

•  There is never enough time.  I don’t care what day it is, or what is planned, there is never enough time to get everything done that needs to be done.  I found myself juggling so many things at once that I’m really surprised that nothing got dropped, at least, nothing that I’m aware of yet.  There was one day in particular that I got so busy that an errand completely slipped my mind.  I was drifting off to sleep when I sat straight up in bed and exclaimed “PHARMACY, I forgot the pharmacy!”     

•  Someone always needs something.  I honestly thought that once these kids got to be school aged, they would be pretty self-sufficient.  NOPE, not even a little bit.  It was the week of a million and one questions.  Where are my shoes?  What’s for supper?  What are we doing tomorrow?  Why are you running around in circles?   What’s it like on the moon?  Do I have to do my homework now?  Where are my jeans?  Don’t get me started on laundry.  Good Grief!    

• There is no downtime.  Even when the kids are asleep, you’re still on duty.  I’ve checked on the boys more times during the night in this week than I probably have in the last 6 months.    I can’t count the number of times that I would get up and just stand outside their room to make sure they were okay—knowing that they would be, I just had to check.  Even when they were at school, in the care of their teachers, I would constantly be thinking “Are the boys ok?  Did they remember their lunch?”

•  Much of the day revolves around meals.  I had no idea.  Really, I had no idea.  Meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning up.  And then, you have to do it the next day.  These kids expect to eat every day!  My goodness.  Have to make sure they get their breakfast before school (it is the most important meal of the day), make sure they pack their lunch (and take it with them), and then have something planned for supper that they will all like (HA!) or at least tolerate (more likely).   So much of my day was taken up just making sure that everyone had something to eat and that we had what we needed for the next day’s meals—or at least I knew what needed to be picked up at the grocery store or what needed to be taken out of the freezer to thaw. 

• There is a need for me time.  It was Thursday morning.  I had dropped the kids off at school and went to work.  I shut the door to my office and sat down and reveled in the quiet.  Just me and my thoughts.  It was nice, for about 5 minutes, and then my phone started ringing.  Those few minutes helped me center my thoughts and did help me through the rest of the week. 

These are just a few of the things I learned this week walking in my wife’s shoes.  There’s more, but I think these are the highlights.  I plan on applying these lessons learned to my relationship with my wife, to hopefully be a better husband and partner to her.

Laura’s on her way home now.  I’ll be picking her up at the airport after a bit.  I can’t wait to see her beautiful face again.  She is the glue that holds our family together.  She makes all this look easy.  And to think, sometimes, she does all this in high heels!

Memories. . .

For the last several days, there have been memories popping up on my Facebook from a year ago. Most of the time, my Facebook memories make me smile as I remember something funny that my boys did or said; sometimes, the memory is about my wonderful wife and I just smile softly, reminded why I love her so.

But recently, the memories haven’t all been quite so pleasant. A year ago, I started chemo treatments. To be perfectly honest, on June 1, when I read the post about starting chemo, I felt sick to my stomach.

I can remember that day like it was last week and not last year. I can still picture the room in the Medical Center where my PICC line was inserted. The doctor was talking to two nurses while they did the procedure. They were talking about the weekend—it was bright and early Monday morning, and they were reliving the fun of the weekend. I believe the doctor was talking about a wedding he had attended on Saturday and how he had rather of gone golfing.

I can remember walking to the car, looking at my right arm, wondering about the little tube that was running up my vein.

I can remember the look on the lady’s face as we checked in for my doctor’s appointment. I can remember the exact moment she read the spot on my record that indicated I’d be starting chemo. Just for a minute, her eyes flicked up to my face and then back to the computer screen. That lady and I came to know each other pretty well.

I can remember my wife holding my hand and allowing me to grip her hand desperately as we walked down the hall towards Oncology.

I can remember being shown back to the treatment room. I remember carrying the bag with my blanket, snacks and bottled water. I remember the chemo nurses talking me through everything they were going to do. I can remember their kindness and compassion. I can remember the first time I looked at my arm and could watch the veins turn darker as the chemo was moving through my veins.

Two weeks ago, I had my 6 month scans and blood work. The technician inserted a catheter in my arm to draw blood and for the CT technologist to insert the contrast dye. As the technician finished drawing blood, she flushed the line with saline. The taste came flooding into my mouth and I remember the daily flushing of my PICC line. The smell and taste of the saline as Laura flushed the line to keep infection at bay will never leave me.

I don’t really need Facebook Memories to remind me of a year ago. Those days and weeks will never leave me. But those memories remind me of this: I am a survivor. God allowed me to survive cancer and to survive the treatments. Today is National Cancer Survivor Day.  If you see a survivor with a faraway look in their eyes, they may just be reliving some memories that may grow a bit dimmer as the months and years pass, but will never completely leave them. If you know a survivor, give them a hug and congratulate them on being a survivor.

The Only Thing We Have to Fear is. . .

I was recently talking to one of my coworkers.  This particular lady and I have known each other for almost 15 years.  We worked together side by side for many of those years, sharing an office space.  We have a whole lot in common.  Besides being coworkers, we are both Christians, we both live in the same town, and love talking about our families.  Now, we have something else in common.  We’re both cancer survivors. 

The topic of our conversation wasn’t cancer or chemotherapy, or any of those things.  It was something that only another survivor can understand:  fear.   The fear of waking up in the morning with an unusual pain, or of feeling differently today than you did yesterday and thinking "is that cancer?" 

We’re both on regular checkups, which require blood work and scans.  The period of time between have the test performed and getting the results can be quite nerve wracking.  There’s a term for it—scanxiety.  She had recently had her regular check up and gotten the results back, thankfully, they were all normal.  But the fear of being told once again that cancer has been working away in your body is real. 

Someone once told me “You just have to get passed it.”  To a point they were right; in fact, I gave that exact same advice to my friend as we were talking.  But I understand that it is a process.  I’ve been going through the process myself. 

Fear can hold you back from living your life completely again.  Survivors may find themselves thinking “I can’t start that new job I’d really love, I might get sick again.”  Or, “I can’t buy that house, what if I have to go through the medical bills again?”  Cancer isn’t cheap.   My personal irrational fear “I can’t put my family through that again, I can’t make my wife go through that again.” 

You may be thinking, you’ve beat cancer; you should be on top of the world.  That’s true, but the truth is also that I had cancer and didn’t even know it.  It could come back.  It could start it’s work again. 

Fear can inhibit you in many ways.  Fear can tie your hands and put a gag in your mouth.  There are some ways to fight fear though.  

That’s the important part.  Fear comes from the unknown.  One of my boys used to be scared of the dark.  I asked him one night why he was afraid of the dark.  His answer was very revealing.  His answer was that he didn’t know what was out there.   To fight the fear of my cancer returning, I have committed to being educated.  I’ve learned a lot about my particular type of cancer.  Now, I am committed to keeping all of my doctor’s appointments, getting my blood work and my scans as scheduled.  I’m going to know the status of my health. 

Fear also comes from a lack of faith.  Remember the Bible passage that tells us how the disciples were on the boat in the middle of the sea, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm?  Jesus appeared on the water walking towards them.  It was Peter who said Lord, if it be you, let me come to thee.  Jesus told Peter to come on.  Peter got out of the boat and started to walk to Jesus on top of the water, and about middle way there, he began to feel fear.  And what happened?  Peter began to sink.  He thought he was going to die.  What did Jesus do?  Reached out and saved him.  The Lord asked Peter, thou of little faith, why did you fear?  Fear and faith cannot live together.  To combat fear, we must keep our faith strong. 

Caregivers have fear.  I imagine my lovely wife must have had many conversations in her head about whether or not she was taking good enough care of me.  If she was getting me to eat enough, if I was warm enough.  One night I got the chills so bad, I almost bounced myself out of the bed (not an exaggeration).  Laura told me later, she was so scared; all she could do was hold me and keep me covered up trying to get me warm. 

Families have fear.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much it broke my heart when one of my boys asked me if I was going to ever get better.  I can’t tell you how it broke my heart when one of my boys asked my wife if I was going to die.  They had to deal with the fear that I might not beat my cancer. 

You may be going through something right now that makes you afraid.  You don’t have to be afraid.  You can overcome your fear by educating yourself and keeping your faith strong.  Don’t let fear hold you back.  Don’t let fear keep you prisoner.  Break free from the bonds of your fear and just do it.  We remember that it was Peter that began to sink; but what about those other eleven guys that stayed in the boat?  I bet that later on they had wished they got out of the boat and walked on the water too!  Don't miss your chance to do something great because of fear!  

Cotton What?

I haven’t given an update on my health in quite a while.  On July 20^th, I returned to work full time.  It was an amazing feeling to be sitting at my desk again, actually doing something.  The number of people who stopped by and welcomed me back was overwhelming.  Several people told me not to overdo it, but the constant flow of people coming by kept me from getting too caught up in my work.

On July 28^th, we headed back to the clinic for some x-rays, a CT scan (with contrast, oh joy), and blood work.  Then began the longest week I’ve experience in some time.  I wasn’t going to see my oncologist until August 4^th—a whole week away. 

My wife tells me she was never worried about the results.  Perhaps her faith is stronger than mine, because I spent quite a bit of time praying over these tests.  Yes, I was trusting in the Lord for His healing, but I was also remembering the fight we just came through. 

On August 4^th, I went to the oncologist’s office alone.  Laura opted to stay home with the children so we wouldn’t have to try to arrange a babysitter.  I got to my appointment a bit early.  I talked with the very sweet lady at the registration desk who asked how I was doing in a very unobtrusive way to keep in line with all the privacy laws.  The ladies who work this particular registration desk are very sweet and very compassionate when dealing with the whole insurance, co-pay, billing issues. 

I sat in the waiting room, thinking of all the possible outcomes of this appointment.  Would there be more cancer?  Would I need additional chemo?  Would those two treatments I missed due to my low counts be coming back to haunt me?  Finally, I was called back to the exam room.

The nurse took my blood pressure (normal), my oxygenation rate (very good), and my temperature (normal) and said the doctor would be in shortly.  So I did what I have become pretty good at doing:  I waited. 

The doctor came in the room with a quick knock on the door.  She smiled in greeting.  The first thing I noticed was that she kept smiling.  She said “Mr. Otto, your blood work came back normal.  The number that was way high, a 9?  Today it is less than 0.01.  The scans looked good.  Right now, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”  She started examining me to look for any possible effects of the chemo like she has just said “it’s sunny outside, isn’t that nice?”  The joy in my soul was bubbling up inside of me. 

In November, I’ll go back for another set of blood tests and scans to ensure that nothing has popped up.  I’m trusting that the results will be the same—nothing to worry about. 

There is one thing that I haven’t shared with anyone besides my wife.  Right after we finished chemo, I had a regular eye exam.  I, of course, gave my health history to the doctor.  She gave me a very complete eye exam.  And then she dilated my eyes.  After waiting for about 30 minutes, I was called back for the rest of the exam.  If you are familiar with an eye exam, you probably remember the great white light that they take great pleasure in shining directly in your eyes.   She didn’t say much, just kind of grunted in surprise.   You can imagine, at this point in my life, I don’t like it much when doctors are surprised. 

She found something on my retina to the immediate right of my optic nerve in my right eye.  The doctor began to talk to me about it.   She didn’t know what it was and given my recent health history, she wanted to send me to a retina specialist.  The words "unknown," and "spot" where not words I wanted to hear.  I was referred to a doctor in Nashville, TN that happens to see patients in Bowling Green, KY.   A few days later, I’m going through the process of a basic eye exam, pictures of my eyes, and oh yes, the dilation drops—extra strength this time.  My eyes stayed dilated for 4 or 5 hours. 

I was diagnosed with what is called a White Cotton Spot.  It’s a white spot on the retina that looks like a cotton ball.  It is usually caused by a tiny blood vessel in the eye that stops working.  Typically, this is caused by untreated high blood pressure or untreated diabetes.  In my case, most likely it was caused by the chemo.  The vessel probably stopped working when my blood counts dropped so very low.  The retina doctor said that it did not mean the cancer had spread or anything like that.  His exact words were “we’re not going to get excited just yet, but I do want to see you back in a month.” 

So here we are a month later.  We just got back from the retina specialist.  My eyes are seriously dilated; my wife says I look like an alien.  Everything is blurry.  It’s like the whole world has been italicized.  The bad news is that the White Cotton Spot is still there.  The good news is that it is shrinking.  My doctor says that this means the blood vessel has started working again and the tissue has started recovering.  This is excellent news.  He wants to see me in a year unless I have any trouble. 

All in all, life is returning to normal.  I’m back to running and lifting weights at the gym.  I’ve started preaching again.  Just this last weekend, I mowed my yard.  The boys are about ready to start school again.  The wife and I are planning a late anniversary trip.  And you know what?  I can’t complain about anything.  Life is good. 

Let's Talk About Chemo

I’m almost done with my first round of chemo, so I thought it might be a good time to share some of the things that I have learned in the last few weeks that might help those about to go through chemo and those with loved ones going through it.

I will share with you the statement that every member of my care team has said at one time or another.  To be honest, I have learned to hate this statement and every time someone says it, I find myself making the same face that my sons make when I repeatedly lecture them on something.  You know the face, the slight grimace that says “here we go again.”   Chemo is different for everyone.  Everyone responds differently—some people will take chemo and it will never bother them.  Some people take chemo and it is like a train wreck.  Most of us land somewhere in between. 

 

Let’s talk a second about my care team.  It is made up of my primary care physician, my oncologist, the chemo nurses, my urologist, my endocrinologist, and a nurse practitioner.  At this point, my primary is copied on all my lab results, appointments with the rest of the team, basically, just kept in the loop so he can be aware of my health conditions going forward.  I cannot stress this enough:  find a primary care physician that you trust and that you are comfortable with.   The urologist was the doctor who confirmed my primary’s diagnosis and performed the surgery.   I was referred to the oncologist by my urologist as they have an extensive working relationship.  The oncologist is treating my cancer itself.  The endocrinologist was also a referral by my urologist to monitor and treat any hormonal issues (and there were some, we won’t talk about the mood swings or temperature issues—some things are best left unsaid.) Who pointed me to the urologist?  My primary care physician did.  Good doctors know other good doctors.  That’s important when you are trying to do something like fight a health related issue.   The chemo nurses are angels in scrubs.  They are the ones who actually administer the chemotherapy.  They put up with a lot and are constantly moving throughout the treatment room.  There could be anywhere between 5 and 15 patients at one time.  The nurse practitioner treats the side effects of the chemo and helps navigate the chemo patient through the rounds of chemo while maintaining their overall health. 

A round of chemo; sounds very simple right?  Nope.  I was shocked to learn what the phrase really meant.  Was it a one and done type of thing?  Was it a series?  What is a round?  I didn’t learn this until I talked with my oncologist.  For me, wait, can we say it together?  Chemo is different for everyone, a round is a three week cycle.  I have two rounds, so 6 weeks of chemo.  A round can be much longer than this depending on the flavor of cancer you may have.  I met a lady in the treatment room who has been having chemo every two weeks for two years.  I cannot imagine.

I have a PICC line.  It was probably the one thing I was dreading the most to start with, but it has really evolved into nothing more than a minor nuisance.  The actual procedure was very simple, all I did was lay there. It’s in my right arm.  I’ve got two tails hanging out of my arm that IVs can be connected to.  It’s a bit of a bother when I try to sleep because, well, I’ve got two tails hanging out of my arm.  It is bandaged and padded with gauze so it’s not that bad.  My lovely wife has to flush my lines out every 24 hours unless I’m getting treatment and then the chemo nurses do it.  I’d do it myself, but it takes two hands and I’m not that flexible.  All I've got to do is keep it clean and dry and not lift more than a gallon of milk with my right arm.  

You may be asking yourself, what is chemo like?  It’s sitting in a recliner with a couple of lines running from the IV pole to your arm.  The treatment itself (and remember our saying) really isn’t a big deal.  The nurses start us with a bag of fluids and then a bag of premeds.  The premeds help prepare your body to accept the chemo more easily.  After all of this and a flush between each bag, the chemo starts.  This could take anywhere from 30 minutes to 5 hours depending on the type of chemo you are getting.  One of my chemo drugs (I'm on three, the treatment is called BEP, you can Google it if you like) can impact the kidneys. so the fluids, which adds time to the treatment day.  One patient in the treatment room told me that they had one treatment last 12 hours.  Oh, my word.   For me, the chemo fun really begins as the last bag empties and we are sent home. 

My side effects have varied.  Let me take a moment to remind you that chemotherapy drugs target those cells that reproduce themselves rapidly.  As I understand it, scientists haven’t figure out a way to target only those cells that are cancerous.  So instead of using a sniper’s precision to target the cancer, we use the shotgun approach.  There are several types of fast reproducing cells in our body:  red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets, skin, hair, and probably some I’m forgetting.  So chemo attacks all of these cells, basically killing them off, and thus the side effects.

I’ve really had two basic side effects--extreme weakness/fatigue and nausea.  I’ve never experienced being tired like this before.  Let me put this in context.  I’ve run half marathons—13.1 miles, and not been this tired.  I can feel perfectly fine, get up and walk across the house, and need a nap.  This is in part because my blood cells are being attacked.  Sure, they are being replaced but that takes time.  And I’ve learned that the effects of chemo are accumulative.    I tried to go back to work earlier this week, because my doctor said “If you feel able, you can work.”  At 7:00 Wednesday morning, I felt good.  I’d slept okay; nausea was under control, so I went to work.  I sat at my desk at 7:30, by 8:30, I was tired.  My 9:30 I was fatigued.  By 10:30 I was packing it in.  By 11:00, I was at home in bed.  Side bar:  I had three coworkers, friends, really, tell me the same thing Wednesday morning “You look terrible, are you okay?”  What they were really saying is “you don’t need to be here, go home.” 

Fatigue can be sudden and stay a long while.  My sleep patterns are all jumbled up.  Pre-cancer, I’d be in bed by 10:00 PM, asleep by 10:15 (seriously, ask my wife) and up and at it by 4:40 AM ready to face the day.  Now, I barely make it to 9:00 PM, sleep for a couple of hours, wake up, use the restroom, walk around the house, and go back to bed.  Repeat this cycle a couple of times until just about 4:00 AM and I am wide awake.  Add a couple of naps during the day and you have my new sleep cycle.  Most of my naptimes, I can’t sleep well, so it’s more of an organized rest period than a nap per se. 

Nausea is a beast all of its own.  Some days, I have a great appetite and can eat whatever I want.  Some days, the idea of a certain food makes me want to hurl.  On Tuesday of this week it was coffee.  I tried a cup of coffee and the results were quick and gross.  Today, I'm enjoying my third cup as I write this.  Sometimes the nausea is such that I can’t get out of bed without being dizzy and wanting to hug a toilet.  When it is at its worse, the only thing that I can stomach is a peanut butter milkshake.  My nurse practitioner is most concerned with my nutrition so we are working to control the nausea.  I’ve got to eat to regain strength, I need strength to handle the chemo, and to help my body rebuild.  Thankfully, there are some great meds to handle nausea and they seem to be working for me. 

Other side effects include hot flashes, chills, aches, chemo induced acne (I’ve got more pimples than a 15 year old kid), ringing in the ears, hair loss and many others.  I’ve noticed more hairs falling out than normal so I got a buzz cut yesterday.  The side effects come and go and we are dealing with them as they arise.  My care team is doing a great job making this as easy as it can be considering it is chemo.

I want to take a few moments to talk about those side effects of chemo that aren’t caused by the drugs themselves; we’ll call them social side effects. 

• ·         People don’t know what to say.  I’ve seen it a thousand times.  They want to ask how I’m doing, but they don’t know how to ask.  May I suggest “How’s it going?”  My least favorite so far has been “Well, you’re not bald yet.”  To be perfectly honest with you, you don’t really want to know how I’m doing.  You are trying to show you care.  The “how’s it going” approach allows you to do this while allowing me to decide what I want to share with you.  To be truthful, you may not be able to handle how I’m doing.  If I answer “I’m okay,” that really means “I’m okay considering I’m on chemo.”
• ·         People avoid me.  I’m a cancer patient, not a china doll.  I don’t know how many phone calls my wife has gotten from folks checking on me because they didn't want to bother me.  We appreciate the concern, we really do.  Let me say this:  I’m not going to break.  You don’t have to avoid me.  If I’m feeling poorly, I’ll tell you.  If I want to be left alone, I’ll tell you.  Sometimes, I just need to sit and talk to someone about normal things--the weather, sports, anything.  
• ·         People are shocked by my candor.  I’ve learned that if I am going to deal with cancer, chemo and the rest, I’ve got to keep it real.  I have to be honest with myself which may cause me to be overly honest with you.  So please don’t be shocked or offended by my honesty.  Just roll with it. 

So, how am I doing?  I’m okay.  Oh, I just made myself laugh out loud.  I’m okay for somebody going through chemo.  Fatigue and sleeplessness are my two big issues right now.  I’ve got one treatment left in this round and I’ll be halfway done.  My nausea is under control for the most part (some mild flare ups, mostly around smells).  Yeah, I’m okay.  Not up to any races or much activity at all, but I’m okay. As always, if you have any questions, please let me know.  I’ve had several folks leave comments about these blog posts, so I hope they are helping folks learn more about cancer and cancer patients.   I have several goals for this trip I'm on.  One of which is to help people learn about cancer and its treatment.  

      Till next time.  

~      ~Tom 

An Update. . .

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.