Sportswriter banks on optimism and support of family, friends
As I sit here writing on Tuesday deadline at the Coffee House, I can feel the tightness of my fanny pack strap tugging on my a-little-too-bulbous belly.
As I prepare to unstrap the hook, which is holding in place my chemotherapy infusion pump, the pump will be my buddy, sitting on a chair next to me as I pound out some stories on my laptop.
It’s the gift and the curse of chemo.
I’m currently on treatment No. 12 of 12, and I get to ring the bell Wednesday at Froedtert Hospital, signifying the end of my chemo journey.
It’s over, party time! Woo-hoo! Seems like it’s time to pop some champagne. Wow, I really did it.
Back on Aug. 27, my first infusion, it seemed like an impossible, never-ending, painful journey.
But I tell you, going through the last one still stinks, as the drugs give me constant uneasiness and borderline nausea in my stomach, and steroids leave my mind in an emotional fog, something some people may know as “chemo brain.”
Sleeping and relaxing are difficult at times, as my mind races and can obsess over certain scenarios.
But the gift is well worth it. This is saving my life, giving my body the treatment it needs to hopefully keep cancer away forever, and the last six months, though hard at times, have been a blessing, lifesaver and life-changer.
I write this on Tuesday, World Cancer Day, so it’s important to think about and pray for everyone going through this terrifying battle, and realize they are not alone. We are here with them.
Anyone going through cancer, or taking care of a loved one with cancer, is a warrior, and an inspiration.
On Monday, I began my last chemo treatment at Froedtert in Milwaukee, and this was my Facebook post, to give you some perspective.
“Last chemo treatment starts today!
Can’t thank all the wonderful doctors and nurses enough for the care and companionship. They’ve made me feel much safer and more positive about everything.
For all my family and friends that have been there along the way, and even strangers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your support, you are amazing and I can’t express on Facebook how truly grateful I am for everything.
The chemo chapter is done, and now there will be a scan in a month to see where I’m at. The doctor thinks it will be good. Fingers crossed.
Then it’s surveillance every three months and another colonoscopy in a few months.
Overall, it’s been a life-changing six months full of tears and fears, with some sleepless nights of wondering what’s going to happen, but also plenty of memories and laughs with loved ones, including a new perspective on life after seeing what some are going through.
I am pretty damn lucky to be here.
Thanks again for all the continued thoughts & prayers. Love you.”
Hard finding the right words
It is certainly not easy to describe my emotions through all of this.
There has been a lot of sadness, despair, anxiety and just general worry about what the heck is going to happen to me.
Colon cancer provides certain challenges and concerns regarding diet, bowels and other stomach issues.
Couple that with taking care of a newborn baby (Roman is six months old now, by the way, eating out of a G-tube, which is going well – he’s home and happy), along with figuring how to get back in the full-time job market, and a lot of times life seems very overwhelming.
What’s next after chemo?
What will my CT scan say?
Will cancer be gone?
Will it ever come back?
Unfortunately, most doctors and therapists can’t answer these questions, even though it’s nice to have the control of knowing when most things are out of control.
I’ve learned in this journey that control is an illusion, and anxiety is a liar.
We have to simply be thankful for each day, and take things one step at a time.
We really are lucky to be alive. It’s that simple.
Grateful for so much
One thing I always come back to is gratitude. I can’t believe the overflow of support from family, friends, neighbors and even some strangers.
Erin, my wife, Coraline, my 5-year-old, Roman and I have been so lucky to receive so much help from both our families, the Burlington and Lake Geneva communities and much more, including money and gifts at our fundraiser, dinners, Christmas cookies, heartfelt cards in the mail or even just help with the kids.
It can be something as simple as taking Cora to school because we have to drive to Children’s Hospital for a follow-up appointment for Roman.
And chemotherapy, which is an intense, three-day ordeal consisting of blood work, doctor visits and about a three-hour infusion every other Monday at the hospital, followed by 46 hours at home of being hooked up to a pump and a pack, is no picnic.
But I’ve had some great company along the way.
Plenty of support and perspective
From Erin and Roman to my cousin Beth to my soon-to-be brother-in-law Tom, along with my dad, sisters Laura, Julie and Mary Jo, brother Steve, friend Chelsea and wife’s cousin Jami, thank you so much for being there in my darkest hour and time of great need.
Difficult changes with blood levels, blood returns, chemo changes – including a time where I had to delay care for a week – and other serious information was much easier to digest being surrounded by loved ones who care and provided comfort.
I’ve witnessed hundreds of cancer patients, some that had lost all their hair or were in a wheelchair or very skinny.
On Monday, I met a couple that lives in Appleton, a 90-minute drive from Froedtert, and had to stay at the hospital for an entire month and can finally go home.
The man, suffering from myeloma, had to get a shot to his stomach and when he was called in, his wife seemed concerned about how long he would be gone.
They expressed to me how this ordeal has changed their lives.
He can’t even go out in public, and any food he eats must be microwaved first to eliminate germs.
“It’ll only take a minute, honey, I’ll be right back,” is how he reassured her when he was called into treatment.
It’s that kind of attitude that makes you count your blessings and keep going.
I’ve only had one fever in six months, along with some occasional mouth sores, but the mental toll is far worse than the physical.
And the fatigue? Wow, I never knew I could be this tired, and I’m sleeping a ton.
Thankfully, I didn’t ever vomit or have to stay at the hospital too long.
Eye-opening experiences
I’m lucky.
On another occasion, my sister and I could hear a patient writhing in pain and screaming “It hurts so bad” from another room.
I’ve met so many cancer survivors and current cancer patients, and even some who didn’t make it.
Talking to them has helped tremendously.
Rest in peace to Joanne Mundt, a Burlington native who recently passed away.
Thank you, Joanne, for suggesting a book to help me through my cancer journey.
She had been fighting for a few years, and with everything she had going on, she didn’t have to reach out to me.
I had the privilege of covering her daughter, Merin, a great Burlington High School soccer player, a few years back.
Joanne was a beautiful soul, and her legacy lives on.
My thoughts and prayers are with her wonderful family.
Words of encouragement from others who have experienced cancer first-hand are amazing, and they really make me feel like I’m not alone.
It’s been a crazy six months, full of all kinds of challenges and memorable moments of love and care, and now it’s done.
Time to celebrate!
I think I will feel much better after a good CT scan and colonoscopy in the following months, but I needed to take a moment to not only thank chemotherapy for helping to save my life, but to say will not miss it.
It’s been fun, but please don’t come back.
Overall, I’ve learned I can do hard, extremely hard things, and I’m stronger than I thought.
This chapter is over, but my cancer book continues.
After two years, my oncologist says I can pop champagne, as the risk of recurrence significantly goes down.
After five years, you can be considered cancer-free.
I’m going to continue to take it day by day and try to be as optimistic as possible.
I just want to be happy, take care of my family and live my life.
-
-
-
-
-