On October 2nd, 2017, I was diagnosed with stage III colorectal cancer. After the diagnosis, things moved pretty quick. My mom flew out from Chicago to help me with my first appointments. I picked up my mom from the airport and we kept our tradition alive- cruising up to the Oceanside In N’ Out for a couple of burgs, followed by a beach cruise. Silence dominated the evening as heavy thoughts raced through our minds. The following day, we met with an oncologist, Dr. G, within the Kaiser Permanente network. Dr. G was a unique guy- welcoming, kinda quiet, and obvious that he knew his stuff (plus he’s a hockey guy… the only problem was he’s a Flyers fan!). We met with him for about an hour as he proposed a treatment plan. First step would be radiation and chemotherapy treatments, followed by a 6-8 week break to let the body recover. After, a surgery would take place to remove the mass, along with another 6-8 week recovery period. Finally, they’d hit me with the heavy stuff, 8 cycles of intravenous chemotherapy. He explained that this was the “gold standard” of treatments, an evidenced based approach used to treat colorectal cancer throughout the US. Leaving that meeting, my mom and I felt more at ease knowing we had a solid plan in place to attack this disease. The first step would be the radiation grind.
Radiation is a painless experience, the whole process only taking 20-30 minutes. It’s sorta like getting an X-Ray. You lay on a table as a massive machine rotates around you, stopping at different points, blasting the tumor with high energy radioactive beams. It’s really quite impressive- while the machine rotates, it changes the size/shape of the beam targeting the exact location of the mass, in an effort to save healthy tissue. Over time, the radiation compounds, adding up in the body and attacking the cancer more aggressively. In fact, even after completing treatments, the radiation stays in your system for up to 8 weeks, continuing to combat the disease, slowly eating away at the tumor. This short video by UCSD provides great imagery and an explanation of the process.
Prior to starting this treatment, I met with Dr. S of UCSD, a radiation oncologist. He’s an impressive individual- late thirties, a handsome fella, crushed 12 years of medical school, extremely compassionate and down to earth. We always had a good time shootin’ the breeze and talking pizza. Dr. S is quite brilliant, already making an impact in the field through research and application. He explained in great detail what I should expect from the radiation- fatigue, possible stomach issues, and definite skin irritation. With radiation, after so long, you essentially develop a mean sunburn as it is basically burning your skin/internals (in the end, mine was an odd shape, that area/patch of my body looked about 12 skin tones darker- essentially black!).
I explained to Dr. S I wanted to be as aggressive as possible with the treatment, “I want to be glowing green as I walk out of here”, I said during our first meeting. He was on board with this, developing a schedule of radiation 5x/week, for 6 weeks. This would also be paired with a type of oral chemotherapy; research proves radiation coupled with a chemotherapy, called Capecitabine, works very well in conjunction with each other. I wasn’t too worried about the chemo and it was easy enough- one pill in the AM, and one in the PM throughout radiation treatments. Docs said I should expect similar side effects with the chemo- an upset stomach, heavy fatigue, nausea, headaches, etc. These appointments took place over several weeks as my start date was rapidly approaching. November 2nd would be my first day of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.
(notice the beam of light above Dr. S’ head.. Could it be a sign? Haha)
11/2/2017 got there pretty damn quick. Just a month ago I had been diagnosed with stage III cancer, and now it was time to bust out the lunch pale, steel toed boots, put on the hardhat and go to work. Physically, I was degrading- couldn’t eat, losing weight, burning the wick at both ends. At the time, I was still teaching, so the plan would be to teach, cruise straight from San Marcos to La Jolla for my rad appointment at University of California- San Diego (usually scheduled somewhere between 4-5), then back to Oceanside. Kaiser doesn’t actually own any radiation machines in this region, they have a contract with UCSD to send their patients on campus and to other locations for intervention.
Mentally, I was a scatter brain. Tons of thoughts constantly streaming through my head- the “what ifs”, different scenarios, anxiety concerning side effects and treatments as a whole. Not only that, but it was a pretty demanding schedule; grinding all day in the classroom, followed by a 35 minute cruise south to La Jolla, a quick radiation treatment, and then back up to Oceanside. Not horrible, the only real threat would be hitting prime traffic on my way back to Oceanside. Crawling my way back up to Oceanside, some days took almost 2 hours for what should be a 35-40 minute trip! To this day, I’ll never understand California traffic; however, I will say that I was grateful for my graduate school experience just a few months prior- for two years I would drive from work down to San Diego State University for classes, then all the way back up to Oceanside again. I believe that experience prepped me for the long days ahead, and soon, I became immune to traffic in general. Just gotta get some good tunes going, practice patience, and enjoy the ride! And soon enough, that’s exactly what I was doing.
Radiation would start on a Thursday. The big week had finally rolled around, and I went to school, business as usual. After school Wednesday, I started to feel the nerves. I knew radiation was a painless experience, but I was about to embark on a journey that had no end in sight, no real answers, and no guarantees. With the butterflies zooming around in my gut, I put in for a substitute for that Thursday (my coworkers were nothing but supportive), snagged a hotel in San Diego, and decided to mob out to SD for the evening and spend some time by myself. I was starting to tweak and needed a chance to get away from everyone and everything, get my head on straight, and get ready to grind. I had initially planned to take on the first few rounds solo, but as the nerves kicked in, I called my old man for some help. He immediately booked a flight and would arrive the next morning (worked out nice as I was downtown for the night, an easy pickup to the airport). That evening, I explored downtown, grabbed a couple of tasty slices of ‘za from a joint called Berkeley Pizza (they had some premiere thin crust, one of the slices was mozz, sausage, pepp, and globs of ricotta- a fusion of flavors making my taste buds dance with delight). After crushing some pie, I went back to my hotel, a real cool old fashion type spot dubbed The Horton Grand Plaza; a Victorian style palace straight out of the 1880s. The place was renovated beautifully, yet the furniture and decor were timeless, decorated with antique furnishings and a gorgeous marble fireplace, it was pretty radical. I watched game 7 of the world series (Houston vs. LA- what’s with the banging of the trash cans?), and got a kick out of it when Houston sealed the deal.. Not that I’m a massive Astros fan, but crikey, LA Dodgers and their fans are the worst (don’t ask me about my experience for game 3 of the Cubs ‘16 playoff run at Dodger Stadium- brutal!). After getting minimal sleep, the alarm was chirping at me, alerting me that one of the biggest days of my life was about to get started. I drove to the airport early in the morning, scooped up my old man, and we cruised back to Oceanside. In a few hours, we would head south again for the first radiation treatment.
I settled in pretty quick that day. I approached the treatment in similar fashion as to how I would approach a big hockey game back when I was playing competitively- seeking solitude to reflect, listen to music, while developing a mental image of the positive outcomes that were in store.. I was nervous, but knew when I laid on that table, I’d be fine. We arrived at Moores Cancer Center and went straight to the radiation unit. As I sat in the waiting room, I noticed a decent sized bell hanging on the wall, with a plaque and inscription. I was curious and had to see what it was all about. I approached the bell and learned that it’s tradition for patients to give it a ring after their final radiation treatment. I thought it was a pretty cool idea, and decided to use that bell as my motivator. From that moment forward- I wanted the bell, I needed it. I had to ring that bell. I wanted to ring it with such power and force that it’d rip off the wall needing replacement and renovation. From that day on, the bell was my main focus. My ultimate goal, the ringing symbolizing a small victory in my fight against cancer.
I sat in the waiting room with my Dad, anxiously waiting my turn. As I waited, I looked around at the other family members and patients. It just didn’t seem right- every other person in that waiting room was 60+ years old. What the hell was I doing there? As a 29 year old man, I had no business being at Moores in a fight against stage III colorectal cancer. It was frustrating and I could feel a knot in my throat, with tears forming in my eyes. “Shake it off guy, you’re a hockey player and a tough customer”, I told myself. It was not the time to throw myself a pity party, it was time to get down to business and start beating the hell out of this tumor. Besides, what good was it going to do? Crying and feeling sorry for myself all the time? That’s nothing but negative energy which would aid the ugly disease of cancer in it’s ultimate goal of rotting my internals until death. Of course you can’t simply bury those emotions, it’s important to give yourself time to feel them out, have a good cry, and then move forward. I knew going into this war that eternal optimism was my ultimate weapon. I can’t control this disease or how my body responds, but I can control my attitude and approach. I refuse to let cancer bring me down and crush my spirits. Those are mine, I own it and it’s something the cancer will never be able to touch. In the middle of my reflection, I heard a call, “FLACK!”, and knew it was go-time. I stood up, gave my old man a hug, and ventured back with the nurse to the changing room. The nurse introduced herself as Kaytee, she was a tall drink of water with a warming smile. Her handshake and welcoming attitude instantly made me feel comfortable, immediately dissolving any feelings of anxiety. Kaytee explained that I needed to get undressed and toss on the gown. She then shared good news- they play music for the patients while receiving treatment, and I’d be able to pick the Pandora station of my preference (Pandora plus- no ads!).
Moore’s is a beautiful facility, and the changing rooms weren’t bad. It was a large room, one side for men, the other for women. There were a total of 4 rooms about the size of a walk-in closet, fitted with lockers to keep your clothes in, along with gowns, and a bottomless basket of hospital socks (light blue with rubber shapes on the bottom for extra friction- they don’t want anyone taking a spill!). I undressed, threw on a gown, wrestled with the socks as I tried to pull them onto my feet, and was ready to go. I was suited up in my combat gear, although it was a slight paradox. I had the imagery of a medieval Knight preparing for battle- he would wear his shining armor, while I was naked with nothing but a dinky hospital gown draped over my body. As he rode a horse into battle, I would walk into the radiation room, laying on a hard table. He would scream war cries, while I listened to Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers singing words of wisdom and telling me life tales. With these thoughts swimming through my head, I sat in the changing room, waiting.
Kaytee came to retrieve me and it was time to throw down. I walked through the massive, 24 inch thick steel door and into the room. That cold slabbed table stared at me, challenging me and my physical being. I climbed onto it, easing my way down as my bony body felt every bit of the hard, unforgiving surface. Next, I was introduced to the clamshell (I suppose this would be my heavy, shining armor!). This was a heavy, thick, steel contraption that I had to place my testicles in to prevent frying my spermies (even though I had some frozen prior to radiation as it likely they would get destroyed from the treatments). The shell was probably the worst part of the ordeal- I’m laying on my back, trying to put my balls into this damn thing, then needing to place the top half gently on; you can imagine skin getting pinched, needing constant readjustment, all while the nurses sit there and watch, offering assistance. This was a task I had no problem handling independently and luckily, I never crushed one of the prized jewels in that thing. I joked with the nurses that instead of ringing the bell at the end of treatments, I wanted to get the shell placed in a fancy trophy box for me. After getting settled into the shell and on the table, the nurses ensured I was in the proper position. They do so by using green beams as their guide. The beams had to line up perfectly with my “radiation tats”- that’s right, they actually tattoo your body with a tiny mark the size of a pinhead. I had three, one on each side of my hip, and one on my lower abdomen. Once the beams lined up with the tats, the nurses left the room and it was time to get down to business.
The machine began buzzing and whirring, getting louder and louder. It began to maneuver around my body, stopping at certain points, releasing the beams while making a loud, vrooming, humming murmur. It wasn’t enough to drown out the tunes of Tom Petty, and I couldn’t help but smile when the first song came on, “Learning to Fly”, one of my all time favorites. There I was, laying on the cold hard surface of the radiation table, blasting the body with medicine with Tom guiding me along the way. In that moment, I was learning to navigate my way around this disease, learning more about myself as each minute passed; with Tom’s words guiding me, I was learning to fly.
After only about 12 minutes, day one was complete. The nurses came in, I got out of the shell and off the table, back to the dressing room and into my street clothes. My old man greeted me with a pat on the back and we made the journey back to Oceanside. I continued that same routine for 6 weeks, some days being better than others. As the days and weeks went by, some of the side effects began to take hold- mainly fatigue and the skin irritation. The process became routine, I kept grinding and before I knew it, we were in the middle of December, with the 13th being my final day of treatments. That day had arrived and I knew it’d be a beauty (despite the fact that I almost had to throw down with another patient- a goonish man about 6’4 in height- that story I’ll save for another day), I wasn’t going to let anything bring me down. My roommate and a couple friends met me at Moores for the final treatment and were there to support me when I rang the bell- and you know I rang it heavy and proud, letting out a big, “WoooWeee!” followed up by the epic Kaner OT celly. That was a memorable, proud day, celebrated with good friends and pizza. I had completed round 1 of treatments, all while fulfilling my duties as an educator. I couldn’t have done it without my family, friends, and coworkers support. It was perfect timing, winter break was starting the following week (3 weeks off!), I would let my body rest and prepare for round 2- surgery.
