Cancer, you are not welcome!

Today has been one of those days.  I say one of those days because they have happened before.  However, for some reason today I decided that I would let people, other than my wonderful wife, into my brain and get a glimpse at what "those days" can be like.  I don't have them often, I guess (everything's relative), but I have them enough.  I'm not sure why I decided to talk about it more today, but I did.  Part of my sharing got me upset (might mention more on this later), part of it helped, but I also wanted to make it clear - I didn't do it for people to feel sorry for me.  I didn't do it for attention.  I did it because back when I was diagnosed, I first thought I wouldn't tell anyone so I could still seem "normal" to others, but then realized it was worth sharing - and it has been.  Look at all the great things that have come from my diagnosis: I'm looking at one right now as she is snuggled up on the couch - Nikki.  Another is my newfound passion to be more vocal and be a supporter and advocate for cancer research and survivorship - especially Livestrong.  The most amazing of all will join us in just 5 weeks - my sweet little Pip who I already love so much.  And, don't get me wrong, even on days like today, I still focus on the good, on the hope, on my "no evidence of disease" (NED), on the rainbow at the end of this storm.  I won't let the devil get to me, but I can't deny that there are hard days and tears in my mind - sometimes they even come out to my eyes.

What am I talking about?  I'm talking about a completely natural thing.  Every year since well before I was born, the temperatures in the northern hemisphere rise around April, May, June.  It's called "summer" - we are all well aware of this concept.  But let me tell you.  Even after the celebratory news of February 25th (clean PET), this concept of "summer" is haunting me at times.  I get ready for bed, get under the covers, snuggle for 30 seconds with Sarah - just to realize she is a pregnant oven - and move over to my side of the bed.  Not 5 minutes later, I'm rolling to my side, and having the covers on only half of my body.  I fall asleep - typically a deep sleep (and no matter how you sleep, never tell your pregnant wife you had a hard time falling asleep - I guarantee she had more of a struggle), but then awake sometime between 2-4 warmer than when I fell asleep.  No big deal, open a window or take off a blanket, right?  Well that is what happens, however, it's typically accompanied by a complete physical beforehand.  "What's going on?"  "Why did I wake up at this time?"  "Why am I so warm?" "At least I'm not sweating."  "Is something going on?"  "Is it coming back?"  "Is it back?" I start to feel and inspect my neck as thoroughly as I can.  "Any lumps?  What's that?  That is only scar tissue right?  What if I think it's scar tissue, but really it's the beginning of an enlarged node that is hardening?" I finally remind myself that I'm okay.  "What about my chest?  Have I been coughing?  If only I could feel underneath my ribs.  Andrew, there is nothing wrong with you.  But why did I wake up?  Why am I warm?  Why do I fit into those pants that I got in Spain that I haven't fit into since right before my diagnosis?  We said I was losing weight similar to an active 26 year old trying to lose weight, but in hindsight the cancer was eating me.  I've started biking on a much more regular basis - am I losing weight on my own and trimming up like I think I am, or is it something else?  The other night I didn't tell Sarah but I did have a slight discomfort in my lower abdomen.  Was that just a random thing?  Maybe it's testicular cancer this time.  Andrew, seriously, shut up.  Have faith!  You are doing just fine.  Keep biking, keep focusing on healthy eating, keep taking your Vitamin D, flax oil, and being active.  You'll be better than before."  I roll over... only 30 minutes of self-analysis - not too bad.  I take a close look at the picture of Grampa Dick, "hey Big Guy!  You are going to keep looking after me right?  I beat this for you.  You wanted to so bad and I stuck it to cancer to prove it can't get to us.  Keep pushing me and I'll make you proud.  But, hey, I should get to sleep while I can and there isn't a baby crying, right?  Night Big Guy!"

There you have it.  That was my night last night.  That sometimes is my night 3 times a week.  However, there are other weeks when I don't even think of things like that.  Instead I wake up at 4, listen, listen closer, "can I hear anything or just crickets?  Nothing?  No rain?! Sweet, biking to work in a few hours.  Good night crickets, hello morning biking sun!!"  But still, it's there.  It's a battle.  It's a battle I'm winning and I will always win.  But when things happen that were similar to the "signs before diagnosis" it makes you wonder. 

Some people gave me words of encouragement.  Others offered to talk if I wanted to.   Still others just said how bad they felt (did you really or is that just the human nature thing to say?).  Maybe you need anti-depression/anxiety medicine - NO THANK YOU.  Maybe you need to meditate.  I think you just need a good nights sleep, the quiet will calm the heart (such a great message).  Thought of writing a book or sharing your story? - Yes, in fact I wish I could somehow share it more/be there for others but don't know how.  Maybe you should check out a support group.

Support group.  Ha.  Yeah.  Exactly what I need.  No, really, at times I think that is exactly what I need.  Unfortunately, what I really want isn't there.  Not accessible.  Instead there is a program at one area hospital for "support group for cancer survivors" - we'll help you navigate the health care and medicare system.  You got it, aimed at senior citizens.  Don't get me wrong, they are battling it more than ever and they need the support - especially since the older you are the lower the survival rate and consequently your peer support group.  The name and marketing just grinds my gear.  This weekend we found another in Seattle that was looking really promising, even has programs for young adults.  Programs and support groups for cancer survivors.  I'm a survivor right?  Typically we define a survivor as someone who has gotten through hearing the damn words that come from the doctor, "I'm sorry, you have cancer."  Get through that and you've survived half the battle.  However, in this particular setting I don't "qualify" because I haven't been "post-treatment and in remission for over 9-months."  So you are telling me that the hope for me is less?  You telling me that because it was only April 20 that I had poison pushed into my system that I might relapse yet?  You telling me that I'm still "sick"?  Is my heart not beating just as much with the fire of life, fire of hope, fire of awareness of someone who has been NED for over 9-months?  I was just on my bike pedaling for 4:31:34 throughout 70-miles of the beautiful Puget Sound in the rain and you say I'm not "healthy enough" to qualify to talk about my experience and life as a survivor.  Then the one that was the tipping point for grinding my gears today was when I decided I hadn't been on the Group Health website since my last appointment.  Wonder what's 'right in front of my nose'?  Want to know what?  Well I'm gonna write it anyway.  A list of support groups for each type of cancer.  "This could be great!"  Look through the list. That's odd.  Well I guess that must be a sign.  Every grouping of cancer that I know of was listed, BUT Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  Non-Hodgkin's was listed.  Maybe they are grouped together, right?  No, the second paragraph outlined how Non-Hodgkin's is different from Hodgkin's.  Thanks a whole heap mon!

So you know what I'm going to do.  I'm going to keep on keepin' on.  I'm going to keep riding my heart out.  This morning I made it to work in a record time of under 34 minutes.  My muscles were burning.  I averaged over 22 mph over the 12.56 miles.  I felt the burn, the pain, the fire of life in my legs because I survived the devil looking in my face through my lymph nodes.  BACK OFF CANCER YOU AREN'T WELCOME.  I'm going to keep going with the loving, incredible, so-proud support of my amazing bride.  I'm going to fight anything that comes my way so that my little Pip can grow up, point to some friends and say, "that's my dad" or in conversation say "you know what my dad can do."  I'll still have some rough days, but I'll get through each and every one of them just like I did today.

And I'll keep being a voice and an advocate to get to the cure we need.  In fact, if you are reading this and it, or cancer, has touched your life in anyway and you want to help survivorship and the overall research for the cure I'll give you the perfect option.  You can still donate and support me in this year's Livestrong Challenge series.  Because of the generosity of our sponsors 100% of donations go to cancer research and survivorship programs.  Know a business that would sponsor me?  Have an employer with a matching program?  Have ideas of how I could organize fundraising and get more?  If I get to $10,000 I get invited to the Ride for the Roses event in Austin, TX.  More importantly, we get just that much closer to someone waking up at night, rolling over, kissing his wife, and falling back to sleep without a concern of cancer at all.  SUPPORT ME AND THE FIGHT

Keep praying and LIVESTRONG!