By: Barrett Laurie
In mid May I went to my urologist for my quarterly check-up. This has become a necessary evil since I am a testicular cancer survivor. This will probably be quite a shock to our readers as I have been very careful to never mention this fact. I am an extremely private person. When I would get sick, I would retreat into seclusion and see VERY few people. I told only a handful of friends. Of course my mother and sister were in the loop, but I did NOT tell extended family. Multiple times over the last seven years I have gone head first into treatment, never letting the fear get the better of me.
While I am sure that it seems odd to people that I would NOT share something like cancer with my family, at 19 when I was first diagnosed I was not as comfortable talking about my testicles. That seems SO funny to me now, but it is true. Once I had kept the secret from people, it was difficult to tell them once I had fallen sick again. I figured at some point God was going to cut me a break and I was going to be cancer free, at that point in time why tell them what they didn’t need to know?
This time would be different. I had missed my December and March appointments. Mainly because I am uninsured and I had discovered a lump on my remaining testicle in October. This one grew at a VERY rapid pace. By the first week of May I was finally getting into see my urologist. At some point I will write a post about my feelings on health insurance in America. All I can say is pre-existing considtions are a bitch.
Radiation would be out this time because it had grown SO fast, I figured that surgery would be my only option. I would be fine as long as chemo was off the table. After my last experience with chemo therapy I had decided to grow my hair as long as possible. Refusing to cut it, my Mom started to think I had a “Sampson complex.” (It is a bible reference for those who don’t know the story … Sampson’s strength came from his hair.) I literally didn’t cut my hair for more than a year. It truly became a daily reminder for me that I had survived.
After the thirty minute drive, I arrived at the doctors office. My stomach was really uneasy. It had been bothering me for months, but today as I walked through the parking lot to the entrance it was as if I was walking onstage to sing a solo for 1500 of my closest friends. All I can remember is the ominous feeling I had as I stepped into the elevator.
Once the nurse from hell had finished sticking me and taking out, what felt like two gallons of blood, I was ready to go home. Instead I was in for a very uncomfortable groping session courtesy of my doctor. He began to scold me for missing two appointments.
His next question caught me off gaurd, he asked if I was aware that I had lost thirty five pounds since my last appointment. I laughed and said that while that was a nice compliment, I really didn’t think I had lost THAT much weight. He flipped the manilla folder around and sure enough he was right, personally I am a half full kind of person so it was actually closer to forty. While I had been significantly more active, I was a little shocked at the news I had lost that much weight. I began to tell him about some of my digestive issues over the last few months.
He began to ask me about my appetite and eating habits of late. While prodding me for answers he began to feel around on my lower abdomen at which point he got a very odd look on his face. In one movement he reached for the phone and motioned for me to sit down with his free hand. He began to talk into the phone about when was the earliest he could see me again for an ultrasound, chest x-ray, CT scan and possibly an MRI. He turned to me and asked if the 15th of May at 2:00 p.m. worked for me. I nodded that it would be fine, meanwhile my heart began to sink. He then barked that he needed to get my blood work back as soon as possible
His demeaner as he walked me out, told me that he was very concerned. After all, it seemed odd for him to walk me to the elevator. The pangs of depression began to sting as I walked back to my car. The thirty minute drive home seemed to take hours. Thoughts raced through my head. What had he felt in my stomach? Thank God I had decided to quit smoking. What was up with the chest x-ray? I don’t remember having one of those last time. Did he suspect lung cancer? Had I forgotten to tell him I had quit smoking?
I could think of nothing else but cancer. I was withdrawing from friends and family. Two days later I got a phone call from my doctor. His tone was steady and matter of fact. The entire conversation was so surreal I don’t remember most of it. Several phrases are burnt into my memory, white blood cell count greater than 50,000, red blood cell count is low, can he move my appointment to Monday the 12th? It was as if someone had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. He had spoken with the pathologist and he was certain that I would need a radical inguinal orchiectomy and retroperitoneal lymph node dissection at a minimum.
My doctor thought I had misunderstood something because for some reason I began laughing profusely. I was laughing so hard I was crying, even though I was numb to any real emotion. When I finally gained my composure I explained to him that I simply thought that God herself was really challenging me. At this point I think he thought I had lost my mind. He said, “I suppose the thought that God was a woman would be kind of funny.” Bless his heart he had just broken some pretty bad knews and the recipient is laughing like a mad man. I decided to cut my losses, move up my appointment and begin the process of getting my head in the game.
The next few appointments brought more bad news. I began to feel like I was becoming a masochist for continuing to take his calls. The slide into depression and denial was swift. By Memorial Day weekend I was “handling” my news like a rookie.
I found solace in the arms of a man from my past. Thankfully … what took me two and a half years to realize last time I was close to this man only took several weeks. Once I had shed the extra 170 pounds of ambivilance I began to focus on dealing with my news. Sometimes we have to revisit the worst in our past to remember why they were in our “past.”
I have been very open on this blog. For some reason writing this post was impossible for me to do. I have talked in many personal posts about trying to learn lessons from the setbacks in life. This time my lesson seems to be forgivness. Life is too short. My Mom and little sister are doing what they have always done for EVERY crisis in my life … rallying for battle. Since 1991 it has been the three of us against the world. Since 2002 it has been the three of us against cancer and so far we have always won.
What I really want my friends in the blogosphere to know is that I am going to be fine. I am a pro at this point. I have the BEST support network, I couldn’t ask for better friends or a more supportive family. This will effect how often I am able to post, so things might slow down around here for a little while. However I am planning on writing as many posts as I can about this process. I am having three surgeries in total this summer and will begin a LONG series of chemo therapy in sunny California by the middle of August. My little sister Katy has decided to join me so I will have a piece of home with me. The move is going to give us a fresh start so that when I kick this thing, we can begin the next and without a doubt the best chapter in our lives.
Below I am going to list several great resources for information on cancer:
Livestrong Lance Armstrong Foundation
American Cancer Society
National Cancer Institute
Association of Cancer Online Resources
