Huma B~ Post

By: Barrett Laurie

The first week of 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 my extended family. Multiple times over the last seven years, I have gone head-first into treatment, never letting 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 extended 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 I had fallen sick again. I figured that, 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. I had discovered a lump on my remaining testicle in October. This lump grew at a VERY rapid pace. By the first week of May, I was finally getting in to 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 conditions are a bitch.

Radiation therapy would not be an option this time because the tumor 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. When I refused to cut it, my Mom started to think I had a “Samson complex.” (It is a biblical reference. For those who don’t know the story, Samson’s superhuman 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 doctor’s 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 felt as if I was walking on stage to sing a solo for 1,500 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 drawing 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.  I got scolded for missing two appointments. Did he say anything positive regarding the fact that, after 10 years, I had quit smoking? No.

His next question caught me off guard. 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. 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 that 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 the earliest date 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 into the phone that he needed to get my blood work back as soon as possible.

His demeanor, as he walked me out, told me that he was very concerned. After all, it was 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 didn’t remember having one of those the last time. Did he suspect lung cancer? Had I forgotten to tell him I quit smoking?

I could think of nothing else but cancer. I began 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. However, several phrases are burned 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 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 is a woman would be kind of funny.” Bless his heart. He had just broken some pretty bad news 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 the last time I was close to this man, only took several weeks to recognize this time. Sometimes, we have to revisit the worst in our past to remember why they were in our “past.” Once I had shed the extra 170 pounds of ”the past,” I began to focus on dealing with my news.

I have been very open on this blog. However, for some reason, writing this post was impossible for me to do. In many personal posts, I have talked about trying to learn lessons from the setbacks in life. This time, my lesson seems to be forgiveness. 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. My cancer treatment will effect how often I am able to post. However, I am planning on writing as many posts as I can about this process. I am having three surgeries in total this summer. By the middle of August, I will begin a LONG series of chemo therapy in sunny California. 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 listing several great resources for information on cancer:
Livestrong Lance Armstrong Foundation
American Cancer Society
National Cancer Institute
Association of Cancer Online Resources