I'm Not Celebrating Christmas

That's right. I have decided that I am not celebrating Christmas this year. Sure, Santa will stop by for the kids and there will be many presents opened the next few days. Sure, I will praise my Savior for what He has done in my life.

But I'm not celebrating the holiday known as Christmas. I'm not biting into commercial or religious end of that croissant. No. This year I am not celebrating like that.

This year I am celebrating in those feelings that embody what the holiday season should be.
I will watch my children open their gifts. I will swell with joy over the smiles on their faces, and the fact that I will be present to witness it. I will revel in the blessing that my children are here to enjoy another holiday season. I will give praise that these moments happen when I know there are families that will not experience the holidays the same way.

This year I will celebrate health and happiness. I will praise the healer who has blessed me with great doctors, caring nurses, and  second chance at life. I will be filled with joy by all that brings a smirk and smile to my lips. Even in times where the corners of my mouth want to draw down.

I will celebrate wondrous and inexplicable love. My wife, by my side by what we have both labeled the worst year of our lives. The love that burns in her eyes and he touch. The love that fills my heart and veins, and runs for no one but her.

The love of my family. A family united behind us as we have fought some terrible battles. The love from them that surrounds us with a fortress of prayer and faith in the strength of healing.
The love of total strangers who found it in their beautiful hearts to constantly support us with love, prayers, hope, inspiration, money, materials, hugs, crying sessions, and ears to vent to.

No, the common thought of Christmas is not what I will be celebrating. It's for the filler of that pie that I will say prayers of thanks.

2012 comes to an end with one big lesson to leave behind. Don't see good times with your eyes. See them with your heart. Do not escape that which can only bring good things to your life. Never cease to be amazed by anything around you. Never forget any moment that makes your life better, your will stronger, your heart stronger, and your skies brighter.

A toast: May you be filled by love, happiness, health, and the finer things that should never be forgotten by your heart. Cheers!

From my family to yours,
Happy holidays to each and every one of you!

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When the Dust Settles

"What am I going to do when this is all over? No more chemo, no more meds, no more doctors. How do I end up getting back to normal?"

That is the question I have been asking of many people recently.

Right now, I know how blessed, lucky, and humbled I should be for the fact that I should be able to firmly say "I am a survivor" when this is all over. And I will be. I will also say it so much people will want to hit me, but hell, it will be worth it.

Anyways, eventually the day will come where the surveillance schedule will be the only appointments to keep up with. My medicine holder will be sitting in the cabinet empty, and gathering dust. My port will be removed and I won't be staring at IV poles and bags of toxins that drip down from them.

So what will I be doing? I know what life was like before cancer. I know what it is like during cancer. But what is life supposed to be like after  cancer?

Many people have told me it will be a little while after the dust settles before I really feel like myself again. That strength will come back slower and so on. That part makes sense to me. But what will, or what can I do to make life after cancer that much better?

I won't immediately be able to get a job. I've thought about signing back up for online courses. At least if I am going to still be home so much I can use the extra free time again to do something better for myself.

I think I'm just in too much of a hurry to feel normal again. I've spent too much time just not feeling normal at all that it's all I can think about. Even after the great feelings this week brought, it still doesn't bring me closer to an answer. It just makes me ponder the questions that much more. Maybe some questions don't have answers.

Or perhaps I am asking the wrong questions.

More importantly, maybe I'm being too afraid of the unknown and not paying enough attention to the now. The future hasn't happened yet and nobody can really answer any of those questions for me.
I guess we shall see whenever the dust settles. When the air is clear again. Until then, I might just need to tuck these questions away for another time.

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Celebrating with Fear

It's hard to believe that 10 weeks of chemo have already come and gone. Long, five day weeks that seemed like years at the time are now a part of my treatment past. Tumors are shrinking, progress is being made, and despite the complications along the way, I am still alive and kicking. Only two more treatments left now out of a total of four cycles. That's two out of 28 total chemotherapy treatments. That last day, I get to ring the bell, announcing to everyone in there that I am winning this hands down.


Then I wake up and realize: This is not exactly over yet.

It was around 4:30pm on September 11th when I received my cancer diagnoses. Stage III Testicular Cancer. Tumors had spread from the groin to the abdomen and the lungs. Some of the tumors barely visible, others were several inches in size. The next day, an MRI would also confirm a small tumor in the pons area of the brain.

Almost 12 weeks of treatment and fighting the good fight later, there is good news. My largest tumor now measures just at 2cm, a 90% decrease in size. Most of the smaller tumors on the lungs have melted away, and the abdomen is pretty much an all clear now. The report itself even read "Remarkable Progress".

Now though, there comes another round of anxiety and fear. The first set of new scans was great reason to be happy and joyous. But there is more to come.

There is still the matter of a tumor in my brain that hasn't been checked on since the first MRI. I have an MRI coming up on the 27th to see what the deal with it is. Either one of two things will happen. The tumor will be gone thanks to the chemo and that will be that. Or the tumor will still be there, at which time we start looking at radiation treatment options. I'm hoping for the first outcome, but have been preparing myself in case it is the second of the two.


Then of course there will be more scans on the chest and abdomen to see how the full schedule of chemotherapy worked. There's always the possibility that more chemo will be needed, but there's always the possibility that it won't be. Again, another time I am hoping for the best, but will be prepared if that is not the case.

It's kind of a difficult mindset to be in right now. I feel like I am celebrating with fear. A huge chapter of all of this, of my life in general is closing, but the pages will turn fairly slowly for the next few weeks.

I celebrate the end of these four cycles. Each one has seemed to get a little rougher and if there is any chance of catching even the slightest break from it, I will be happy. I celebrate the blessing that progress has been made and that means cancer is not winning. I celebrate the victories of science and medicine working together, and of the great skill and care of my doctors and nurses. Without them, none of this would be possible to fight.

And I guess that leaves the rest of the fight to take place in my mind. Celebrating victories over fear of the unknown. Counting blessings through fear of setbacks. And kicking cancer's ass no matter how long it takes through the amount of time unknown.

Celebrating with fear. Doesn't seem quite right does it? Living with cancer has not exactly been an easy road, nor has it been easy on the mind. It seems a lot of times when I should be totally excited, I am held back by something. Other times, I just have fear. Then there are the times where I feel great, I have energy, and all is well. But always over powered with some small amount of fear.

I guess that's just how it goes for now. That's my normal until all of this is in the past. Hopefully sooner than later.

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Warmth of a Barren Tree

It is December right? Well, according to the calendar it is. It sure doesn't feel like it though. 

Today I caught a warmth to the air that really brought a lift to my spirit. 

Reminded me of spring. 

The evergreens still sway in the breeze on the mountainsides, but the barren trees show that they have prepared for winter, but winter just isn't coming. The ground is coated in red, yellow, gold, and brown, and the children are in a wonderland of never ending color. Yet the trees still sit barren. Almost melancholy in contrast to the pines on the hills. 

A very striking similarity in the way I have been feeling the last few weeks. My mind has been racing with the thoughts of another year gone by. Thoughts of what is still to come. Thoughts of why does time seem to fly, but the time we are looking off to seems to slide in at its own leisure?

Who knows.

I feel like the barren tree. Preparing for what lies ahead, although what lies ahead seems to be dragging its feet a bit. I feel like I have shed myself bare, but now I'm just going to get frostbite. 

Yet I feel like the pines. The contrasting majesty of the barren world. The warmth in the air today filled my senses in a way I have not felt in quite some time. The scents of the season if you will. There was something fresh about it. Something that just brought a smile to my face. 

As the afternoon sun started to fade, the chill of the evening set in quick and heavy. 

Back inside I go. 

Warmed to a point that I think I can see a little more cheer in my step. Pleased enough to feel a little more chipper and light this evening. 

Content enough to know that, this day, this life of mine, is blessed. 

I rest in this tonight. 

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Wishing for Christmas Cheer

Ah yes. The tree is up and lighting the living room. Stockings are hung, the wreath is on the door, and the kids can hardly contain their excitement. It's definitely looking a lot like Christmas. Even the pastoral and patient care staff at the hospital came by the treatment center and did some caroling this week.

Normally, I am full of all kinds of excitement myself this time of year. Seeing the lights around town, seeing people be a little extra nice and generous towards their fellow man, and children running around with that Christmas glow. There is magic in the air that just warms the heart.

Normally.

This year though, I'm finding it harder and harder to get into the holiday spirit. This time of year I do a lot of looking back over the last year. As we get into a season of gratitude and thankful hearts, I find it important to know what it is I am grateful for. Well, there is much to be thankful for this Christmas, but it's the looking back part that is draining my spirit.

This has been a pretty tough year for our family. We have met and overcome many hurdles, dealt with circumstances we never would have dreamed of, and the whole while we have fought to keep this family a family that knows love, knows faith, and knows they can lean on each other.

Perhaps my draining spirit is the sense of self-hatred to a degree. Feelings I have knowing that I have been the cause of great sorrow this year. Some of it my fault, some of it out of my control. It's a hard feeling to shake sometimes.

I look at my wife. A hard working gal who does her best at being both breadwinner for our family, caregiver to the kids, and caregiver to an ailing husband. I think about the heart that I have taken for granted and shattered at times this last year. I think if I could take it all back, or take her hurt as mine, I would without a second thought. At the same time, I cannot be anymore grateful for her love, for her heart, for her dedication to me and to our family. Her love is pure and through, and for some reason, she still seems to save it all for me.

I look at my children. They have not seen the dad that they need to have seen this whole year. Now there is uncertainty as the battle against cancer moves forward. They know daddy is sick. They know where "daddy's hospital" is. But they have no clue why it is that I am not the active parent I was. I sense that confusion in them quite often. Still, I watch them light up with delight when they see me in the mornings. I hear their laughter and squeals as they play together the way only siblings could. Through the confusion, through the unknown, I can still see their pure hearts through their eyes, and feel their love in each hug and kiss.

So why is it so hard for me to find more Christmas cheer? Look at everything I really do have going for me in life.

I have been trying to dissect it all day and look at it from as many angles as I can. Is it the self-pity "I have cancer" thing working against me? I mean, it's kind of hard to not think about the fact it's there. That is impossible. But I really don't think that's it. Sure, having cancer and all that comes with it sucks. I mean, it really, REALLY sucks. However, I am John. I'm not cancer. And I won't let cancer forget that.

Maybe it is just the fatigue of everything coupled with preparing for the holidays? I have done no shopping, no gift wrapping, barely any gift planning. I did however hang a stocking or two and helped decorate the tree. It just seems like there hasn't been enough time to enjoy it like one should.
Maybe it is because Christmas New Year's are just clouded by medical appointments all around. It just dampens the parade all around.

Whatever the cause is, I will lie awake at night tonight and wish for some more Christmas cheer. Some more good vibes and a more joyous kick in my step. This time of year should feel magical.

And I would just like to embody a little more of it.

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Music Monday: "The Truth Is" by Go Radio

Hello everyone and welcome to Monday! Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend and is ready to face this week head on. It's been a while since I have put up a Music Monday post, and this morning I thought it would be a good time to do so. 
I'm sitting in my chair at the cancer treatment center waiting to get my first treatment for this week going and over with. I'm also thinking about my wife. Thinking about all the trials and struggles this year has brought us to and through. Thinking about how love has brought us through each one. And how I could never have the right words to tell her how much I love her, or the lengths I would go to for her.
Thank God there is a band who has a song that seems to do so for me. That band would be Go Radio, and that song would be "The Truth Is" off of their Lucky Street album. If I could have written an acoustic ballad for my wife, this would have been it. Hands down, no doubt. This would have been the song played under the window in the pouring rain if that's what it had taken to get her to say yes. Thankfully I never had to do that, but I would have. 

"Just a list of things I’d do if I could fly. Oh I would fly straight to the moon to bring the sands back here to you. And we’d make castles where we’d spend our days, and rooms that last eternities, and perfect cracks get fixed with ease. If it falls apart faster than we had planned we’ll plan for something else. Doesn't matter if it’s raining or it's dark, you’ll be my something else. The only else cared for you are."

We all wish for the perfect relationship in which our imperfections and our disagreements can be patched up easily, no problem, and we move on. But sometimes it just doesn't work out that way. But through the downpours, the dark times, the times we wish we could have skipped, my wife has always been my something else, and the only else cared for. She has been my rock and my light. And she has been right by my side.

"If I had to walk the earth a thousand times I'd do it cause I love you. Because if you said I had to I would know it to be true. And I would spend every night under the stars to memorize the patterns both our heartbeats would make. It might stop me from shaking. And the truth is I'd be shameless, and I'd be grateful for this one chance, for our first dance. And you are, you are, you are, you are, you are the one."

I don't know how many times I have put that above verse into a post on my wife's Facebook timeline. Sometimes, and men pay attention because you know we are all guilty of making mistakes, some of them big. Sometimes it seems like it is the only thing I should be saying. And I would. My God I would walk the Earth if she told me to. And for us, that one chance is the one day we are given when we are allowed to wake up in the morning. The dance we would do through the day. And I am trying more and more to be shameless, and to be grateful for each day, each minute, each moment I get.

And finally, to my wife, I wish I could have written this for you. I wish I had never been the kind of man you have seen me to be in the past. I wish my love could have screamed out in a song that embodies all that I feel. You are my one. The only one. I pray that I become more able to show you, day by day, how much I love you, and how deep that love runs, and how never ending it is. That there are fewer things I need in life than you, and your love for me. There is no other love desired than yours. I could never thank you enough nor would there ever be the time. To thank you for being my rock, and my light, and the driving power of your love that keeps me pushing through each day.

"And if I prayed for one more thing it would be time. Just a second I could pause, 
just one more minute at exhaust. Cause on the list of everything I need there’s air but first there’s you and me. There’s love and love your everything."

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Round 4: The Un-Race to the Finish

Here it has finally arrived. Round four. The last cycle of chemotherapy. Last tango with Cisplatin, Etoposide, and Bleomycin. Last 10 days of taking premeds like Dexamethasone and Reglan. The last cycle of days that start with forcing myself to eat and ending in not being able to eat at all. This should be a reason for mass celebration. And it is. I am very excited that this is the last stretch to the finish. Yet, a part of me is still looking at it with much reservation, and some fear.

We received the wonderful results of my latest scans last week that the tumors are going away, and I am indeed winning this thing so far. Which shall serve as energy to get though these 5 days.

I spent a total of 6 days in the hospital last week being treated for blood clots and low blood counts. I have a 3 inch clot completely blocking a vein in my neck, and two 2 inch partial clots in my right shoulder. In addition to that, my hemoglobin and white blood cell counts dropped real low. Spent 5 days on a heparin drip, IV antibiotics twice a day, pain meds every 6 hours and a blood transfusion that started at 2am Wednesday morning because we had to wait for my chemo induced fever to come down first. That was a very unpleasant night. The overall experience was just crap.

Really, the last week just pissed me off and wore me out. I was mad but I don't really know why. It wasn't my fault. Not the doctor's fault. Nobody made it happen to me. Perhaps I was just mad cause it happened without any real explanation. Then I was released with only a short 3 days between that ordeal and the start of my last cycle.

I am more than ready to get this week over week. It's another full, five day week. The last of its kind thank God. This is the kind of week I always dread. These days always leave me tired, drained, and sleeping my afternoons away. But this time, of course being the time, I've got more to be dealing with that adds on to it. As each cycle has gone by, these full weeks get longer and more exhausting. This week, will no doubt be the toughest one yet.

It doesn't seem much like a race to the finish. More of a slow crawl to the end. The more I dread things, the longer they seem to take. The 6 days in the hospital last week ticked by in minutes that took hours to pass. Hours that took days to roll on. Five days is all I have to get through this week and it is going to have to be a fight to the finish.

So the fight continues. Pushing ever closer, slowly, towards the goal of ringing that bell at the treatment center that says I came, I took these drugs, and I kicked cancer's ass. Slowly, steadily, no matter how weak, the fight must go on.

And it shall.

Lock and load. It's time. 5 days to go this week, with only two treatments left after that. The countdown begins. It's go time now. Live. Fight. WIN.

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The Friday Five: Top Five Things These Thirty Days Have Taught Me

Hello!!! How the hell are ya doing everybody? If right this moment, you have anything at all that you can be happy or thankful for, then raise your hands and say "A wooty toot toot!" No seriously, do it. Don't worry about looking silly because it is silly. But it's a good silly. So go ahead and get that good silly out while you celebrate something to be happy or thankful for.

It has been quite a long couple of weeks in this house. Well, I think it's safe to just say it's been a long November. The Counting Crows missed their song title by one month. This last week found me in my longest hospital stay of the year as I was told I have blood clots in the right side of my neck and in my right shoulder. One vein is completely blocked off in a 3 inch section. Other two are partial clots in the 2 inch range. It's been a week of IV drugs, blood transfusions, pain killers, blood thinners, x-rays, and more time spent in a hospital than I can mentally stand. Thankfully, I was fit to be sent home just in time for the weekend.

Which leaves me at introducing you to this week's Friday Five. Being such a long month doesn't mean it has been a waste, or a complete bummer. There have been many things I have learned over the last month due to some of the harder times we have had. So this week, The Friday Five brings you the top five things these last thirty days have taught me. Of course you are also welcome to comment below and share with myself and everyone things you have learned from this month as well. So please feel free! And now, on with the Friday Five.

1) No matter how weak I feel, I am stronger than I am - This past week had me feeling the weakest I have since diagnosis back in September. I was exhausted, hurting, and couldn't even lie down without assistance. But determination and stubbornness can go hand in hand. You can't keep a good dude down. I found I was stronger than my pain and self imposed limitations. And through my stubbornness and will, I am 10x stronger than I was a week ago. Physically and mentally.

2) Men's Health Needs More Men - The biggest problem facing men's health is the lack of men talking about it and making a stand. I watched a hundred shows on health and news reports about cancer. Plenty of women are willing to be heard, but what about men? Why are we so damn quiet? It's not the diseases themselves, but the lack of discussion and awareness that plagues us. More on this in a future post. But men, it's time to step up for ourselves and other men.

3) The Love of Family Knows No Limits - My mother asked me if I wanted them to be there while I was hospitalized the last week. I didn't hesitate to say yes, and they didn't hesitate to hit the road and come up. My parents have put many miles on the road since this all began. To help at the hospital, to help with the kids, whatever we have needed. We have been blessed by my parents and their willingness to travel like they do and help in any way they can. Family love, know no limits. The hearts of my parents, know no limits to love. God bless them. Thank you Mom and Dad.

4) You are never too old to feel young - I am only 29 years old. Just a month shy of 30. I have to say that the last few weeks have made me feel about 30 years older than that. I've been loving to quote Garth Brooks and say "I'm much too young to be this damn old". While I was hospitalized, I watched an amazing site. An elderly couple, I'm guessing in their 70's. The gentleman was hooked up to several IVs and had bandages around his legs I'm thinking they could have been the pumps they put on your legs to keep blood flowing. His wife, looking fit as a fiddle, took charge of steering those pesky IV poles as they would make laps around the floor. They laughed, they got loud, they even danced. Just going to show that you are never too old, to feel young.

5) Cancer Will NOT Own Me - This last week wasn't all bad news and long days. I spoke with my oncologist this week about my latest scans. He told me and I quote "The scans show remarkable improvement." and he went on to describe how the chemo was definitely doing its job. Most of the smaller tumors were no longer visible. The largest tumor has shrunk by 90% in mass volume, and the largest one now still doesn't measure more than an inch. In the simplest of terms: I am kicking cancer's ass! The best news I have received since I was told this was all starting. Take that cancer. You can't have me! I told you this, my prayer warriors told you this. Perhaps you should have listened. BOOYAH!!

And that is The Friday Five for this week. What has the last month taught you? Share in the comments below!

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