Day Zero, Year Five
With the MC5 screaming in my ears, I am ready to testify.
Today starts a seven month celebration. Of my life.
Ziggy Stardust recorded a moving song called “Five Years”. It tells about how the world will cease to exist in five years time. It’s true. It happened to me.
Five years ago today, I was diagnosed with stage 2 Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The world I knew five years ago no longer exists.
My transformation started with the phone call I made to my mother. I was sitting in my boss’ office. He was strategizing how we would complete one of his many outrageous goals. I stopped him, rudely dialing numbers on my cell phone as he spoke. When my mom answered the other end, I said simply (while maintaining eye contact with my boss): “It’s confirmed. Hodgkin’s, Stage 2.” Shortly afterwards, I hung up with my mother. Shortly afterwards, I left my boss’ office. Without completing his strategy.
There would be many, many turning points along the way. In fact, every day was a turning point:
* The head oncology nurse checking my veins to see if they were good enough to endure four cycles of brutal chemotherapy. And providing me a video that would tell me how to give myself daily injections of Neupogen.
* The blur of chemo education on my first day of treatment.
* Feeling like shit for 10 days after treatment, having one or two days of feeling human again – just prior to getting another treatment.
* Not having enough energy to go grocery shopping – yet doing it anyway.
* Sweating and smelling chemicals day after day.
* Pissing red during and after each treatment.
* Putting on my brave face every time I contacted my friends and family.
* Trying to talk my sister into taking my treatment for me.
* Spending a lot of time with myself and my thoughts, coming to the realization that if I survived, I’d have to change silly habits and self-destructive rituals.
After treatment – October 23, 2002 – I had learned how to live life. It was now up to me to practice living as it was meant to be lived. Every day since has felt like a warm Spring breeze (although some days the breeze has blown stiffly and others it’s barely blown).
I stopped the mental abuse that had become my personal mantra. I sought things that I wanted. I took risks. I gave back to my community. I gave back to my cancer brethren – sometimes getting my heart broken in the process.
But I was alive, and embraced each opportunity and emotion. My heart, my head, my eyes and ears – pulsed with life.
I was in the middle of a growth period (aka, unemployed and in the midst of shattering my credit while trying to make success happen by working on my book) when I met Sheryl.
Five years ago, I would not have allowed myself the opportunity to embed myself in this girl’s life – and that would have been a critical, miserable mistake.
My transformation will continue for as long as I live. But this year – this next seven months – will be the anti-Hodgkin’s. I am marrying Sheryl, and we will both celebrate not only our life together, but our personal lives as well. And one way that we will celebrate LIFE is by trying to make my growing number of brethren more comfortable and provide them more support through Gilda’s Club and our Gilda’s Riders fundraiser.
In turn, I hope with all of my heart, that these people will have the chance to live life and celebrate Year Five.
And hopefully, they will mark that year with a long bike ride while raising funds for Gilda’s Club…
With the MC5 screaming in my ears, I am ready to testify.
Today starts a seven month celebration. Of my life.
Ziggy Stardust recorded a moving song called “Five Years”. It tells about how the world will cease to exist in five years time. It’s true. It happened to me.
Five years ago today, I was diagnosed with stage 2 Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The world I knew five years ago no longer exists.
My transformation started with the phone call I made to my mother. I was sitting in my boss’ office. He was strategizing how we would complete one of his many outrageous goals. I stopped him, rudely dialing numbers on my cell phone as he spoke. When my mom answered the other end, I said simply (while maintaining eye contact with my boss): “It’s confirmed. Hodgkin’s, Stage 2.” Shortly afterwards, I hung up with my mother. Shortly afterwards, I left my boss’ office. Without completing his strategy.
There would be many, many turning points along the way. In fact, every day was a turning point:
* The head oncology nurse checking my veins to see if they were good enough to endure four cycles of brutal chemotherapy. And providing me a video that would tell me how to give myself daily injections of Neupogen.
* The blur of chemo education on my first day of treatment.
* Feeling like shit for 10 days after treatment, having one or two days of feeling human again – just prior to getting another treatment.
* Not having enough energy to go grocery shopping – yet doing it anyway.
* Sweating and smelling chemicals day after day.
* Pissing red during and after each treatment.
* Putting on my brave face every time I contacted my friends and family.
* Trying to talk my sister into taking my treatment for me.
* Spending a lot of time with myself and my thoughts, coming to the realization that if I survived, I’d have to change silly habits and self-destructive rituals.
After treatment – October 23, 2002 – I had learned how to live life. It was now up to me to practice living as it was meant to be lived. Every day since has felt like a warm Spring breeze (although some days the breeze has blown stiffly and others it’s barely blown).
I stopped the mental abuse that had become my personal mantra. I sought things that I wanted. I took risks. I gave back to my community. I gave back to my cancer brethren – sometimes getting my heart broken in the process.
But I was alive, and embraced each opportunity and emotion. My heart, my head, my eyes and ears – pulsed with life.
I was in the middle of a growth period (aka, unemployed and in the midst of shattering my credit while trying to make success happen by working on my book) when I met Sheryl.
Five years ago, I would not have allowed myself the opportunity to embed myself in this girl’s life – and that would have been a critical, miserable mistake.
My transformation will continue for as long as I live. But this year – this next seven months – will be the anti-Hodgkin’s. I am marrying Sheryl, and we will both celebrate not only our life together, but our personal lives as well. And one way that we will celebrate LIFE is by trying to make my growing number of brethren more comfortable and provide them more support through Gilda’s Club and our Gilda’s Riders fundraiser.
In turn, I hope with all of my heart, that these people will have the chance to live life and celebrate Year Five.
And hopefully, they will mark that year with a long bike ride while raising funds for Gilda’s Club…
