Lessons Learned

          Some people when they are diagnosed with cancer all of a sudden realize how important life is. For me I realized that I need to change certain things. It's kind of strange some of the things I realized after my diagnosis. One of the things was the pleasure in drinking water instead of soda. Before I got sick I would drink tons of soda, to the point if I didn't have a soda I would got through caffeine withdrawal.
          When I had my breathing tube removed I had difficulty drinking liquids. Because of my damaged vocal chords I could not swallow correctly. If I drank liquids I would choke on it as it was going down. So it took a couple of weeks to retrain myself on how to drink liquids. Let me tell you, you don't realize how much you miss drinking liquids until they tell you you can't and make you drink thickened drinks. After about two days of drinking thickened drinks, I swore to myself when I am able to drink water again I will never stop.
          I am not going to lie, the moment I got the okay I drank so much water it wasn't funny. To this day I probably drink 10 to 12 16oz. bottles of water a day. There is no better drink, in fact I don't even really drink soda now.
          Another thing I learned was that there is no reason to work as much as I did. I was working probably seventy hours a week, sometimes working twenty four hours or more straight. For what, money? I was being run down and beat up. It was not worth it. I realized there are more important things in life than making money. What's the point in making money if you can't enjoy it? So I vowed whenever I go back to work that I am only going to work forty hours, no more. I need to enjoy every moment of everyday.
          Probably the biggest thing I learned was that I was given a second chance at life for a certain reason. I have a purpose. I am not 100% sure what that purpose is yet but I am trying to find out. I believe that it has something to do with cancer. Maybe it's something small, maybe its something big. But whatever it is I will find it and do it. Cancer has taken the lives of many people who are just like me. It tried to take me but it didn't succeed, so now it's my job to make my life stand for something.

This Is The Way I Live

         Everyone will have different ways of handling cancer and there is no correct way in doing so. For me, cancer affects me everyday. Everyday I think about it. When I am watching TV, no matter what channel, cancer comes up. When I am in my car listening to the radio, cancer comes up. This happens numerous times a day. It's strange to say the least.
         When I am just hanging around I tend to think about my experience and that always brings me to tears. I am not sure why; maybe because it consumed so much of my time and brought me to places I never thought I would be. I mean it tried taking my life.
         Am I scared of it? That's a good question. I think I am aware of how strong it is and the damage it can do, but I truly don't think it scares me. I believe cancer is only as strong as you allow it to be. Now don't get me wrong, Stage IV is still very severe no matter what you think of it, but if you don't allow it to break you down then it doesn't become as strong as it can if you do. I handled my cancer just like that. I did what I had to do. I faced it head-on.
         It may sound strange but I talked to my cancer. I viewed my body as my fortress, which is why I workout so much. Unfortunately cancer got into my fortress and tried to take over. So what I did was during my chemo treatments I would look in the mirror and talk to where my tumor was and vow that it may have gotten in but it soon would be gone. I declared war on it. It was not going to win. I watched as my body became weak and was losing ground, but I still stood tall.
         At points my body was so weak I could barely move and I even remember one time it was so bad that I needed a blood transfusion. I remember getting to the hospital and having no strength to walk, and my mom trying to get me a wheelchair so I could get to the other end of the hospital but me just wanting to walk. Then when I arrived to where I was getting my chemo the nurse was shocked that I was able to walk because my counts were so low, and I told her that I just felt tired, nothing big.
         My cancer put up one hell of a fight, but it *$%ed with the wrong person. I will probably be a little nervous every time I go for a scan because there is always that chance it will be back. I will never fear that it will though. Worst comes to worst I will do what I did the first time around. I will stand tall and face it head- on.

Striking a (Vocal) Chord

         So yesterday, March 1, I went to Dr. Zalvan's office to have injections done to my vocal chords. The idea is that the injection will increase the size of the vocal chord that doesn't work thus producing a stronger sounding voice. So I got to the office with mixed ideas on what was going to happen. I wanted my voice back because not having one made me feel as if I wasn't me. I wanted to be me again. I wanted the voice of a healthy person, not the voice of a sick person, because at this point I am healthy.
         So the procedure was really quick, only took three minutes. First they numbed my nose and throat. Then he stuck a camera up my nose so he could see where he was injecting. Then he said, "Don't swallow, you're going to feel like your drowning and you kind of are." Next thing I know something is getting squirted down my throat and I try not to choke! Then I get jabbed in the throat with the needle, he injects my vocal chord, and before I know it I am able to talk with a more normal voice.
          It will take a couple of weeks and several speech therapy sessions until my regular voice is back, but at this point I could not be any happier. Today I officially feel like my life is coming back and I can begin to live. It is absolutely amazing what is possible in the world of medicine. Thank you Dr. Z for this gift you have given me.

A Voice at the End of The Tunnel

         I woke up from my coma on July 16, 2010. I had breathing tubes down my throat and for that reason I could not talk. The tubes came out a couple days later and to my surprise I still couldn't really talk. My mouth would move but very few words could be heard. It was uncertain what caused this and when I would regain my voice. Some doctors said it was the tumor that caused it, others would not say. It was real frustrating to try and talk when no one could hear, or for that matter even understand, what I was trying to say.
        This went on for weeks. I had numerous scopes down my throat and they kept saying the same thing. Your left vocal chord is not working right but it should come back. It SHOULD come back? When? As the weeks turned to months my voice was only getting slightly stronger. I could now hold a conversation with someone next to me or even on the phone, which was comforting since for the first few months I couldn't, but I wanted to be Brad again. I wanted to be able to hold a conversation with someone in a crowded place, and I wanted to help coach with my brother. But with the way my voice was this was not going to happen. Finally after seven months I was able to get an appointment with a doctor who handles voice and throat problems. He was considered one of the best in the area.
        So on February 9th I went and visited Doctor Zalvan and received some real comforting news regarding my voice. For the first time in seven months I actually got an answer as to what's going on with it. One of my vocal chords is paralysed. Hearing that diagnosis, one may think that that does not sound very promising, but from what I am being told it is easily fixed with certain injections or, worst case scenario, surgery. Either way I'll take it. 
         I went back again on the 14th to have a needle test to figure out if I have nerve damage, and whether or not it's permanent. If the results show it is slowly healing then I will have a temporary injection in my vocal chord to make it function correctly til it is fully healed. If they show permanent nerve damage then I will have to have a permanent piece attached to my vocal chord to make the chord seem normal. According to the test results, there is still nerve function, so on March 1st I go for the temporary injection. If all goes well, in less than 2 weeks I will hear my voice again for the first time in eight months. 
         It's so strange because I don't remember what my voice sounds like. It will be great just to be able to hold conversations in a crowded room without losing my breathe and having to repeat everything multiple times. Baby steps is what I am trying to remember though. So far so good. Just knowing that there is light (and a voice) at the end of the tunnel is great to hear.

Building Yourself Back Up

          Before I was sick and in the hospital being physically fit was extremely important to me. The things I went through made that even more important than ever. Granted I was thrown a curve ball with how cancer truly affected my body. Most of the time people going through treatment will lose weight and some muscle. I unfortunately lost about twenty five pounds and every ounce of muscle. It was real hard to look in the mirror and see not a single piece of muscle on my body. I wanted to do whatever I could to get in shape. 
          From the moment I was allowed out of my hospital bed I did whatever I could do for exercise, which consisted mostly of walking the floor. There would be times at like six in the morning I would wake up and just start walking. Now, I wasn't walking half miles, I was only walking like four hundred feet but to me it was miles. After I would get done I would lay back in bed because that small walk would take so much out of me. I would do different isometric exercises to try and build muscle as well.
          When I was finally home I wanted to get back into the gym, but that was way out of the question. So it was up to me to do whatever I could around my place to get a workout in. I remember trying to do a push up one day and not even being able to do one. It was so depressing to see what had happened to my body. But I knew that I would get it back one day. I would take it slow trying to do one push up then two and so on. It didn't happen overnight. It took weeks before I was able to do five in a row. But I can remember doing it and feeling like I was Rocky after he beat Ivan Drago. It was amazing.
           I was slowly becoming me again. I would read stories of how people would jog, go to work, and bike during their treatments and that drove me even more. I wanted to be just like them, but at this point I was glad that I was at least taking walks. Through this whole process I was forced into the mind-set of baby steps. I wanted to go faster than I was going but I had to accept what was smart and what wasn't.
          Five months out was when I was finally back in the gym. It was a great feeling and also a sad realization of how weak my body had become. I remember using the leg press and only being able to lift 90lbs, and benching and only being able to lift the bar. These numbers were unacceptable to me, but it didn't stop me. I kept track of what exercises I would do and how much I would lift. Each week I would try to increase how much I would lift and if I couldn't I would try again the next week. It was a slow process but after about six weeks I was probably at sixty percent, which was pretty good for me.
          At the very beginning, I would look at pictures of what my body looked liked during the third week of chemo and compare it to what I currently looked like to see the progress I was making. It will probably take a year to get where I want to be but as long as my steps are going forward and not backwards that is all that matters. Getting back into shape after such trauma is never easy. The key is to take small steps. Keep track of what you are doing, whether it's running, lifting, or walking so you can see the progress. It's understandable that you want to be back to normal but that will come in time. Don't push yourself too hard; listen to your body. Your body will tell you real quick what you can and can't do. Remember it's okay if it takes a couple of months or even a year to get back into shape. Your body just went through a lot and will not come back overnight. And also talk to your doctors before you start doing things that may interfere with or affect your body.

A Necessary Evil

          According to medical dictionaries, chemotherapy is "the treatment of disease, especially cancer, using drugs that are toxic chemical agents that are destructive to malignant cells and tissues." Now anything that uses toxic chemicals and is destructive to tissues can't be the greatest thing for the body, but it is way better than the alternative.
          Each type of cancer will have a different regime of chemotherapy and every person may react to that regime differently.  I can only explain how mine affected me. I was given two different chemo drugs: cisplatin and etoposide. To give you a better idea of how strong these chemicals are only specially trained people are allowed to handle them, and with the etoposide they have to wear special gloves when handling the bags.
          I would sit or lay down in this small cramped room with four other people for atleast seven hours a day for five days. Sometimes I would have to recieve blood tranfusions because the chemo would affect my platelet count. On those days I would be there for over nine hours. The chemo literally beats you down. It affects all aspects of your body from your white count which controls you immune system, your platelets which is your energy, to things like losing your hair. This is where knowledge comes in hand. The internet is full of information on different things you can eat to bring up your counts, and even different techniques to help your hair grow quicker.
         I also experienced nausea during my three months of chemotherapy. Granted in this day in age, with all of the medicine that is out there, this is not as common as it was ten years ago but it does still happen. I just sucked it up and figured it could be worse. My mom, however, was not as easy going as I was. She worked with the staff at the hospital to find me the most effective drugs to stop the nausea. Some rounds were better than others, but unfortunately, there was never one without the nausea completely. As hard as it may be to believe, this was actually not the toughest thing for me to deal with during my treatment.
        There were two things that were hardest for me during my months of chemo. The first was not having any energy whatsoever. I could not come to terms with the reality of having to just lay around because I didn't have the energy to do anything else. I would just sleep and lay on the couch and not really ever get up. I am the type of person that was always doing something. Relaxing was not really something I did so you can understand why it was so hard. 
        The other thing that was very hard for me to deal with was the way I recieved my chemotherapy. Like I said in an earlier post, I made the decision to get my chemo through IVs. I made this choice because I was vain and I didn't want a port in my chest because of how it would look. I figured since I had great veins that were huge, and all throughout my arms, I would have no problem doing IV therapy. I could not have been more wrong. I didn't realize how strong the chemo was and the effects it would have on my veins. I watched them go from monster veins to almost non-existent. To make it worse all this happened by my third round of chemo and I still had three to go.
        This was a big problem because my veins had shrunk and now I had to slow down the rate the chemo was going into my body and that meant longer days. Also if the flow of the chemo became too quick it would blow out the vein and infuse into the skin which is no good at all. At that point they would have to stop everything and re-stick me with another IV. With my veins being so bad it was incredibly hard to find one and now I was getting stuck several times a day. It got to a point near the end that I was praying and talking to my veins, begging that they make it through the day so I would not have to get stuck again. To me my veins became like little warriors, they had to survive a day or two and then I would pick another vein to take over. To this day, four months after I finished my chemo, my veins are still not back and some are completely damaged, but it was worth it in the end.
        Chemotherapy is not fun at all and that should be expected because the main job of it is to kill the cancer. The healthy cells are just causualties of war. If I was ever in the position of having to go through chemo again I would not hesitate, but I would be a little smarter and go with a port. The pain of IV therapy will never be worth the vanity of having to walk around with a port. Like everything that goes along with battling cancer, a strong and solid mindset will make things a little easier.

"You Have Cancer"

         These are the scariest words that you may ever hear.  I mean how are you supposed to react? All I could do was cry.  I cried for like forty minutes non-stop. But then I came to the realization that crying is not going to get rid of it. It was time to develop a game plan. My game plan was to fight this head on. I was taught by my older brother that pain is just weakness leaving your body. He first told me that when I was fourteen. We were running and I had gotten a cramp. He wouldn't let me stop. From that day on I used that thought process with everything that confronted me. Cancer was no different.
          I would have to deal with the pain of chemo in order to beat the cancer. Granted my decision to do it through IVs, rather then having a port put in, was probably the dumbest thing I could have done, but I did truly learn how strong my chemo regime was. One of the most important things that helped me get through my treatment was something that I told my friend Doug, who was fighting his own battle with leukemia. I told him, it's okay to cry, we all do it. This isn't an easy journey we must face. Take each day as it comes and if you have to, take it hour by hour. When dealing with the unpredictability of what chemo does to the body, never let it get you down. I told him there are no downs in this journey, sometimes you will hit a plateau for a bit but then come back up. As long as you view everything as a positive then it makes things easier to accept.
          Another important thing to remember with cancer is knowledge. The saying "knowledge is power" is more true than ever when facing cancer. The more you learn about the type of cancer you have and the specific treatment you will be receiving, the easier it is to understand how and why your body may feel a certain way. But don't let one thing you read control how you view your outcome. I personally don't care how bad a doctor says something is because no one knows my body except me. In fact things like that drive me, they drive me to prove them wrong. No one can and never will be able to tell me I can't do something. It may just be because that is how I was raised but whatever the reason I am glad that is who I am. It has helped me become the man I am now and drives me to help others facing the same thing I did.

You Have To Crawl Before You Can Run

       One of the hardest things to do during my recovery was understand that my body had just dealt with an incredible amount of trauma and it would take time to get it back to where I wanted it to be. Before I entered the hospital I weighed roughly 130lbs, at my lowest I was 108 lbs. I had lost every ounce of muscle that I had once had. I suffered extreme muscle atrophy due to the fact I was in a bed for two weeks without getting up, or even really moving. Mix that with two rounds of chemo and I was as weak as ever.
        When the doctors told me I was allowed to get out of bed, I couldn't wait to get up and just walk around. To my surprise, I could barely walk. My legs could not support the weight of my body. Plus, during the week of chemo and the week after chemo, I was lucky if I had the energy to get out of bed at all. It was hard for me to accept that this would be a long road back. My family had to keep reminding me that I had to take baby steps. So during my non-chemo week I would do what I could, going for small walks and gradually longer ones. I did this for several weeks. Finally, after four months, I started back at the gym.
        There was no greater feeling for me then being able to work out again.. Working out is what makes me happy. And not being able to do it for four months was like losing a part of who I was. Me being me, I wanted to jump right back into my old routine, twice a day, everyday. But my sister Danielle and my friend Christina both insisted I take it slow. I think they worried that my body would not be ready for it and wanted to make sure I didn't over-do it. As much as it killed me to only work out one day a week, for the first three weeks I listened to them. Then I was able to work out three days a week.
        As each day passed I could feel and see my body getting stronger. It was incredible! I was able to watch as muscles developed and formed from nothing. I know that Christina and Danielle were only looking out for my best interests. I am sure they will always worry that I am overdoing it and that probably has a lot to do with what went on this past year. I mean they saw scary things first-hand every day. But no one will truely understand what my limits are except for me. I have slowly learned what they are, and I am not going to lie, I push my body to the edge before I back down. I mean I am the guy that after only three weeks out of chemo I went out and played my first round of golf in four months. Granted it wasn't pretty, but it put a smile on my face.
        People may not have understood why I worked out so much before and maybe I couldn't give them a straight answer then, but now its because being in shape is one of the reasons I am still here today. So while it might seem excessive to some, to me it's just living. I may not be crawling now, but I am still far from running. But trust me I'll be running, and once I start there is no stopping me. I can promise that.

The Beginning, End, and Beginning

       Where to begin? I was just your normal 27 year old. I worked a full-time job and in my free time I lived for the days I could play golf and go to the gym. I worked out like a crazy person. I took pride in being in shape. Then towards the end of 2009 I started to develop breathing problems. I couldn't figure out why all of a sudden I was having shortness of breath. I always thought I was in good condition and now I was starting to think I was out of shape. It didn't make sense to me but I figured since I didn't run all that much that maybe it was catching up to me. When I finally hit my breaking point I knew it was time to see a doctor.
         I made the decision to go hoping to find out what the problem could be.  All they could come up with was that it must be asthma. Okay, asthma, that explains everything. I would get an inhaler and be good to go. I used the inhaler for a couple of months but it didn't really help. The doctors just kept telling me it was a bad allergy season and that's why the asthma was so bad. Okay, doctors know best, or so I thought.
        That brings us to Memorial Day weekend, 2010. After a hard day of work I came home, took a shower, and as I was getting out of the shower, boom! I hit the floor and out of nowhere I blacked-out. It was pretty scary since that had never happened to me before. I figured it must have had to do with being in the heat and being dehydrated. I thought nothing of it and continued with my regular routines. Over the next three weeks it kept happening more and more, getting worse and worse. I was having an even harder time breathing and was blacking out like three times a week. It got to the point that I was dry-heaving in order to try and breathe better, practically to the point of hyperventilating.
         It was getting scary, and not just for me. My roommate was getting real worried at this point. She kept telling me to go to the doctor, but me being me, I was too stubborn. I thought I was fine and it would pass. I mean come on, I am in great shape, what could it possibly be?  Finally on July 2, 2010, I was on my way to work after a horrible night of passing out due to breathing problems, when I decided I had to go back to the doctor. I spoke with the doctor and she told me it was just asthma (again) and that they would give me some medicine and breathing treatments and in a week I would be back to normal.
         After the breathing treatment and seeing that my breathing had not gotten any better, I knew it was not asthma. I asked for a chest x-ray and they said that it would be a waste, but I kept insisting and finally they agreed. When I went to view the chest x-ray I knew something was wrong. I had seen chest x-rays before and knew what I had just seen was not normal. I then went back in the exam room to wait for the doctor. Finally the doctor came in and told me there was a large mass on my chest. Large mass? I asked, "What does that mean?" She said, "Cancer."
         I was in complete shock. I was then told I need to drive to an ER and have a CT scan of my body to make sure that it wasn't anywhere else. I called my best friend Christina on the car ride to the ER and cried the whole forty min. drive. Just before I got there something came over me and I said to myself, "It's no big deal. I can handle it. I've got this." After my CT scan I was told I had to be transported to another hospital where I could be treated better for what was going on. For the next five days I just sat in the hospital waiting to have a biopsy done. As each day passed by my breathing got worse. I entered the hospital with my oxygen flow being at 95 percent. By July 5th my oxygen flow was about 60 percent, and to make it worse I now had fluid built up around my heart. So great, on top of a massive tumor 9 inches wide, I now had to go for surgery to have the fluid removed.
        On July 7, 2010 I went for what was supposed to be a routine surgery. It was only supposed to take four hours. Just before I entered surgery I wrote on my Facebook status: "God is my Refuge and Strength." I told my mom I would see her in a bit and was brought into the OR. The last thing I remember is getting an IV placed in my arm and looking up at the lights in the ceiling.  When I woke up it was July 16, 2010 and I had this tube down my throat and all sorts of tubes coming out of my body. I was completely lost. What was going on? What happened during those nine days? I couldn't talk and was not really understanding what had happened.
         Unable to ask, but knowing I would need answers as to why I had tubes going in and out of my body and cuts all over, my mom explained to me that during surgery, when I was placed flat on my back, the tumor collapsed my bronchi and caused some problems to my heart. I was without oxygen to my brain for forty minutes when I was on the operating table, and the doctors feared I would have severe brain damage. They then placed me on a respirator/ventilator and a machine that would work as a lung for me, as well as a machine that pumped and circulated my blood for me. For those nine days, the machines kept me alive. During that time I received emergency radiation and chemotherapy treatments to deal with the cancer, which ironically became secondary in my recovery. I also received numerous blood transfusions.
         Well now all the cards were on the table. It was time to face this tumor head on. It had tried to kill me and I wasn't about to let that happen again. At this point I thought, it has to be all down hill right? I mean I just went through the fight of my life. My goal at this point was to do whatever I had to do to beat this. As each day passed I set small goals that I wanted to achieve in order to get out of the hospital quicker. They were anything from having good white counts during my chemo sessions to having the tubes down my throat or in my body taken out. One by one I reached each goal.
         Finally on August 4, 2010 I reached one of my biggest goals; after over thirty days I was released from the hospital. From this point on, I was free from the walls that had been my home for over a month. For the next two months I went through three more rounds of intense chemotherapy. I would come back to the hospital every third week for five days, six hours a day, and recieve my doses of cisplatin and etoposide (two very toxic chemotherapy drugs). Basically the only way to kill this tumor was to sit back while these poisons coursed through my veins, essentially destroying them in the process, and hope they attacked the cancer in the way they were supposed to.
         At the beginning of each chemotherapy week I would get my blood drawn, and then again a week after my treatment was over. My goal was to do what I could to make sure my counts were where they needed to be. Sometimes they weren't and it killed me inside; it was like the cancer was winning. I could not let that happen. But not to worry, I was able to recieve shots that greatly increased my white counts. All was going in the direction I wanted them to.
         As each round of chemo ended I could feel that my body was getting back to being healthy. Granted, I had a long way to go but once again I was moving in the right direction. I finished my last day of my last round of chemo on October 1, 2010. This day will always be a very special day in my life. From that day on I was determined to build my body back up and make it stronger than it had ever been before. Not only was I determined to resculpt my body, I was determined to change the flaws I had witnessed while I was receiving treatment. Welcome to the beginning of that journey; the beginning of the rest of my life.