Monday, June 13, 2016

Stages

Life is a series of stages. These stages are of various lengths, and they can even be nested within one another. We go through each of these stages not really knowing when one stage ends and another begins because these stages bleed into one another making it seem like one continuous life. It's only when we reflect, look back on the events that made us who we have become, that we can see these individual stages.

But every once in awhile something will happen that is so traumatic that you know, right then at that very moment, that you've entered a new stage. It will be painfully obvious, and will probably scare you right down to your core.

Well, today, I enter a new stage.

It was pretty overwhelming to hear the words "Stage 4".

Everything went blurry and I needed a minute to refocus.

These are words we never expect to hear, yet, there they were, hanging in the air, no, make that choking the air, as I tried to comprehend them.

The tumor was the size of a walnut. Ok. But out of the total of 24 lymph nodes they removed from my neck, two of them had cancer.

That right there made it Stage 4.

If there had only been one lymph node with cancer, then it would've been Stage 3. I think she was trying to keep me from panicking. She did a pretty good job.

There was some cancer found in the deep margins around the tumor. But they couldn't get any better margins without seriously damaging me. That's not good.

And, one of the two lymph nodes was leaking.

Think of the lymph node as a balloon filling up with water. At some point, the balloon is going to burst and begin leaking. That's what happened with the lymph node, only it was filling up with cancer.

This means I still have cancer in my neck.

And that means radiation and chemotherapy are next on the agenda.

It's the radiation that scares me.

I haven't even been given the list of most of the side affects, yet, but I know to expect dry mouth, possible damage to my teeth and jaw, and, oh yeah, not being able to eat, you know, real food. It will become very difficult to swallow. In fact some people have a gastrostomy tube (g-tube) inserted through the abdomen to deliver nutrition because they can no longer swallow.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Really?

Fuck you, cancer.

I'm going to try to not go the g-tube route.

I hope I make it.

In any case, at the moment the plan is 6-7 weeks of chemo and radiation. Radiation every weekday during that time. I'll know more about all that fun stuff after I meet with the Medial Oncologist and the Radiation Oncologist. I'll meet with them soon.

So there you have it.

The hits keep on coming.

But I'm not down and out.

Life happens.

But life is worth enjoying to the fullest.

Even during those stages where enjoyment maybe difficult to come by.

This just happens to be one of those stages.

11 comments:

  1. Wow. At first I'm thinking we totally just talked about life stages in sociology .. Then, bam! Like you said, another stage along the way. My grandfather went through chemo and radiation (I was in high school), he had lung and pancreatic cancer. There was much to learn from him during this time. He still did all the things he loved. He maintained, it is his life, and he will live in anyway he chooses. If he was ever down and out we surely didn't know it. Granted he was allowed to have more not so great days.
    You and your family are in our prayers. No go show this cancer what happens when you mess with a math teacher!

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  2. That is totally fucked up, Randy. Hang in there. As you know and you and Rachel have experienced, life continues in the everyday--the love...your wonderful wife...your sweet kids. Hang in there. I'll send all the good mojo I got to you. And I got lots.

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    1. I have to agree, Janet. It is totally fucked up. But it is what it is. We'll keep moving forward.

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  3. Man, life has thrown you a serious curve ball. Just reading your blog almost makes me feel like I'm experiencing it with you. But I can only imagine your terror. I pray for your strength to endure the coming weeks, and for your inner peace during this challenge.

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  4. Man, life has thrown you a serious curve ball. Just reading your blog almost makes me feel like I'm experiencing it with you. But I can only imagine your terror. I pray for your strength to endure the coming weeks, and for your inner peace during this challenge.

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  5. Randy, it's difficult to express what I feel about this. Both of my grandparents on both sides of my family have had cancer; two of them went through chemotherapy and pulled through. Through the process, I saw sides of them that I still can't quite wrap my head around.
    Case and point: I think that you will evolve through this, even though it absolutely sucks (especially because it absolutely sucks). That said, I wish you didn't have to go through it anyway.
    You mean a lot to all of us, so don't lose hope! Tough it out, and we will tough it out with you with love in our hearts.

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    1. Thanks, Christian. Yeah, it sucks. No getting around that. We'll just keep moving forward.

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  6. You know, it has occurred to me that we have never met in person... But I feel like I do know you because Rachel is my friend. So I hope you don't mind if I send you my most positive thoughts and hopes for you. I look forward to a visit sometime, when you are well and have kicked this.

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    1. Hey Kathryn, I don't mind at all. Thank you. And I think you're right, we haven't met, yet. Hopefully someday soon. Take care.

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