A Darkness Looming Overhead

(WARNING) This is not like any blog I have written before. It is NOT upbeat. In fact, it is very much opposite of that. I will be discussing my current state of depression, and well as my future medical procedures, which may scare some people. They scare me! 

Good evening everyone.

My apologies for not keeping you abreast on the most current information regarding this horrific cancer journey. I am not doing well. The fact I have cancer... a life threatening disease has really set-in. I felt as though I could stand tall throughout this battle, but the outcome of my surgery and knowing what I must face ahead has pulled me down into a pit of sorrow. I find myself holding back tears more often than sharing a smile with those around me.

It wasn't until I had cancer that I realized how embedded this heinous disease is on the world around me. It feels like every other commercial, billboard, and bumper-sticker I see has some connection to the fight against cancer. The reason for all the attention? Cancer kills people. I'm not usually one to hold a piety-party, but I think it is only fair that I share with you what is on my mind...

Ten years ago, I couldn't connect myself to any relatives known to have cancer. Today, the numbers seem to be racking up. My father died of a brain cancer a little while back. He was in his fifties, with two young sons. I am thirty-six with children of my own. My children happen to be very close in age to those two young boys. I am scared... SO scared that this crap will sooner or later get the best of me. If I get cancer at the age of thirty-six, what is the likelihood I will get it again some time down the road? Will this crap take me away from those I love before we're ready?

The treatment has sucked so far, and I've only scrapped the surface...

Over the last week, I have had numerous medical appointments with my three primary cancer doctors to discuss the road ahead. In fifteen days, I will start both chemotherapy and radiation. I will receive six treatments of chemo; once a week for six weeks. I will also receive 30 sessions of radiation; five times a week for six weeks. The hope is that the chemo and radiation will kill off any remaining cancer cells that may be left behind following the surgery. Think of it like this... the surgery removed the salt shaker, but there may be some bits of salt still laying around. We need to make sure the bits of salt are completely destroyed.

Chemotherapy is going to attack every cell in my body... especially the cancer cells which are more susceptible to the chemo drug. For my case, we are hoping for two outcomes. First, we need to kill any cancer cells that may have metastasized (moved) from the original point of origin. Second, the chemo will weaken the cells in my neck and tongue, allowing the radiation to do its job more efficiently.

For upwards of two to three months, the chemo will cause me to feel nauseated and fatigued. Imagine having the flu for three months. I will receive some pretty strong anti-nausea medicines, so there may be some relief there. Also, the type of chemo I am receiving should not cause me to loose all my hair... so there is a silver-lining to look towards.

The chemo is going to suck, but to be honest, it does not scare me half as much as the radiation does.

Radiation is going to be used to destroy all the cells in a particular area. Not just cancer cells... normal, healthy cells that have a close connection to all the nerves that run through your body. I will soon be fitted for a mask that is essentially designed to strap my head to a bed so that I can not move, and so that my head can be positioned in the same place every time. It will be made of a hard(ish) plastic-shaped to my face, and designed to be worn tightly. It is absolutely critical that my head, face, and neck be in the same exact place for all thirty radiation sessions. The radiation technicians will take an initial image of my head and neck. With this image, they will strategically position a collection of radiation x-rays to fire and hit very specific areas within my head and neck. These x-rays are accurate up to a single millimeter. The reason it is so important that I not move is to prevent a section of my body from becoming an innocent bystander. For example... we have many glands that help produce saliva-some towards the top of our mouths and some under our tongue. In my case, the ones under my tongue were ripped out of my body during the surgery. I am not reduced to the few towards the top, which I can tell you now are not enough to live without constantly needing water. I could not imagine what it might be like without the others. So... it is very important that when they dial in these x-rays... they do so in a way that avoids hitting those glands.

As I said, the radiation is going to destroy every cell in its path. These x-rays are a lot like the sun's rays, only much, much stronger. So, I will essentially receive internal and external sunburns everywhere those x-rays penetrate. Some of the areas that will be affected: the gums, mouth tissue, tongue, throat, esophagus, lips, and all the external skin from the lower jaw to the tops of my shoulders. Imagine trying to eat or drink while having the world's worst sunburn inside your esophagus. Swallowing will become so excruciating that I will sooner or later refuse to do so. Every taste-bud will be cooked off my tongue, leaving everything in the world tasting what many describe as a disgusting metallic, earthy flavor. The taste alone has led many head and neck cancer patients to stop eating all together.

To help combat some of this crap, I will be having both a port and PEG surgically inserted. The port will be used to hook up IVs for giving me chemo and/or saline fluids if dehydrated. The PEG is a feeding tube, which I imagine I will live with for quite a few months. The inability to swallow has made it very hard for some head and neck cancer patients to go back to eating again. Some just refuse the taste, as I said earlier, and prefer living off the PEG.

So, aside from my neck having horrific lymphedema and being extremely uncomfortable 24 hours a day, and no longer being able to enunciate clearly enough for others to understand me... I have much more crap to look forward to.

I can't promise that my blog posts will return to being the up-beat, comical posts they used to be. The honest truth is... I have allowed piety to overwhelm my thoughts. This nightmare has finally taken its toll on me. I have no doubt I will survive the treatments, but I am fearful to face what my future has in store.

I will continue to blog as I find the courage to face both my daemons and this disease, but not nearly as often as I have in the past few months. I will try to find the bright-side again, but I cannot make you any promises. As I've said before, I appreciate every, single one of you and welcome you to reach out to me anytime. If you need my telephone number, address, or e-mail, just let me know.