Tragedy's Gift: Surviving Cancer (5 page)

My boring routine consisted of going to the hospital for two days, getting zapped, then coming home until I felt well enough to go back the next month. About eight months into that schedule, a few buddies that I used to hang out with started coming around. I couldn’t do much but watch TV and play video games, but they didn’t seem to mind.

Two of my closest friends were Ryan Beck and Seth Boyle. I became closer to them after my high school classmates left for college. Ryan was a year behind me in school; Seth was the same age as me and went to college close to home. They understood that a teenager still lived somewhere inside this weak frame of skin on bones. On occasion they would break me out of my house and we would go for a ride to see friends or just be anywhere but inside the four walls of my living room. Ryan understood the most that I not only lost my health; I lost everything I was. My body that I worked so hard to keep fit was a skeleton. My hair was almost gone and my face was unrecognizable. I could no longer meet the guys for a pick up game of basketball, or a few sets of weightlifting at the gym. Even mud football, which was one of my favorite fun things, wasn’t an option for me. My life literally revolved around taking my next breath and getting through the next five minutes without wishing I could die to escape the pain.

It was Ryan and Seth who could see how emotionally devastating it was to lose my hair. Seth tried to ease my burden by shaving his own head down to the scalp so I wouldn’t feel out of place being bald. I considered that to be that epitome of friendship.

Seth, Ryan and Jason decided to find a way to turn the tables on the pain I suffered and laugh at it instead. We broke out of my house, went to the local grocery store and I proceeded to act like a lunatic. I was holding my head, making faces and weird noises. Then, as a small group of people gathered, I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled it from my scalp. This caused more than a few people to run away in horror. We would just laugh and they would get me home before my parents found out about the commotion I caused when I left the house.

During one of my ever-boring stays in the hospital for pneumonia, a frequent side effect of chemotherapy, I was lonely, sick, tired, sad, and afraid. Ryan walked in to visit me. He knew by the look on my face that I had a plan. Three weeks in the hospital bed had gotten to me, so I spoke to my nurse that morning about getting a day pass to leave the hospital for a few hours. He said that maybe he could arrange it as soon as I felt well enough. I had a different time frame in mind. That night after everyone left, we escaped. I didn’t really have a plan. I just wanted to be free. I unhooked my IV and headed out the door.

We hopped in the car and headed to a friend’s house. It felt like old times. I talked to a few people that I went to school with, and for a moment, was able to forget my gruesome circumstances and the health risk I had just put myself in. I had some fun, and I was sure no one would ever find out. When we returned we found out that our prank had repercussions beyond my good time. My nurse had been searching the entire hospital grounds for me. He stayed hours after his shift was over, and I most likely caused him to lose his job. I felt awful and knew I had to make things right. I not only had to plead my case so my parents didn’t disown me, but my nurse’s case also. It was going to be a while before I pulled another prank like that. (Or until this one blew over; which ever came first.) Shortly after that night, the doctors agreed to teach me to administer my own antibiotics and sent me home for the remainder of my treatments. This arrangement was much better for my mental health. It wasn’t the last time I would ignore doctor’s orders. I just knew that my stubbornness and road trips were helping keep me alive.

Once I was home, we went on an escapade that turned out to be a little more serious, but also a blessing to the rest of my life. I forced Seth and Ryan to “kidnap” me from my house and take me for a ride. They reluctantly agreed, so we drove for a little while talking and listening to the radio. When we stopped on the side of the road, I saw a brick wall nearby and I decided to climb on it to see what was on the other side. The only thing I found was a mouthful of dirt, and a broken leg. We panicked. I knew I was in big trouble this time. I was supposed to be home resting, and now there was no way to quietly sneak back into the house undetected.

They rushed me to the hospital, and after a few hours I was under the knife to have my bone repaired with a metal rod inserted to help the healing process.

It was during the surgery that my doctor performed a procedure to check on the progress of the tumor that he was radically treating for almost a year. The results were shocking. Although my lungs had made progress, the tumor on my leg looked as though they never started treatment. All of my suffering had been for nothing. No progress had been made. The radiation therapy had only managed to weaken the bone, causing it to break when I fell. We were back to square one. All of those humiliating days of lying naked on a treatment table, with tattooed marks on my body, in front of fifteen to twenty medical students, were for nothing. What did they learn? The same thing that I did; no one had the answer or cure for my disease.

This news caused a huge emotional setback for me. I was clinging by a thread to any hope of living and now I was being told that all of my intense suffering, pain, and the ravaging of my family were to no avail. How could this be? What were my options? I was not ready to die. I knew that all of the nights of excruciating pain when I asked God to take me home to Heaven I hadn’t really wanted to die. I could not be the one to hurt my parents by leaving them. I wanted to follow my dreams. I wanted to have a chance to sing. I wanted to be healthy and get married and have a family of my own. I was just a kid. We prayed that there would be another option. The next few days were a frantic search for answers.

A barrage of phone calls, research, and medical inquiries were made on my behalf. Finally, my doctor came to me with one last ditch effort. It was a form of chemotherapy that would bring me as close to death as a human can get without actually taking a last breath.

It would take another year, and make the previous year of treatments seem like a day at the beach. My hospital stays would be longer, my “bounce back time” between visits would be grueling, and I would be experiencing extreme pain as the cancer was being fought off. We had many discussions about the repercussions of this treatment. One side effect was the damage it could cause to my nervous system, which is why today I have only a little feeling in my hands and feet. I even lost complete control of my jaw at times. It would open wider and wider uncontrollably until I thought my head would tear in two. That was scary! At one point I was asked if I wanted to freeze my sperm for future use. No one ever explained how important the decisions I made at this time would be to my future, if I did survive. I could not see past the end of a day let alone past my twenties. My future was never really considered; the options were given only to satisfy the proper paper work. Any discussions never lasted more than a few minutes. What choices did I really have? I had to keep fighting. There was no way to prepare my family for my death. My mom and dad had given up everything they considered “normal.” Genni’s life was a nightmare, and I knew that I hadn’t reached my destiny as a man.

I signed the papers to approve an experiment that would either kill me or kill the disease. This time next year there would be a victory. I prayed it would be mine.

The Poster

My favorite mode of transportation in high school was a Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle. I loved to ride because I felt free as the wind blew into my face and I could feel the speed of the air against my chest. My sister Genni realized how much I must have missed those days while I was sick and she brought me a poster of a motorcycle to keep on the wall. It was a simple picture of a man riding. The bike was similar to the one I owned during high school. It seemed no matter what problems I faced I could jump on that motorcycle and ride to clear my mind.

Ironically, this was the time that I needed to ride more than ever, but my physical condition left me too weak to even consider it. In fact, during one conversation with my doctors, it was mentioned that I would probably never ride again. So I resorted to the next best thing. I would literally project myself into the poster, and in my mind I would ride for hours. I would visit familiar streets and cruise down country roads. I directed my attention toward my imaginary trips and promised myself that I would ride again on a new motorcycle as soon as I beat this thing.

There is no real way to measure how much the kindness and priceless treasure like a poster actually contributed in saving my life, but in my heart and spirit I am confident to say that my survival rests in the hearts and hands of everyone that took special care and time to visit me. Every visit from family and friends or the people from the Make-A-Wish Foundation added to my source of strength and hope. There were many occasions that family and friends may have said an encouraging word or brought me a certain gift that had a huge impact on my survival that day or week. What Genni thought was just a reminder of my healthy days in the past was actually a symbol of what I wanted to live for in my future; the feeling of the wind and freedom and riding as fast as I could away from the memories of the Hell I was in. Most times my visitors would leave my side never knowing how they kept my spirit alive when my body wanted to die. I owed each of them a part of my life. A poster helped carry me through.

David Foster

Four months into my chemo I was laying in my bed and a woman from the Make-A-Wish Foundation came to visit me. She asked me what I would wish for if I had the opportunity. At that point I felt a twinge of fear because I thought to myself that these wishes are for dying children. I still wanted to hope I would live. It was later I found out that the wishes were for children with life-threatening medical conditions of many types. I felt a little better after that discovery. My six-year-old niece who had also battled cancer had gone to Disney Land so I was very happy to get the opportunity because I assumed these wishes were for much younger children. I thought about it for a long time. It was harder than one would imagine, making a wish that required leaving the security of a hospital room or my parents’ living room couch. I had grown accustomed to being a hermit.

I thought for a while and mentioned a few different people I would like to meet - Barry Manilow, Billy Joel, or the San Diego Chargers. However, right as our visit was ending I remembered David Foster. David was a music producer in Hollywood that was involved in making a lot of the songs I loved the most. There were many times in my life that music helped me through emotional lows and added to the excitement of the highs. It seemed that whenever a song on the radio or a movie theme song touched me, the credits would include David Foster. Many of my road trip daydreams had me singing songs that were connected to David. As she was leaving my room I blurted out his name. She asked who David was, and said she would try to hunt him down. If my life was going to be cut short, I wanted to meet him, if only to thank him for his music and its impact on my life.

The next thing I knew, my parents and Genni and I were flying to Los Angeles to go to David’s studio. I was 18 and had never flown on a plane before. I was a little nervous but happy at the same time. Everything seemed so surreal. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to David. I had no idea what he was told about me, or why he thought I wanted to meet him. Of course, I needed to worry about everything that might go wrong and to feel awkward. Worry was my old friend.

As we walked into David’s studio I felt like I was on a movie set. Everything about his studio was just as I imagined it; there were hundreds of gold and platinum records aligning the walls, awards and plaques hung everywhere, and the musical equipment was beyond my comprehension. There were Grammy Awards on the tables where the rest of us would have put a family portrait. David went out of his way to invite James Pankow from the group
Chicago
to be there because he knew they were my favorite group.