Erik’s Blog: Board Shorts and Business Suits

I have had a few responses to continue my surviving cancer story which I started previously in Surviving Cancer Part I. I meant to post this earlier but now’s as good a time as any to continue the story. If you haven’t read Part I go back and read it so you can be caught up with the story. If you don’t have time here is a quick recap.

Recap of Part I
I was 20 years old and transferring schools from Stevens Point in Wisconsin to Michigan in Ann Arbor and had just finished up a season of XCountry running. My plan was to continue running the next season at UMich so I stayed training but began to feel pain in my abdomen. One thing lead to another and after a few miss diagnoses (hernia, infection, infection) I found out I had testicular cancer upon returning home for the summer. My testicle needed to be removed the next day so I had less than 24 hours to say good bye.

Part II - The First Surgery
Friday Morning I was up early ready to go, or as ready as someone could be. the night before I had only gotten about 4 hours of sleep staying up most of the night reading Lance’s book It’s Not about the Bike. My mother was quite distraught the next morning remembering that she couldn’t make me a nice breakfast because I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink after midnight the day of the surgery. I felt a little bad because she is one of those great ladies who loves making their children breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or at least that’s what I like to tell myself. I’m sure it can get old sometimes, but she does it without complaints.

On my way to the hospital I decided I needed to tell someone in Kim’s (girlfriend) family. I had gotten to know her father over the previous few years and decided I would give him a call and let him know, making sure he realized I hadn’t told Kimberly and didn’t think it was a good idea for her to know while she was playing tennis at NCAA’s.

We arrived at the hospital and cruised through the administration back to the surgery prep area. I was given a robe and shown to a curtained off pre-op room. I was also given a state of the art brown paper bag to put all my belongings into while I got in my nice robe without a back. Now at this point in my life I was OK with my body and had already done the naked mile in 45 degree weather back at Stevens Point. Showing my body wasn’t that horrible of an experience to me. So without warning I thought it nice to moon a few passers by as I appeared to be stuffing my civilian wear into my grocery bag. Once that was complete it was time to get tagged and answer a lot of interesting questions. The only question I wanted answered was where was the doctor so I could tell him it was the right one, my right.

This continued to weigh on my mind right up until surgery. Every nurse or doctor that came into my room was told to make sure it was noted in big black letters that it was to be the right testicle that needed removal. As I was saying bye to my parents I reminded them that it was the right, just before the anaesthesiologist knocked me out I told him it was the right and the last words I remember uttering before I woke up was to remember it was the right…

Surgeries are crazy things. You’re out as fast as you’re up. I remember getting groggy and then waking up in the post-op room spitting on myself as I was in some kind of horrible pain. I guess I was a little over reactive, but the guy next to me seemed to be moaning and spitting so I thought this was the natural thing to do when you woke up. I was given a little bit more morphine and all was well. Next thing after that was waking up in my hospital room with a nurse at the ready waiting to give me some percocet.

Also in the room were my mother and father and Kimberly’s father Pete. Check to make sure it was the right… Nice job Doc. I can rest a bit easier this time around. Wait, they shave all that, gone, hmmm, could be a new look for me. I should have remembered this from the surgeries I stood in and watched the previous winter but forgive me if I was a bit out of it. The percocet didn’t seem to sit very well as I remember feeling queasy for quite a while and unable to eat much of anything. My mother tried but I wasn’t having any of it. They took a while to wear off and the nurse switched me to vicodin which was much better. Little pain and not as much drowsiness.

My mother had called a few of my good friends who stopped by and said hi. I didn’t want her calling the whole world because I figured people would just worry and I of course was going to be fine, no need getting a fussy about such a little thing. All in all though I was really glad to see my friends and hear from them. Great to know people care, remember that if you ever hear someone has cancer. Give them a call, it’ll probably make their day.

The rest of the day went by at a snails pace. I began feeling much better physically and was walking by 5:00 pm. I thought about what I was going to tell my girlfriend and if I was going to tell her. The night before she asked how the doctor’s results came back and didn’t sound too convinced when I said fine and that it was only a bad infection. That night wasn’t going to be any easier so I thought I would tell her when she no doubtedly would call. She did and as expected it wasn’t easy, telling someone you love you have cancer is a tough task. She was on a bus with her teammates on their way back to Ann Arbor from Kentucky, so at least she was with friends. I still think I did the right thing but realize it meant she had to drive from Ann Arbor to Wisconsin with the thought that things were bad. I tried to tell her everything was fine and it was just a little cancer and nothing to worry about. I guess little and cancer don’t really go together.

That evening my mother debated with herself whether or not to stay but my father and I thought it best if she went home to get some rest. You see my brother was finishing up Airborne School (82nd Airborne, Army) and had 3 jumps planned for the very week/weekend and I don’t think my mother was getting any sleep at all. She inherited a very big worry gene from our grandmother and kept a rosary close to her at all times. So she left dragging her listening to me say I was going to be fine and that the nurses would take great care of me.

What I didn’t realize is that hospitals are creepy places at night if the only place you’re really allowed to be is in your room trying to rest. It was a tough night. I’m not gonna lie to you, I broke down a few times and the worst was when a nice old lady began moaning and talking about how sick she was next door. The nurses tried to calm her but I think she was a bit too far into her illness and old age. I tried to rest a bit more but wasn’t able to sleep much.

The next morning couldn’t come soon enough. My parents arrived at 7:00 am when visiting hours got going and I was released by the doctor say I was recovering well. I hadn’t mentioned anything about the previous night to my parents. I thought it best if my mother didn’t worry any more than she already had. We chatted with the doctor and nurse a while longer about when I would find out the results from the biopsy. They said it would take about a week to get results back and I would be seeing my oncologist in the meantime. Now, when someone has just taken your right testicle and you are told that you have cancer, you want to know what type of cancer it is and how severe the diagnosis is. This is the worst part about getting cancer in my opinion. Sure there’s the chemo, the surgeries, and the living at the hospital, but the real agony is in waiting. You have to wait what seems like years for a couple lines on a piece of paper with your name and address on it.

Mine was due back in a week or two and I would just have to wait until then to find out how “good” it was.