Radioactive

Football And Cancer

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: This Time Of Year: Better Than Ezra

I left you last week, with a picture of my rough looking face.  The skin damage is much better, but, sadly, I am no better looking .

                                   Yes, that is a beard.  Sensitive skin from the cancer cream.

Kat and I watched Feherty interview Xander Schauffele on The Golf Channel, the other day.  It was one of his better interviews, mostly because Xander was not just a ridiculously good golfer, but he was a polite and honest young man, with a sense of humor.  He was able to be serious about his game, but not too serious about himself.

One segment in particular, really captured my attention.

Xander lives in the San Diego area of California.  He grew up there.  His friends live there.  His family lives there.  And his team lives there.  He was asked if he might move to a more golf and tax friendly area like Florida.

Xander said that he has no plans to do so.  His family and friends were a part of the reason, but at the core, was his team.  Everything that he has accomplished, he said was because of his team.  He loved what they had done for him and what they would do to help him manage his future.  He said he could move and replace them, but he would not do that.  He also said he would not ask any of them to uproot themselves, just to be with him.

His loyalty and love superseded his need for a better list of golf neighbors and a tax haven.  It was so refreshing to hear.  It was never about "me".  Everything he said was "we".  How could you not admire this young man.

And now I want to talk about me. (That was a joke - I could not resist.)

The first thing I need to do is to clarify my cancer situation, as it stands today.  Yes, I still struggle with cancer.  Yes, I have lymphoma.  Yes, I continue to have surgeries and treatments.  But things have changed for me.  Drastically.  These are not problems on the scale of those we have been addressing on my blog.

The big battles have taken place over the last quarter of a century.  I have had, and fought, stage 4 melanoma.  That, my friends, was a death sentence.  It had taken residence in my lungs and almost every critical organ in my body.  It had settled on and under my skin.  I had been told I had less than a year to live, three times.  The last time, my oncologist in Fort Myers, said six months.  My personal life - clock was ticking much faster than most.  Several surgeons, during those years, even refused to operate, because they believed  it to be a waste of their, and my, time.  My survival was not a part of  their expectations.  

Fortunately, I had the great good fortune to also be treated by several excellent human beings.  Doctors, who believed that an answer to my, and others', cancer, lay out there, somewhere.  They viewed their responsibility as keeping me alive, until the miracle appeared.  My job was to suffer cancer's pain and indignities, brought on by the broadest and uncivilized array of chemotherapies and radiation, known to modern medicine.  Those days and weeks and months of treatments, morphed into years.  The greater portion of my life by far, over that period, was stolen by cancer.  

The message was, always, hang on. The cavalry was coming.

It had to be.  I continued to work and play as much as I could.  I sheltered my condition from all but my family and closest friends.  The truth is, those were the darkest of my days.  Too many times, it would have been easier to stop fighting.  To just lie down and let go of life.  Give up.  Living, in its most simple form, was oppressive.

My family and my friends, my team, would not have any of that.  Kath, my girls, and many of you, kept me going, whether or not I wanted to.  When I grew too tired and sick, you never gave up on me.  We fought together.  My life is because of your love.  And your faith.

Some of you have been concerned that these new surgeries are a precursor to a renewal of melanoma.  Let me try to alleviate your worries.

My medical solution for cancer did come to pass, as my oncologists had predicted.  It came in the form of a new immunotherapy drug, created by Britto-Myers Squibb.  Unequivocally, Opdivo saved my life.  It actually cured me.  Multiple melanoma sites were absolutely erased from my internal organs.

The larger phenomenon, as you might remember, was the unexpected sequence of events, that led me to the clinical trial.  They included job, investment and real estate losses.  Home relocations.   An unexpected AVM,  and too many other contrivances worth mentioning.  Too many personal and financial problems colliding, to navigate successfully.

And thanks to your sincere hopes and prayers, our problems became moot.  Our lives became enriched.  We received our miracle.

During our time of waiting on the edge, not knowing if I would survive much longer, other health problems, including skin cancers,  continued to take root and spread, without treatment.

My belief was, that I had enough going on, just trying to live, that I was not going to bombard myself with innumerable surface surgeries, until I knew that I actually was going to live, beyond a few months.  So those cancers, although not life-threatening, continued, unabated.

And that brings us to what we are managing, today, and for the foreseeable future.

Those cancers now need treatment and excision.  I know there is no end in sight.  I have too many areas which need work and I have only so much time to deal with them.

It is amazing how remarkable is the human mind.  I have moved on. Those tortuous times are now a distant memory.  I think of today and tomorrow, and happiness and contentment, simply are. It actually takes some effort to recall just how terrible life was.

And now, despite our success in beating melanoma, we must deal with these more petty concerns.  As trivial as they might seem, in contrast to melanoma, they do take a toll.

Sometimes, I just need a rest.  A respite from the ongoing trips to Moffitt and from wounds that never seem to stop bleeding.  Complaining is not what I do, normally, but, as you can see from last week's pictures, it all is a bit irksome.  We will get over it.

                                                            Beard shaved.  Face naked.

We now have football again.  Thank goodness.  The Kat Lady and I are both fans.  And we are Alabama fans, first and foremost.  Everything looks wonderful, when the season begins.  And we are finally there.  Just listen to this week's song.

It is Labor Day, and Kath is not teaching.  On a day dedicated to labor, there is no work.  Go figure.

Today, life is looking good.  Hope you all are safe (from Dorian) and healthy, and in love.

Until next week

jrobinmullen@gmail.com