September 18, 2006 was the date of my cancer surgery. The day after the doctors came to my room at
Arrowhead Community Hospital and explained that everything went well. They informed Kim and I that they had taken
out some lymph nodes along with the tumor.
They were going to have them tested to see if the cancer had
spread. That test is very important
because it tells what level that cancer is.
Stage I: Cancer is
contained within the tumor – not spread to other parts of the body.
Stage II&III:
Cancer is larger or has spread to lymph nodes, but not bones or organs.
Stage IV: Cancer has
spread to bones or other organs.
I didn’t know it at the time but stage IV colon cancer has
less than a 50% five year survival rate.
Why five years? Because if you live five years after your cancer and it
returns it is actually a new cancer.
Even thought the mass they removed was the size of “a large
orange.” The doctors believed that there
was a good chance that by cancer was only stage I. However they came back a couple days later to
talk to me again. I remember the doctor
asking if I had any family with me. I
told them they were coming at 3:00. He
said he would be back in surgery then and he looked a little nervous. I got the idea he wanted to tell me something
but was hoping I had a support system around so they would help me deal with
it. I said “The cancer spread didn’t it?”
He said “Yes it did.” Six out of 29 lymph nodes were infected with the
cancer. Diagnosis – Stage III Cancer.
What did that mean?
Chemotherapy
My Chemotherapy was scheduled to last six months. This included eight rounds of sitting in the
hospital getting cancer killing chemicals pumped right into my blood stream,
followed by two weeks of taking chemo pills and then a week off before starting
all over again.
I didn’t lose any hair, and I didn’t get sick every time
(they include anti nausea medicine with the chemo drugs). My major side effect was neuropathy. I had an extreme sensitivity to cold. Any cool weather and my fingers would tingle
like they are falling asleep. Cold
drinks were not happening. During my first
week of the cycle everything I drank had to be warmed up. I usually drank hot chocolate or hot apple
cider. Even room temperature water would make it feel like my lips and throat
were swelling up. It would feel like I
couldn’t breathe. The next week I could
drink room temperature water, and during week three I could put one, only one,
ice cube in my drink. The other side effect was chest pain. I felt like I was
having a heart attack right at the end of each hospital “infusion”
chemotherapy. After the nurses checked
on it the chest pain happens to less than five percent of people receiving my
chemo drugs. Nothing was actually
happening with my heart, but it sure did hurt.
Infusion Day
Most of my chemo was in pill form, but the days I actually went into the
hospital were major events. first of all I was placed in a room with
two recliners.
Usually the other chair was filled with another person fighting cancer. The nurses would set up my IV and start pumping anti-nausea medicine into me. Then they would start the chemo. The whole process took between six to eight hours. I would usually be able to watch TV. However one time my roommate's wife was already watching TV when I arrived. She was watching soap operas - in Spanish! Thankfully my nurses transferred me to another room so I only had to watch for about an hour.
Since the day took so long, they suggested that I bring food to eat while I was there. My Mom, who lived close to the hospital, was always bringing me something to eat. I remember she brought a thermos of tomato soup one time, and a bunch of candy hearts (the ones for valentine's day) another time. I used to love tomato soup, but not any more. I can't stand candy hearts either. It seemed like anything I ate in the oncology room now makes me sick to my stomach. I realized it back then too. I could eat it in the room, but not anytime afterwords. So one time I asked for McDonald's cheeseburgers, but sadly that one didn't work. I still like McDonald's.
Lack of interest?
When you get diagnosed with cancer you find out who your
friends are. It is a major, possibility
life threatening, condition. People are scared for you, and they let you know
they are concerned. People were praying for me all over the world. We had people giving us money, clothes, toys,
gift cards, and helping us in more ways than I could have even imagined. It was so overwhelming I had more friends
than I realized. However by the time I
started chemotherapy (three months later) all of the obsessive love thrown my
way had died down. As I look back at it
there were still plenty of people who loved and cared for us, but because it
was so much less than at first I felt a little sense of loneliness. I include this emotion in my blog because in
talking to other people they have told me they have felt a similar feeling when
going through a major life trauma. I had
to come to the realization that people didn’t necessarily forget about me. They still cared, but of course they had
their day to day lives to deal with. And even though it didn't seem like as much we still had help.
Help, help and more help
The kids were not allowed near the oncology department, not even in the waiting room. It is a bad thing for anyone going through chemo to get sick. So the kids germs needed to stay far away. My parents and Kim's parents were always willing to keep our three kidos with them, or drive me to my treatments so that Kim could be with our little ones. They were ready to help in any other way that they could.
I was on disability during my chemotherapy, but that didn't cover all of our bills and our friends the Don and Sherri Castle sent even more money our way. I am probably forgetting some people because it has been a while now. But through it all I can definitely see the had of God working through my friends and family to show how much He loves me. Seeing that now is what makes this next paragraph seem so strange.
God will provide
I remember driving to one of my last chemotherapy appointments with my Dad. My disability was about to end and I would be able to go back to work. However the job I was working was really kind of a stop gap job. It didn't provide an awful lot for my family and I was beginning to worry about how I was going to make ends meet. My Dad stopped me and said "Really? After all you have seen God do for you through your cancer crisis (and He has done A LOT - read the previous blog entry). You are worried that God can't provide for you when things get back to normal?"
Those may not have been his exact words, but that was the idea. God is amazing. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. He holds the whole world in His hands, and He cares about you and me. He took care of me during that time of crisis in my life, and He is still taking car of me today!
I am glad God saw me through my cancer, and I am glad I can trust Him with my life, but I am even more excited to know that when I die he will still be taking care of me. John 3:16 tells me that God gave His only son to die so that you and I could be with Him forever in heaven: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."

