Forgotten anniversary

It just occurred to me that I forgot an anniversary. 

May 15th, 2014 was the day I was sent to the ER and learned there was a massive growth in my chest. There was still a ton of uncertainty at that point, but that was the day this whole saga started. 

I started the blog with the first chemo treatment, so I don't think I've ever told this story. 

I had a persistent cough for a couple months that I, being the bonehead that I am, ignored. For three days prior to going to the hospital, I started having some severe chest/side pains. It felt exactly what I imagine being stabbed would feel like. 

 I visited a nearby Urgent Care once, thinking it was just a pulled muscle, and they sent me home with some muscle relaxers--which did nothing. I was still living with my then-ex girlfriend at the time (long story), and I kept waking her up in the other room with my gasping. 

I didn't sleep a wink for 3 nights straight, rolling around, just trying to find a position that I could breathe in--let alone sleep. Sitting upright helped, but it became clear that something more serious was happening. 

While working the next day (the 15th), I reached a point where I couldn't handle it any longer and raced over to a different Urgent Care that I knew had an X-ray machine. They got me in quickly and took some X-rays. I'll never forget the look on the doctors face as she looked at the pictures. Shocked, I suppose would be the word to describe it. Panic started to set in for me. 

A nurse was sent in immediately to hook me up to an EKG--in an X-ray, a growth in the chest shows up like a shadow, not in the detail a CT or PET scan supplies, so knowing my family history of heart disease, she thought I had a massively enlarged heart. She called an ambulance without telling me. The EKG came back normal, but extremely rapid (I was freaking out). 

Because the EKG showed a normal rhythm, I was able to tell her to call off the ambulance and that I wanted to drive myself. I had a sign a handful of waivers, and it was off to the ER I went. 

I remember that short drive well. I called my Dad, told him where I was going and to meet me there. I spent the rest of the time having this really weird internal conversation. 

"It's probably nothing. Just relax. But what if you're dying? No, no, no...it's probably nothing. Jesus my heart is beating fast. Listen to some music. Nope, turn it off. Calm down, weirdo. Quit being such a candy ass. It's probably just something wrong with the X-ray." And on it went. Shocker--it didn't do much to calm me down. 

The good news is, when you show up to the ER with a copy of an EKG in your hand and complaints of chest pains with a family history of heart disease--they don't keep you waiting long, at least not in the waiting room. They got me back pretty quickly, and after hooking me up/seeing this was not a heart issue at all, I waited for the CT scan. 

Having done countless scans of this type since, it feels silly now, but I remember it being terrifying. Claustrophobia set in, it's a quiet room until the machine makes strange noises. I mean, 45 minutes ago I was at work and nothing was wrong...what the hell am I doing in this thing? I was in the best shape I had been in for a long time at that point--none of it made sense to me. Finally, they wheeled me back to my room, and I waited on the doctor. 

He arrived. 

"Good news--it's not your heart. Bad news, you have a very large growth in the middle of your chest...most likely a Thymoma or Lymphoma of some kind. These are treatable, if they are cancerous though. So you should be okay."

Wait wait wait. What? 

"Yes, a rather large growth. Possibly cancerous, in the middle of your chest. We're going to admit you overnight to monitor you, and schedule a biopsy soon."

What I said: "Oh okay, Thank you Doctor. 

What I wanted to say:

It had never occurred to me that cancer was even possible until that moment. That's something that happens to older folks. Unlucky folks. Not to young men. This guy is a quack. He doesn't know what he's talking about. 

Total denial. A state of denial that would remain until 7 days after my operation to remove the tumor, which didn't happen until August 14th, when I was officially diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. 

The story itself isn't all that interesting as I re-read it, so, sorry about that. What is interesting to me is how I can remember everything, down to the smallest detail, about that day. I know what I was wearing. I remember the feeling of my heart beating out of my chest. Remember my Doctor's weird goatee. I remember a ringing in my ears when he told me what the CT showed. I remember the smell of the room. A flickering fluorescent bulb in there that needed replaced. I remember calling my ex to ask her to bring me some things since I was going to have to stay overnight, but she had some wine and couldn't drive, so she packed a bag for me and left it for my Dad to go grab. I remember snarling at this poor doctor who woke me up at like 3:30 to check on me during his rounds (I'm a bit of a monster in the morning). I remember that the next day, the first thing I did when I was discharged was walk to a bar across the street from the hospital where some buddies were, and I attempted so hard to act normal. To just morph back into the reality of the day before. Ignore what had transpired in the past 24. 

Nothing to see here, guys--pass me the pitcher. 

The other thing that blows my mind about this story is how severe the pain I was experiencing was before I went in. It was crippling. I've had numerous sports injuries, though few were serious, and this was like nothing I had ever felt. 

Then, all of a sudden, once diagnosed...the pain disappeared. Gone. Hasn't returned. 

I've experienced more like this in the past year--the body kind of "taking over." I had the cough for a couple months that I ignored, and it was as if my body had enough of my shit, and just took control. 

"Okay, dipshit. You can ignore a cough. Try ignoring this. Take your ass to the hospital...there are some things going on in here and none of them are good."

It's a strange thought, I know. Still, I can't find another explanation for why a pain so severe would just disappear like that--other than that my body had taken over, forced me in there, and forced my mind to learn/accept that I needed help. 

John Mayer told me my body is a wonderland, and HE WAS RIGHT. 

I supposed I've rambled long enough. So much has happened since last May 15th. Had a major operation. Was a Best Man in a wedding. Up and down the emotional roller coaster and time in and out of hospitals. Work. Spartans. 6 months of Chemo. I started a blog...which on May 15th, 2014 would have been an insane idea to me. 

People have come and gone from my life. 

I've experienced every possible emotion. Smiled, laughed, cried, punched walls, puked, been anxious, furious, sad, I've screamed. It's been a full year. A year I'm lucky to have had. 

A good year. Yeah, that sounds crazy. It has been, though. I'm still here, and I know some people who aren't. 

It feels like yesterday that this all started, and I might still have a long way to go. 

So here's to getting to May 15th, 2016--and being cancer free by then. 

And if not, then I can write another obnoxiously long winded uninteresting blog post recapping the last year. 

Lucky you. 

This has no reason to be here other than that it's hilarious.