3-0...and a first time guest post!

Well, I’ve been able to put it off for a while. I’m the young one—the last to turn 30 among both my brothers and my closest friends.  It’s fun to joke about dreading this milestone birthday. The end of my twenties. Oh no!

Guess what I got in my twenties.

Cancer.

So. Yeah. Giving my thirties a try isn’t sounding so bad.

But no, my twenties were awesome and it’s strange to see them go. An awful lot happened in those 10 years. I lost some amazing people and gained a few more. Lived in a few places, worked a few jobs, enjoyed myself, grew up (though still not enough to think farts aren’t funny).

The last 2 years of my twenties got pretty interesting.  

I’ve written a bit here how for me, while sick, everything felt amplified. The highs were higher, the lows lower, the stress and the emotion and the experiences—it was just a constant state of heightened awareness. Lucky for me, the negative aspect of such an awareness—things like trying to control what I could not, the stress, the uncertainty, the fear—have all faded. The positive aspect of such heightened sensitivity have stuck around. Things like enjoying myself. Taking things slow. Listening instead of talking, being observant. The need to be around people I love. The urge to tell them I do. Interest in embracing new experiences and challenging myself. Nurturing relationships that make me a better, happier person.

I don’t feel like I’m getting old (though the duration of my hangovers begs to differ). I’m not bothered by 30.  The reality is, without being dramatic, while another year is never guaranteed to anyone regardless of circumstance, reaching 30 seemed at times during treatment to be a big hill to climb.

I didn’t think I was going to die—never, but that isn’t the same as knowing 100% that I’d be where I am today: Cancer free, with a new job, new attitude, getting healthy, new hobbies, traveling, spending time with my family and my new family and with a significant other who makes my life infinitely better.

I had to be in Ann Arbor today for an immunization, and before I left I decided to stop in and see if any of my old nurse friends from the Bone Marrow Transplant wing were working. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any familiar faces.

But I saw a familiar room.

7W-47. My home for what was the toughest month, physically, of my life.

I walked around a bit and looked at the patients. It’s a rough place. Knowing that I looked exactly like they all do, felt like they all do, less than a year ago, honestly---well, it’s fucking amazing.

I lost 38 pounds in there in a month (which I quickly gained back but am now shedding so it’s totally cool).

There were a handful of days where I was in bed for 23+ hours. I puked, not exaggerating, probably 25+ times a day. Couldn’t control my bowels a few times. Had more than a few breakdowns and punched more than a few walls (good thing I was really weak and didn’t have to pay for any damage). On some of those days, when you don’t recognize the person in the mirror, the mind can go to some dark places.

Then Emma would show up for a surprise visit and sleep on a tiny, incredibly uncomfortable chair next to me.

My brother Ryan came up from Chicago to do the same.

Adam too.

My dad, countless times.

Emma’s mom sent me countless things to keep my mind occupied. Friends of all kinds showed up.

Messages poured in from around the country.

Nurses and doctors and incredible science and the best support system in the world saved my life.

That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ll be 30 soon.

That’s why I live in a new city. That’s why I found a job that I jump out of bed in the morning for.

That’s why I’m taking care of myself now, doing my part to avoid being sick like that ever again.

hey cool I'm marginally less chubby

That’s why I’m in love. That’s why I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

That’s why I get to write annoying sappy dramatic blog posts about how great everything is (sorry).

So in the end, I guess what I’m saying is, circumstances can change in the blink of an eye—and not always for the worse.

8 months ago I was in 7W-47, and if you strip it all down to what was really happening, I was flipping a coin.

I was having my immune system reset, puking constantly and too weak to move and shitting the bed.

30 seemed a very far off destination then.

Now I can look forward to 60+, a time when shitting the bed will be more acceptable and much less embarrassing.

I love you guys. Here’s to 30 more.

(But seriously why are my hangovers this bad?)

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A guest post from Emma Fernandez, at my request:

As I get closer to moments, moments like birthdays, anniversaries, first time I met you’s--I get nostalgic. I think about the day a year earlier. Where was I? Did I think I would be here? Is it better than I imagined?

The "moment" that has me reflecting is Marcus's big 3-0. I met him when he was 28, rocking a fu manchu at a golf course, blissfully unaware of the hell fire starting in his body. And me, rude and thinking him asking me for my number was some sort of sick prank to end a long shift. But I was wrong and I could not be happier about that.

Our exact conversation:

MARCUS: “uhm I think you’re pretty, can I have your number?”

EMMA: “is this a joke?”

MARCUS: (immediately turns red and covers his fu manchu) “No I am serious, I never do this, and I think you’re pretty”

Fast forward to him turning 29 a year of us sporadically seeing one another, but always keeping tabs on each other. I left a present on his doorstep, full of silly things he craved during treatment. D batteries, for his personal fan. Chewy sprees (cause why do they even make normal sprees?), gatorade, chapstick and a nice note. With no goal in mind, other than letting him know I hadn't forgotten about him.

Maybe I am the silly one, but I love dates (as in Calendar dates). I love remembering them and I make an effort to remember special ones for good and bad reasons. When Marcus and I fell back into one another, before the stem cell transplant process started I started writing. He inspired me to keep track of my thoughts through this process. I was on the outside looking in and I wanted to remember the small moments,  like date nights, cooking together and small moments of normalcy. But all the way up to the big things like the day he started the stem cell transplant to the day he was cancer free. Frankly, it is amazing how raw and personal writing can be. I understand why he writes in this blog, he is just braver than most and shares it publicly.  

Now, he's turning 30. He's kinda sad. But I am ecstatic (I have not told him that). But 30, 30 without cancer, 30 without the stress of his disease, 30 without the fear of the chemo and cancer monsters chewing on him. 30 is a time for him and I to finally relax. The medications worked. The doctors did their job and he is a success story.

Now, we work on the success of us. He got an incredible new job and I have  completed my first year of my masters program.  I am pretty sure 30 is the new 20 anyway? No? Whatever.

One of the best things I ever wrote in my journal, is what I will end my guest post with:

“Nothing will be this hard ever again. But as long as I have Marcus by my side, I’m confident we can make it through just about anything.”

So, Happy Birthday my love and cheers to all that life will bring our way. I am confident the tough stuff is behind us. Lets just have normal problems like cars and fights over who steals the covers.

“We are the master’s of our fate, we are the captains of our soul”

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I'm a lucky dude.

Best looking face-swap couple ever.