Since shortly after my cancer diagnosis, I have run into a number of friends that I have not seen or heard from in a while. Perhaps at any other time in my life, I would have chalked those encounters up to happenstance or accident. However, now I see them as little miracles granted to me to find strength, hope, and encouragement.

I am eternally grateful for my family and friends (some recently rediscovered) to help me along this journey.

Ready, set, chemo!

Successful port placement in my chest, on the right side just below my clavicle bone. First chemo session pending…

After weeks of talking about it, tomorrow treatment begins. That isn’t to say that I have already started my path to recovery.

Some may joke and deride the notion of, “thoughts and prayers” as a fruitless means to overcome trials and heartache. That is not true (fake news!). I can tell you that the prayers and positive affirmations and fasting and hope from others have given me strength and already intervened to fight back against my cancer.

Following my initial diagnosis, my medical oncologist and surgical oncologist laid out a treatment plan centered around me having Stage III or possibly Stage IV cancer. Given the size of the tumor in my stomach its location, and results of my initial CT scan showing possible thickening of part of my small intestines, either of those two stages was the most likely scenario.

The doctor’s pressed for an additional endoscopy, with an ultrasound, additional lymph node biopsies, and probe into my small intestines, in order to establish the staging and refine my treatment plan. The initial plan revolved around perioperative chemotherapy, meaning: chemo-stomach surgery-chemo. Since I am relatively young (the average age of stomach cancer diagnosis is 68 years old) and that I am relatively fit (don’t judge me by my last marathon finish time…but I did score 99.8 out of 100 on my last Air Force Physical Fitness Assessment!).

With Stage III or Stage IV as the most likely prognosis, in addition to the more invasive endoscopy to see the inside of my stomach, I was scheduled for a laparoscopy wherein the surgical oncologist would check the outside of my stomach and adjacent organs and lymph nodes for signs of cancer.

I had the more thorough endoscopy a couple days after my first meeting with the medical oncologist. In addition to the preoperative treatment plan, the doctor set me up for genetic testing and chemotherapy orientation to be completed when I had the endoscopy results and we could meet again to discuss what was seen. I was scheduled to do all this back-to-back-to-back.

I endured the extensive blood work for the genetic testing and sat shocked and apprehensive during the chem class. But then came the follow-up visit with the doc.

As my wife and I sat in the doctor’s little office, the first words out of his mouth were, “we [referring to my treatment team of oncologists and GI doctors] are amazed at what your endoscopy revealed! Where we expected greater depth and diffusion of the tumor [given its present size], we just don’t see the cancer there. The cancer has not spread to my small intestines, either. And after going back-and-forth amongst the team, we are diagnosing you at Stage II cancer.” The primary care plan of perioperative treatment was still to be followed, but there was no need for the laparoscopy. I would need to get a chemo port placed in my chest so I can start chemo sooner than anticipated.

Now returning to the matter of “thoughts and prayers.” In the moment the doctor uttered those words, both Patty and I knew that this diagnosis was made possible by the overwhelming out pouring of love, support, encouragement, and “thoughts and prayers” and fasting from family, friends, co-workers, and our church members.

As I write this, I am preparing for my port placement. I start chemo tomorrow. I move forward with gratitude in my heart for all those who support me and offer hope and encouragement on this journey. I know my treatment will not be easy, but I have the “thoughts and prayers” of so many that I know I will not be alone.

How? How was it that I got cancer? I really don’t have an answer for for that question.

It could have been genetic. It could have been environmental. Or it could have been [insert your own theory here or leave a comment with astute speculation].

Regardless, the “how” has become less important as I focus on overcoming the “what”: Stage II Gastric Cancer. However, I do find it cathartic to document the process that got me to this point.

I was born under a full moon in August of 1973…ok, I am not going to go back that far.

For the past couple of years, I have been dealing with stomach pain and discomfort. Patty and I thought I might be gluten- or lactose intolerance. The symptoms were never severe enough, though, to go see a doctor. That all changed this past January.

I had just completed a marathon (I don’t want to talk about my time…it wasn’t my best). In the post celebration activities, I got a spicy chicken waffle sandwich. Within minutes of eating that abomination delectable concoction, I began to experience the worst heartburn of my life. The burning persisted all night and into the next month.

I, like most men, am pretty stubborn. I think it was by my third bottle of Tums and countless doses of Pepto Bismol – chased with an occasional shot of Milk of Magnesia – that I figured I better go see a doctor. It also didn’t help that about the only thing I could eat without getting heart burns was white rice.

The first Dr appointment ended with me getting a prescription to Prilosec – a common antacid medication. And a recommendation to go to Walter Reed or Ft. Belvoir to get tested for something called H. Pylori…a stomach bacteria known to cause, amongst other things, ulcers and reflux pain.

The Prilosec helped a little. I didn’t go get the bacteria test because I would need to be off the meds for a couple of weeks for the test to be effective. But when the intensity of the heart burn returned a few weeks later, I went back to the Dr. This time I was given a stronger antacid medication called Protonic. I asked how long I would need to take the meds. When the Dr told me it my be for the rest of my life, I asked if there was some way to see what was going on in my belly…I didn’t want to have to take antacid pills for the rest of my life. The Dr gave me a referral to get an Endoscopy so a GI specialist could take a look and see what was going on; as a bonus, they could conduct the H. Pylori test while exploring my innards.

Fast forward six weeks or so, I finally got into the Ft. Belvoir hospital. I was hesitant to complete the Endoscopy as the Protonic med was working pretty good. Of course, I didn’t want to have to keep taking it, so it was swallow-the-camera time!

The procedure went well. I was sedated and really don’t remember anything after being wheeled into the room. The next thing I knew, Patty and Ian were in the recovery area and the nurse said I could get dressed when I felt I could get out of the bed.

After I was dressed, we asked the nurse if there was anything else we needed to do. She said, “No,” and that I could leave. We assumed the Dr would have come into the room if there was an issue and would just call with the results in a couple of days.

We had just gotten to our car when my cell phone rang. It was the Dr asking why we left and that she need me to come back to talk. As we sat in her office, the furthest thing from my mind was what came out of her mouth.

“We found something during the Endoscopy. The cancer, I mean, the growth is around an ulcer. We did a biopsy, but it won’t be back for a week. I need to go to the lab for blood work and then go get a CAT scan. If the biopsy comes back as positive, we’ll have to transfer you to Walter Reed for immediate care. If it is negative, we’ll meet to discuss care options.”

The gravity of the situation hit us both, leaving us near speechless and suddenly filled with dread. As we jumped around the hospital from test to test, we had to find someone to take care of Scarlett who was just getting home from school.

By the time we finished all the testing, the hospital day staff was going home. We couldn’t find the Dr anywhere. Luckily, while leaving the GI section, we bumped into her in the hallway.

“What do we do next?” Wait…that is all we could do for now.

A few days later, the Dr called to say the CAT came back clean. No cancer or tumors in any other part of my body. She concluded saying that the biopsy should be back any day now.

I felt so relieved after that call. So did Patty. It was short lived, though.

Work required me to travel to Colorado for a 1-day conference. I left the day I received the news about the CAT scan. Upon my return back home I received a call while at the Denver airport. The Dr reminded me of the post-Endoscopy discussion. Without saying that I have cancer, she simply stated that she has referred my case to Walter Reed and a medical oncologist and surgical oncologist would be calling me soon.

May 23, 2019. The day I became a cancer patient. The day I started to become a survivor. Follow my journey at twentythreefive.

“I heard the news today
It came out of nowhere
I wish I could run away
But where would I go?
Is this my destiny?
Something so unfair…
What will become of me?
God only knows…”

From Wideawake – “Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow”