It took several weeks for the shock of the cancer recurrence to wear off. As mentioned, I had an extremely difficult time comprehending the whole situation. After all- prior to finding the tumor, everything had checked out (bloodwork and scans) and I had high hopes for returning to a normal life. I had become complacent, expecting “normalcy”. The recurrence taught me many lessons- the main being that normalcy is a myth. I know longer believe in such a thing; this life is too unpredictable, nothing is a given, and when complacency settles in- it seems life has a way of reminding you not to get too comfortable. After all of my treatments, I was too comfortable with the idea that I was cancer free- expecting to be out and of the woods and done with the disease forever. I was wrong.
After discovering the recurrence, the new plan was to redo radiation. This time, I would go to UCSD 2x/day, once in the early morning (about 6-7 AM), and once in the afternoon (no sooner than 6 hours from the previous appointment). This would usually place me at UCSD around 2 or 3 PM, with enough time to get home and beat traffic! It was a somewhat heavy ordeal, just a lot of driving back and forth from Oceanside to La Jolla, not the worst cruise in the world. The goal of radiation (coupled with oral chemo) was to reduce the size of the tumor so that a surgeon could go back in and remove the disease.
I’ll never forget my first day of the radiation redo. As mentioned, I was an emotional wreck; I was depressed from the relapse news, had no motivation, and really no desire to continue with treatments. It was a dark time with heavy emotions, and it took me all the way up to my first radiation treatment to “wake up”.
It was about 6 AM when I entered the clinic. I checked in and waited, knowing the routine by heart at this point. I heard my name called, and looking up, saw a familiar face. It was nurse Kaytee, she had been one of my radiation nurses the previous year. When I approached Kaytee, I was surprised to see a few tears streaming down her face. She gave me a big hug and told me things would be OK. It was an extremely caring gesture, something I needed in that moment, an act of kindness and compassion that I will never forget. Those are the little things in this life that I value. I believe these little things that add up to make all of this meaningful.
I went with Kaytee and slipped into the ol’ hospital gown and sticky socks. How I hated this damn getup. I waited, thoughts racing through my mind. I wasn’t nervous, just tired. Soon, Kaytee came back to retrieve me and we went into the familiar room with the massive, radiation machine. I looked at the machine and in my head, silently tried to strike up a deal. Hoping that if I was good to it, it would be good to me- destroying every cancer cell that remained in my body. I climbed up on the table as Kaytee handed me the clamshell. I had forgot about that damn thing! I couldn’t imagine struggling with the clamshell 2x/day for 3 weeks, so, in an act of rebellion, I said, “Forget the shell, I’m goin’ balls out”. The reason I made this decision was because prior to starting all of my treatments in Novemeber of ‘17, I had my swimmers frozen as recommended by my doctors. They gave me plenty of warning that it would be possible that the radiation would damage my testicles, frying my sperm, causing infertility. I figured what the hell, I’ve got swimmers in the bank- why bother struggling with this stupid shell for multiple times a day of the course of 3 weeks? The nurses were somewhat surprised by this decision; in fact, they did their due diligence by immediately contacting Dr. S (Radiation oncologist) to confirm that this would be OK. Dr. S gave the green light, and we were free to burn.
I had settled on the machine table when the nurses ensured the proper alignment with the familiar green lasers lined up with the small tats on my hips and lower abdomen. Kaytee confirmed with me, “Tom Petty radio?”, in which I simply shook my head “yes”. As she walked out of the room, “You don’t know how it feels”, began to blast with it’s inviting opening,the harmonica singing and a steady drum beat leading the way. What a fitting song for this moment- in that moment, it felt as if nobody understood, or knew how I was feeling. It felt as if it was me vs. the whole world, with all of the odds stacked against me. I was backed into a corner and there was only one option- fight and claw your way outta there. It became obvious that with cancer, you really don’t have much of a choice. Either fight or lay down and die.
It was at that moment that I finally woke up. As Tom sang his tunes, it struck me that it wasn’t so bad. Of course, I have this disease, and yes- it is aggressive. But as mentioned before- what choice do I have? I had already engaged in a four week pity party for myself, and even that was too much- not usually my style to say boo-hoo and feel sorry for myself. I am not saying bury those emotions- it’s extremely important to feel them out, have a good cry, reflect and reevaluate. What’s more important though, is how we respond to these situations. I had a choice to make- I could keep feeling sorry for myself, or I could buck up and get back to the grind.
The deep rooted hockey mentality took over- “Wake up Flack. Time to get it together and move on. You still got your arms, legs, you’re moving, you can still skate, you got your family”. While Tom was jamming and the machines whirring, I was able to use that time to finally get out of the funk that had overtaken me four weeks prior. After the 15 minute radiation session, I had a new outlook and a jump in my step (even Kaytee made a comment regarding my smile as I left the first treatment!). It was time to move on from the sad spell, count my blessings, find a silver lining, and believe in the good. Cancer sucks, but it had already taken too much from me- it wasn’t about to take my positive outlook as well.
The next three weeks cruised by. I got into the routine of waking up early, driving to UCSD, back to Oceanside, walk Dora and Jax, back to UCSD for round 2, and back up to Oceanside to rest for the evening. I had a great crew of nurses at UCSD taking care of me, and was also in the process of switching my health insurance from Kaiser to United Healthcare (the premiere health insurance offered by my employer). Although switching insurance would cost a pretty penny- it obviously wasn’t the time to be worrying about money. I needed options, and Kaiser wasn’t cutting it. With this new insurance, I’d have the opportunity to visit with essentially any University or Hospital system within the United States. During my course of radiation treatments, I had started researching other hospital systems to transition my care to.
3 weeks later, I was ringing the bell again. It didn’t feel the same; it didn’t feel like I accomplished much of anything. To celly, I brought in a couple of pizzas for the UCSD staff; they were sweet. We concluded my final session and had a slice together. I then said my goodbyes, hoping to never see those people again (the feeling was mutual).
The radiation/chemo had done its job. After about 6 weeks of resting, we conducted another scan to take a look at the disease. The tumor had shrunk significantly, and at this point, it was time to find a new surgeon and healthcare system. After looking at several institutions (MD Anderson Houston, UCLA, City of Hope LA, UC-Davis, and UCSD), I decided to transfer my care to UCSD. It was clear that they were a front runner in cancer research, clinical trials, and overall care/technology. Not only that, but the head surgeon from the colorectal oncology unit was extremely well recognized, having been suggested by two other surgeons I had met. The new year was here, and I was healthy enough to get back into the classroom for a few weeks prior to the next phase- more surgery. The classroom stint was good for the soul- a strong reminder of what I stand for and where I’ve come from. It was refreshing to be with my students and staff again, something I had missed tremendously the previous 12 months.
2018 ended beautifully and ’19 got off to a hot start! First, I flew to Denver to see my sisters, Katy and Kelly. During that time, we my old man flew out and we had a blast; catching a Hawks vs Avs game (Kaner with the OT winner!), and even enjoying some Chicago style pizza at the Giordano’s in downtown Denver. From there,I flew to Chicago to see my mom, Papa, and oldest sister, Megan. We got into all sorts of trouble, bouncing around Naperville and hanging out in the basement. I’m extremely blessed- having a wonderful time with the family, followed up by aunt donating me her vehicle (a gem of a car- 09’ Altima is pristine condition) as The Red Baron had dumped out on me the month before.
The plan was to road trip back to Chicago and continue using the Altima as I kept grinding through treatments. The roadie was set after a solid Target run for snacks, we hit the highway, pigs were tossed and it was off to California with one of my ride or dies (Rock on, Strev.). It was a great trip- we jammed to tunes, listened to some pods, solved the world’s problems and saw beautiful scenery. We hauled straight from Chicago to Denver, spending the night with my sister Kelly, brother in law, Alex, and new little niece, Leila. It was a quick stop, only two days until we were back on the road, California bound. We hauled straight from Denver to Oceanside, a solid 18-20 hour drive. Upon arriving to Oceanside, I took the 5N to Mission Blvd, hopped off at coast highway, and cruised the strand first thing- nothing like a beach cruise to close out the roadie. Soon, I began getting everything in order with the new health insurance and transition to UCSD. In 6-8 weeks, I would be getting back on the operating table, in hopes that my new surgeon would rid my body of cancer- once and for all.
PS- Fun fact from the roadie: We crushed the trip in 2 shifts (Chicago to Denver, then Denver straight to Oceanside). Upon arrival to Oceanside (around 8 PM), I was wired and decided to drive to La Jolla and skate in my men’s league game… Scored 2 beauties and ended up in the ER with a busted lip from a puck to the face. Definitely worth it.
