Okay, I officially became a triple-crown winner this week. Chemo, surgery, and radiation in a single year. If I can squeeze in a quick clinical trial or maybe some immunotherapy or something, I think I get a free set of grill utensils. I got zapped Monday, Wednesday, and yesterday. I go in again next week to have the chemo port taken out of my chest. I’m looking forward to the port removal because 1. It’s fun giving the surgeon unwanted advice while under the influence of fentanyl; and 2. For the past year, whenever Tegan hugs me, her head smacks right into the ping pong ball-sized lump and it kinda hurts.
As for the radiation, the physical part wasn’t bad. So far, no significant side effects other than I have a weird kinda neon green glow (that may just be the Diet Mountain Dew) and I’m tired (uhhh, we all are dude, so please stop bitching). The biggest challenge was laying PERFECTLY still for 45 minutes on a table in a sealed room (I’m talking like foot-thick-blast-doors-kinda-sealed) while a giant robot the size of my pickup truck moved around me shooting toxic beams within 1 mm of my spinal cord. They gave me the option to be strapped down. Not exactly a “would you like some fresh ground pepper on your salad?” type of offer. I declined. The whole thing definitely had an alien-abduction vibe to it, and honestly, staring up at that robot knowing you can’t move … I could see how someone might just freak out on the table.
As for mental/emotional challenges … well, I have to say they’ve been legit this past week—definitely had some dark moments. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just being back in the hospital for treatments. I can game-face it when it’s go-time, but it’s been tougher than I thought it’d be. Also, fall is one of my favorite times of the year, but the change in the weather, putting on the same clothes I wore this time last year, etc., has triggered a whole lot of baggage from when all this started. The first time I put on sweatpants and a long-sleeve t-shirt, I wanted to puke, in fact (no exaggeration). I think I’m gonna have to light a clothes burn-pile out back …
Let it be said, that although I’m complaining my ass off thus far in this post, I’m crazy grateful for where I’m at. I had a plan last week—some things I wanted to accomplish before this week of radiation. I wanted to hit 40 miles of running, walking, and mountain biking for the week and also knock off a timed mile in the 7s. My “mileage weeks” end at 11:59pm on Saturdays, and at 6pm last Saturday I realized I still needed about 7 miles to hit 40 for the week (I’d been slacking). So, I texted Frankie Two Phones, and he met me out by the mailboxes. We walked 4.5. Then we threw on headlamps and hopped on the bikes and road another quick 2.5 to get to 40 (thanks brother). Then, Sunday morning I went to the track at Valley, stretched and walked a warm-up mile. It was windy as hell and my legs were kinda dead from the previous day. But it was the perfect setup otherwise: sunny and about 55 degrees, and I had the entire stadium to myself. Just me and my imaginary Usain Bolt. I held a 7:20 pace the first ¼ mile, dropped to a 7:40 by a ½ mile, then 7:55 with one lap to go. I headed into the last turn (final 100 meters) right at an 8-minute overall pace. I had the 7s in the bag with a little push, but I knew I was redlining the engine already. For the first time all summer (now fall), I listened to my body. I dialed back and finished with an 8:05. It’s all relative. That would have been an incredibly slow mile time 2 years ago, but it was the fastest mile I’ve run in a year. I’ll take it, for now. (Plus, I had a coughing fit after finishing and almost upchucked, so clearly, I made the right decision.)
I was driving Graber to school the other day, and I started talking about things I’ve learned the past year (he was somehow not rolling his eyes—good kid). I told him I’d learned there is nothing more soul-crushing for the human spirit than feeling sorry for oneself. We all do it at times (I am a trained professional, in fact), but it is an absolute waste of living moments you will simply never get back. Self-pity, fear, anxiety, regret, anger, negativity—they’re all every bit as deadly as cancer and the chemotherapy and radiation and surgeries we use to try and treat it. Of course, these are all just inspirational words until we live them. It ain’t always easy—I know some days I really gotta grind it out, and some days I just fail. But whatever we’re going through, we have to keep fighting—if we’re not throwing punches, there’s a good chance we’re eating punches ourselves. For me, throwing punches means running, riding, working, writing, and laughing with and loving fam and friends. And above all, we gotta keep the faith, of course. I was texting with a buddy the other night, and I hit him up with some anger and frustration. He texted back something very simple that smacked me right between the eyes. Something to the effect of, “God has brought you this far buddy, He is not abandoning you now.” Thanks for reminding me of who’s in charge Bryan F.
Before I forget, speaking of young Graber, shout out to my absolute main man on this planet. A year ago, I actually wondered if I’d ever get to see another football game live, let alone see Graber play again. Monday night, after 2 major knee injuries/surgeries/rehabs in 5 years, and 2 years since he’s been fully cleared to play, #43/49 took the field again. He’s had a lot of awesome highlights over the years, but seeing him line up at middle linebacker, blitz, and bury the quarterback Monday night was one of my all-time favorite moments. God bless you kid. You should be the one giving speeches to me.
Finally, prayers up please for Anne and Francis (aka Frankie Two Phones). It’s no exaggeration to say they have been our rocks the past year. They have been there every single step of the way for our family. The day I got my very first scan and found out I was in trouble, Francis dropped what he was doing and drove a copy to Georgetown for me. A few weeks later, Anne was giving me a spreadsheet ranking the top cancer centers in the country, complete with contact info and driving times. Now that I think of it, Anne’s actually the one who set up the CB site for me. Francis escorted me to NYC for my first appointments, then drove up there again in April during my surgery, while Anne backed up our kids at home. They have both been there every time we’ve needed anything, large or small. And they have both absorbed more than a few of our tears, lighted a lot of smiles and laughs, and been a steady, calming, positive presence for our entire family—an invaluable blessing. As I’m sure everyone reading this knows, Anne’s dad, General Powell, passed away early Monday morning. A great loss for all of us quite frankly, but prayers up for Anne and the rest of Powell/Lyons family who are grieving the loss of a wonderful husband, dad, and “Poppy.”
Okay, I should be in the clear for a bit (scans again in a few months) after I get the port removed Wednesday, but we’ll keep you posted if anything changes. In the meantime, I’ve got a few digressions I may want to get out there … Until then, once again, thanks for all the prayers and support folks! God bless, and peace out …