I’m Back

Hopefully my last (knock on wood) post involving the c-word

I debated pulling an MJ and leaving it at that. But then I thought better of it and decided to inflict some more of my writing/rambling upon the world. Please don’t hate me.

I’m Alive! (Evidently)

This post wasn’t scheduled or postdated, this is really me (spelled M-Y) typing on this Monday evening, a day after France’s brutal defeat in our own Euro. (Seriously, the one team I rooted against the whole tournament had to go ahead and win it all? But I digress.) Surgery went well, though with some slight complications, such as losing 2 liters of blood (out of a possible 5), which I guess pushed the procedure to last a good 3 hours over the originally scheduled time (to a grand total of 8, for those of you keeping count). I vividly remember the 3 things that went through my mind as I woke up: 1) Please tell me I’m not still in surgery, 2) I’m really itchy right now (apparently opiates can do that to you), and 3) I don’t remember this many tubes in me going in (one word: catheter). Good news was (and I guess the most important), they’d managed to remove the tumor while saving most of my kidney, so win. Oh and yeah, I was alive.

I spent 4 days in the hospital after that, where thankfully I got to enjoy a regular diet right away (none of that hospital jello shit), which still didn’t stop me from taking full advantage of momma’s homemade pho broth *insert raised hands emoji*. Other positive of note: a fat TV from which I could order food and watch the NBA Finals. Negatives: no morphine, as they stuck an epidural in me instead, which along with my large gash (they didn’t do me laparoscopic-style) pretty much made me feel like I’d just given birth, albeit to a very gross tumor (though kinda full circle after that original ultrasound); some nurses that literally made me fear for my life with their sheer incompetence; forced walks before even replenishing my lost blood, after which it doesn’t take a genius to guess how that ended; and constant vitals checks and blood draws (my arms still look like I have a heroin problem).

Then I got sent home, where parents and loved ones took turns nursing me back to health, sometimes forcing me to eat or walk against my own will (how inhumane, amirite?). Remember my Superman complex? Yeah, feeling this helpless definitely didn’t help, though I did learn to science the shit out of leveraging other parts of my body to limit any core activity. I had all these plans for catching up on shows (The People vs. O.J., Silicon Valley), books (Bossypants, Ready Player One) and video games (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Metal Gear Solid V) prior to surgery, but Copa America Centenario and Euro 2016 dikembe’d all that. Probably didn’t help with recovery either, since getting agitated and screaming are apparently not good for my belly.

3 weeks later, I went back to see my oncologist for my post-op. The pathology analysis on my not-so-dearly-departed tumor had confirmed her suspicions: it indeed had 2 of the 4 markers of a benign one (an angiomyolipoma, for those of you interested in that kind of thing). “Fun” fact: the typical “target audience” for this kind of tumor are 40-year old, white women. So, pretty much not me. Although, as a friend of mine pointed out, that might explain my rather exquisite taste in scarves (and all this time, I thought it was due to my frenchiness). Apparently, all through the pathology process, my doctor was hounding them as she was worried it could be a sarcoma, which if you recall, would’ve been the worst case scenario, and would’ve necessitated my losing my whole kidney plus undergoing chemo. Not very reassuring. There is actually still a very small chance of that, with 30 or so cases in all of medicine’s history where it went wrong after the fact, despite those same original results (a very small pool, admittedly). Also, she was very happy she took the tumor out when she did, as given the sheer size of the thing (over 7.5 cm in diameter — that’s about 3 inches for you non-metric system-savvy folks), it could’ve burst at any time, causing an internal bleeding and, well, my not being here typing this up right now. So they’ll keep monitoring me on a regular basis to make sure it doesn’t grow back, or end up being that something else.

Long story short: I should be in the clear now. Cue rejoicing. Crowd breathes a sigh of relief.

The 3Ms (In Case You Forgot)

For all of you who took the time to pay me a hospital and/or house visit, send me flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, donuts, cookies, texts, emails, Facebook/WhatsApp messages — from all over the world: my keeping whatever I had left of mental and emotional sanity, I owe to you. These two words are all I have right now, until I can make it up to you that is, so as overrated as they may be, from the bottom of my heart and soul: thank you.

I do realize I’m one of the lucky ones. I actually beat cancer within a few months and it only took me one surgery, while keeping my hair and organs intact for the most part, and all I got are a couple scars (albeit pretty badass ones) for my troubles. Not to downplay this whole ordeal, but around me I see friends, family, and their loved ones dealing with the same thing I had, sometimes in way worse forms, and it’s almost as if though I have survivor’s guilt for (hopefully) getting mine over with the way I did. I know I had to learn to be a bit more selfish in order to allow myself heal, and that I shouldn’t be comparing cancer stories, but you know, Superman complex and all. I just get even more emotional now every time there’s mention of cancer, whether it’s an ad for the ESPYs with the Jimmy V. award, or for St. Jude’s Hospital with little kids way too young to have to deal with such things. Damn you, empathy.

What Now?

I’ve been back to work, and into the real world, for a week now. I finished up the month where I wasn’t supposed to lift more than 10 pounds (“supposed to” doesn’t mean I didn’t try, as I painfully learned the hard way a couple times), and it‘ll take me another month to finally feel like myself again. Weird thing is, for all the cabin fever and antsiness at getting back into it, the day before heading back in I was truly dreading it. Not just out of laziness (though I must confess, there was a little bit of that), or fear of breaking the routine I’d established by that point — something else felt off to me. Trying to put a finger on it, I realized everything that’s happened to me in the past few months — dealing with the news of my cancer and taking the necessary steps toward getting cured — that had been the main force driving my life up until then. The thought of resuming a normal life just felt so foreign, almost as if I wasn’t yet ready to move on, as if the fact that I’d just survived cancer wasn’t quite real to me yet. Quite frankly, this whole thing still seems like a blur right now. (I actually wanted to put this post up last week before I came back, but this last feeling had been nagging me, and I really wanted to have it nailed down before publishing anything. There may also have been a bit of laziness involved, shut up.)

People have asked me whether I’d done any further evaluating or reflecting during my time out. Honestly, and not to be cocky (for once), none whatsoever. I was solely a man on a mission focused on the recovery step at that point, and was already at peace with who I was, what I’d done and what could happen before the surgery even took place. Although, the added wrinkle now is that a part of me will always think about that sword of Damocles swinging over my head, the “what if the thing comes back, bigger and badder than before?” scenario. Not a particularly healthy way to live life, I know, but in time, I’ll learn to put it aside as well.

Oh and yeah, did I mention badass scars?

Now, what happens to this blog? As I mentioned before, I’ve always enjoyed writing, and not sucked too badly at it. I’d just never found the proper topic to inspire me to sit down and put digital pen to paper on a regular basis. Not that I’m lacking for topics these days. People who know me, know I used to never watch the news. But being cooped up for a month, I kinda didn’t have a choice, and got exposed to all that is fucked up in this world. I do have a lot on my mind, and a lot to say, but I’m not convinced, nor do I have the time and/or patience, to debate common sense on an online platform with *insert hot topic here* nuts hiding behind their keyboards in their grandma’s basement. I guess I could also write about less “controversial” topics, like movies, music, tech, pop culture, or sports. Although, given today’s Internet, see above.

But most of all, I don’t know if I’ll ever write anything as therapeutic, as cathartic, or as introspective as that first post. I guess time will tell, the best inspiration comes from spontaneity, right?