How the hell did I get Cancer?
In October of 2009, my wife, who cuts my hair, noticed that the mole on the crown of my head “ just did not look right” and told me to please go see a dermatologist asap.
Who out there is married? Children? One of the things I want to share, and I hope hits home, is that melanoma is becoming a young person’s disease. New studies shows the number of melanomas found among women under 40 years old increased more than eight-fold between the 1970s and 2000s. Cases of melanoma among men under 40 also increased more than fourfold during the same time period.
I point this out in conjunction with that fact that when my doctors at MD Anderson looked me over, we all agreed I did NOT have many of the risk factors. I am not particularly fair skinned. I do not have a preponderance of moles. I always had a lot of hair and wore hats all the time — and I still got cancer.
At any rate, I went to the dermatologist, and she removed a significant chunk of my head for biopsy. Despite her calm demeanor, I do not think it came as much of surprise to her when the biopsy results came back positive for malignant melanoma — and, to make matters even worse, there was evidence that the cancerous cells had moved to my lymph nodes.
I was very lucky to have a father who is a physician and who lived in Houston, TX. I suspect he pulled some strings to get me into MD Anderson, and about 3 days after my diagnosis I was on my way to Houston.
The standard course of treatment for someone with my stage of disease in 2009 was surgery followed by radiation and then a year of interferon-alpha. One of the curious things about melanoma is that it seems to be vulnerable to the body’s own immune system. The theory was that hyper-charging the patient’s immune system could slow the disease and potentially create an ongoing autoimmune response to fight off any re-occurrence. The radiation, they warned me, would do a number on my hair. Indeed, I have a permanent and large bald spot that, even in progressive Athens, GA, is a little out there in terms of haircuts.
If you have read this far, then you have to be ready for some of grimmer aspects of my story. Interferon makes you feel like you have the flu, except my ‘flu’ lasted for a whole year. It is given in two rounds. First, a high dose delivered by IV five days a week for a month. Everyday I showed up at the cancer care clinic here in Athens and sat in chair for about 6 hours while I got pumped full of 1 to 2 L of saline (to stave off the dehydration) followed by Anzemet for nausea and Benadryl to relax me. After all of that, I finally got the Interferon.
God knows, I hated those damn chairs.
In the second round, I got the low-dose Interferon. Three times a week for more than a year, I gave myself an injection of what became known in my house as “The Grump”. Then I would tuck my kids into bed, take some Tylenol, and try to sleep through as much of the hellish side effects as possible. If you want to give someone a good reason not to go to the tanning bed, show ‘em what a year of medical waste from Interferon injections looks like.
Everyone preps you for how rough the treatments will be, but the intensity of suffering truly cannot be described. I do know that only about 65% of patients finish a full course of treatment. I think trying to maintain an active lifestyle helped with the fatigue and at least gave me some quality sleep. But even the best days were still pretty bad.
And so here I am in 2016 — nearly 7 years later. This is what I know and what I want to tell others. Cancer takes. It takes your dignity. It takes your patience and your sense of control over your body and your life. In the dark places of my mind, I worry that it has halted my career and maybe lurks in my children’s DNA. I don’t want to be a ‘Special Circumstance’ on their application to college. I want more birthdays…and pretzels (more to follow on this in a later post).
It tries to take your Hope. That is where I said, ‘No, I am sorry, but I choose to take that back.’ And so we fight back. We fight like hell is banging on our front door. And then we fight some more.
As you might have guessed, I like to ride a bike — a lot. It absolutely saved my sanity during treatment. So when some good friends introduced me to Pelotonia, it seemed so natural. Two days, 180 miles of riding, and every cent raised goes to help people like me or who might be like me someday. Bring it on.
So please follow our little train of cancer warriors as we strive again to help take the fight to cancer. Learn more about us at www.pelotonia.org/georgia or visit my personal site www.pelotonia.org/carabello1014
More will follow — so stay tuned! @GeorgiaMidnight
