Every end has a beginning, and just after 11 AM on the 26th of April, 2010, Lib and I sat in a room that we’ve sat in before. But this time it was different-
Time after time you are told that you will get through it; one day at a time; it’s a marathon not a sprint. All good intentions aside- all hope aside- these are not words of inspiration when I would wake up puking, puking, puking and Lib would jolt awake from sleep and replace my puke buckets dutifully after each round of heaves. She would trudge to the tub, wash them out (they are never again clean after that putrid acid first hits the plastic) and bring them back for round two (or round 30, or round 40) before falling into the restless sleep that was unhealthy and unrelenting.
Time after time I tell people that they will get through it; one day at a time; it’s a marathon not a sprint. I have good intentions. I hope these words offer inspiration or at the very least hope. Yet this sick mutation of cells rages on ravaging those innocent kids and families around the world. Is it a monster? Is it a curse? Is it a sign? Is it a test? It is ALL of these things, but why?
I stopped asking why during the first moment of clarity I had through all the meds being forced through my skin and into my veins back in 2005. You can’t win a psychological battle of blame; transferring the immense pain, torture, illness, grief and guilt to someone (or something) else won’t get me back to my family as the husband, son, brother, uncle, cousin, nephew and friend that faced death. We all faced death. I stared at my leg that was up in a sling with a screw twisted through my flesh and bone for months on end. I knew I would NEVER take another step on that leg. It gave me hope that maybe, possibly I would save it… but the leg never mattered. It was all for my life. The leg never really mattered, no matter how much we projected our worry over that insignificant bit of my body. We fought day in and day out for the chance to experience graduations, weddings, births, new pets, grill-outs, vacations and all the great moments we have with our loved ones.
Throughout the struggle we lived by the ‘definitely, maybe’ prognosis. “Steve, you definitely maybe will save your leg. You definitely maybe will get chemo on Monday. You definitely maybe will get discharged by 2pm. You definitely maybe will walk at your wedding. You definitely maybe will get married. You definitely maybe will see your parent’s 40th wedding anniversary. You definitely maybe will become a father. You definitely maybe will actually be able to live the life that you want to give to Lib and the rest of your family. Well, I have DEFINITELY maybe won this round. We lost blood, a limb, innocence, tears, weight, time, youth, opportunities, sleep and even hope.
I hurt and yearn for the families of all the cancer-angels that fought and fought only to be unjustly taken from the Earth. What’s left of me will always be fighting alongside and willing those warriors in battle to deal the final blow to their own disease. Some will and some won’t.
Just after 11 AM, Dr. Brenda Weigel walked into the room and said the scans look amazing. Nothing there. I am now cancer free and we are looking towards heading off any of the side effects that will plague me for the rest of my life. They are moving me to long term care. My physical heart has been weakened and from this day forward will be the focus of my health…but my REAL heart has never been stronger or more full of life. Osteo has been stricken from the top of my list. Or as I like to think, it was beheaded with a rusty blade and buried in a shallow grave.
Become. Stronger. Juggernaut.
We, the Juggernaut, are ready for the next challenge.
ONWARD.
SDS, ERS
( & the Symons Six+ )
s+l, philly pa, 2007
