What Can I Tell You? (Recently Diagnosed)
Originally, I was told the tumor could be removed through surgery alone.
Kori and I were devastated enough from the diagnosis. We’d have to cancel our wedding and one of the most special days of our lives was being replaced by our greatest nightmare. Adjusting to this new reality took everything I had. But we weren't done yet. During the next surgeon's meeting, there was a new face in the room. I wasn't catching on until it was explained this was the oncologist, and a year of intensive chemotherapy was now needed for treatment.
Hearing this in front of my wife and parents was one of the worst moments of my life. Picture that much terror in the room attacking the people you love most while they try to keep calm to protect you. Kori and I needed to regroup and walked to the nearest coffee shop. I had held it together until that point, but waiting on line in front of a group of strangers I went from zero to sixty, bawling my eyes out. I didn't know anything about cancer or these toxic chemicals. Fear was at the top of it's game.
Adding another layer to the chaos, osteosarcoma is normally diagnosed in children and is treated on the Pediatric floor. As I walked the halls and saw infants and young children whose lives had been completely disrupted before they knew what hit them alongside their tortured, helpless parents, I broke down again. It was enough. I wanted OUT.
And that's when I met her. A younger patient who saved the day. Sadly, I forgot her name but she made all the difference. Way more than any instructional guide or article on how to prepare for cancer. She saw me looking like a complete wreck, walked over and assured me that it wasn't as bad as I thought. That I could handle it. Her calming words and reassuring eyes provided a steadying force that I desperately needed. And most importantly, from someone who’d been on the front lines themselves.
At that moment, I found my legs again. I wiped the last few tears from my eyes and hugged my wife, letting her know I was ready. Ready for the beginning of a long journey with ups and downs and every emotion you can think of, all completely amplified.
For anyone recently diagnosed, I'd tell them the same thing that young girl told me. I'd give 'em a great big hug first. I'd remind them you can go down the rabbit holes so easily but to keep yourself surrounded by love. Don't try to figure out how you'll solve each problem or overcome each challenge all at once—life is now one day at a time—let the answers come to you when the moment is right. You won't be perfect because you're human. Be nice to yourself.
And no matter what, always hold your sense of gratitude close. It may be hiding but it's out there, somewhere. And it's life's best medicine.
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