Love Strong, Livestrong

One Year.

2013-01-21T13:06:00.001-08:00

One Year.

One year ago I was 10-15 pounds under my current weight, I was puking every other hour, could not walk up one flight of stairs without having to stop to catch my breath, had no hair, most of the time could not collect my thoughts long enough to write or speak a legible sentence, would get frustrated with the general public over nothing (that has not changed much), every other week was getting poison pumped into my body for 5 days straight for 4-6 hours at a time, slept 1-2 hours a day, was taking synthetic THC due to Utah’s absurdly dumb drug laws, could not ski more than 2-3 runs without puking and almost passing out from exhaustion, faked being happy to keep my family and friends from worrying more than they already were, had an empty ball sack, Lance Armstrong still had 7 Tour de France titles, and I beat the shit out of cancer. It was the best experience of my entire life.

Since that time in my life I have taken on a different career path, married the woman of my dreams, inherited a new Polish family, surfed in Mexico and Hawaii, got a prosthetic testicle (the ball sack is no longer empty), bought a condo, skied in the Italian Alps (like 3 days ago, y'all), have surgery every 4 months to get my testosterone implanted, currently traveling throughout Europe for the first time with my wife and her family that lives here, and I have lived. I am very much alive today… and I plan to stay that way for quite some time.

Kasia brought it to my attention this morning that it had been one year since I had rang the bell in celebration of my last chemo treatment. I have been fairly emotional since that time and spite her for bringing it up. As soon as she reminded me of the occasion I was brought back to all of the emotions of calling my parents and siblings to utter the words, “I’m done.” Those words to this day are the most profound and emotionally exhausting thing I have ever done.

My life has become a storybook of recovery and happiness. Not one day, hour, or minute goes by without reflecting on how lucky and blessed I am to get through the whole ordeal as well as have the opportunity to go through it. After my first bout with cancer I was very much not the grown up, responsible, understanding, and grateful human I am today… I can hear my family snickering as they read this. But I honestly believe that about 20% of that sentence is true.

When I was done with my first cancer I did not know how, nor would I take the advice, to move on. Cancer survivors are remarkable humans and during their fight they are told every single day how wonderful and inspiring they are to everyone. You are the center of the universe to your family and close friends…. People rally around you and cheer you on as if you are a hero, and you are. But then, almost directly after it ends and you have finished your incredible superhero journey of battling the worst villain since Bain (watch Batman dumbies), it ends. And if you don’t know how to deal with that experience, or in my case don’t take the advice given to you, it can have an adverse effect on your life. Where did everyone go? Why aren’t people providing me with presents? I effing love presents. Where is my loyal liege of adoring fans? They are gone. Elated that you had beat the villain but not there to tell you everyday how inspiring you are to them… it can be extremely difficult to deal with. And due to me not dealing correctly the first time I turned to partying harder than I ever had, lying, scared the hell out of my parents (my mom at one point sat me down and asked what illegal drugs I was on…. I wasn’t on any but now understand how she would think that), and not representing myself and family the way I was raised. I scoffed at the idea that somehow I was acting immature. I deserved to be this party animal and because I had beaten cancer it was ok to lie to my friends and family, as well as my college professors about the state I was in. Which was completely healthy. To get a better understanding I once told a professor that I was suffering complications from cancer to get a better grade. It worked. But now I feel terrible about it… I mean, not terrible enough to call up Utah State and tell them I lied to get a better grade in my class. But you know, I feel bad.

One day I woke up and realized what I had become and it hit me like a tidal wave. I was not the person I wanted to be… and I would do everything in my power to make sure I would not become that person again. I could no longer use cancer as a reason for me being a bad person. It had to end. This is not the first time I have had to admit that… I had to admit it to my family and friends so I could get their trust back. One of my best friends, Kyle Price, said a couple years ago that he had lots of friends with issues, “most of them had problem with drugs, you had a problem with lying.” We laughed, but he was 100% correct. Lying was my drug and I used cancer as my excuse.

I am not writing this down to come clean to everyone, mostly everyone I needed to come clean to, minus my professors and possibly a few girls in college, I have. I am writing it because I have seen this happen with many a cancer survivor and/or people who have gone through a life altering, death defying experience. The after effect of not being the center of the universe is an uneasy feeling that most people do not know how to handle. I can tell you now the best way to deal is with grace, humility and thankfulness. You are not the center of the universe… in fact, you never were. Believe me, while you were laying in a hospital bed people (including family) were going out with their friends, people were shagging, shopping, laughing, making breakfast, singing at the top of their lungs their favorite songs, playing sports, and overall living and going along with their lives. And yes, you are remarkable and people recognize it, but you do not need to bring it to their attention. I mean, Shadow did and does still think I am the center of the universe and that is pretty radical, so if you need that attention… get a damn dog. She won’t be as great as Shadow but you can do your best.

Lance Armstrong could have used a dog. Mr. Armstrong might be the poster boy for the above mentioned issue. This chapter is most likely in a response to Lance finding his head and screwing it on straight after years of lying and trying to stay the center of attention. But before I go any further let me make myself perfectly clear… He is my hero. With all of his faults and the terrible things he did to people who tried to help him and make him come clean, he is still my hero. It may be my apathy for a fellow cancer victim and liar, but I would most likely not be here writing this blog if it was not for the work he did for cancer treatment and awareness. As evident by my blog, Livestrong is not just a cool bracelet I have worn on my wrist since the day my brother, Derek, took me to the Nike store to buy one almost immediately after being diagnosed with cancer in 2004. It is a motto I will live by the rest of my life. If you think you know the story of Lance and have written him off as just a terrible person please take into consideration what he has done for hundreds of millions of people. Including yours truly. Saved their lives, put families back together, helped pay for treatment, spearheaded new treatment methods that made, most notably, my type of cancer go from an 80% death rate to above 90% cure rate. Lance was diagnosed with testicular, lung, and brain cancer all at the same time. He was given less than 1% chance of living as his body and brain was littered with cancerous tumors. Almost every doctor he met with told him that treating it might not be worth it, and to live out the rest of his life in the most comfortable way possible… which would be not fighting the disease and giving up. Giving up was not a phrase that Lance understood and after finding two doctors at Indiana University that agreed with him that giving up was not an option they started radical treatments that were unheard of in the fight against cancer. And because of their work and Armstrong’s will to live I am here today. In fact, my mother, who also does not know the meaning of the phrase “Give Up,” took me to Indiana University to be treated by the exact same doctor. So yes, Lance Armstrong is a liar. So am I. And Yes, Lance Armstrong is my hero. We are both working on becoming better people and I hope everyone that reads this is as well.

I have said this many times but I believe it is worth repeating: Cancer is the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me. I am a better person because of it. And doubly better for getting it twice… I do not need the lesson again though. I get it, cancer.

If the first time going through remission was a lesson on how not to act I can say with a straight and honest face, I learned it. I took the second opportunity to immediately become a better spouse, son, sibling, and friend. The payoff has been immense. Life is better than it ever has been and I mean not to waste a second of it being that person ever again.

In other news, I have been inspired by others battling cancer. Most notably a newborn named Ella Grace in Southern Georgia… Ella Grace was born a couple months ago with a form of Leukemia and by all accounts should not still be here. But through all the adversity of having numerous blood transfusions and other treatments 99.9% of newborns would not live through, Ella did. Little Ella Grace did not have “Give Up” in her vocabulary either… but then again, she has nothing in her vocabulary because she is a newborn, but you get the point. I have never met this child or her family but it has had a profound effect on my sister and her friends and I was extremely touched to see the way a community and family rallied around a child and basically will it back to health. The family of Ella Grace and Ella herself did not deserve what they went through… but I can tell you from experience they are the lucky ones. They have experienced a miracle and an experience few get the opportunity to have. It might not even make sense now, but believe me it will. I don’t lie anymore so you really can believe me.

I also want to apologize to everyone who reads my blog. I have not kept up on it… nor have I even read it since the day I made my last post. I don’t like crying like a baby in front of my wife and especially Shadow. Shadow wouldn’t understand and Kasia makes fun of me. She really would… this morning she mocked me by making the “Waa Waa” sound when she saw me tearing up from being reminded of finishing chemo a year ago. I deal with the abuse because she is phenomenal in bed… marriage is about taking the good with the bad, as my father says when I bring up how terrible it is to be in a car with my mother. And believe me, it is absolutely dreadful. I will make a more conscious effort to write more.

The Fighter

2012-02-26T15:02:00.006-08:00

I've been in a fight before. I am not afraid to stand up for myself or someone else that can not do it for himself. I was not afraid when the doctor told me that I had cancer again. I did not back down from the challenge, in fact I accepted it with open arms... I would beat it.

So when Dr. Frame sent me to have my CT Scan and blood work done to finalize that I had gone into remission I was certain I had conquered the cancer and I would be getting better almost immediately. Even if I still had the disease, I just needed to do more chemotherapy... I could handle it if need be.

The weeks leading up to going into remission I had developed a slight cough that would trigger every single time I walked up the stairs, down the stairs, picked something up, and kept me awake some nights (well, I was probably awake anyways...). Every time I would see the doctor he would check my lungs to and every time I seemingly had passed with flying colors. I have always been proud of my ability to handle strenuous activity better than most people whether it was during soccer, hockey, climbing, or racing... I felt that I had the upper hand. This was no longer the case, as I was having to sit down after walking up a flight of stairs or even going on a long stroll was becoming more and more difficult. A side effect from the chemotherapy, it would pass when I stopped taking it.

During the CT scan I have become accustomed to the operators and nurses acting strange around me. They can see that something is wrong, yet they are not allowed to tell you what you have or what they see... that is the responsibility of your doctor. During this last CT scan the practitioner was acting strange... and I called her out on it, "Is there more tumors in my body?" I asked. "No, no, no... I am not allowed to discuss it, but it does not look like there are any more tumors anywhere." Awesome... then I didn't care about anything else. I was done.

The next day I missed a call from Dr. Frame. He left an urgent voice mail telling me that I needed to call him back immediately, and it was regarding my scan. My stomach dropped out of my butt. What now? My poor family and friends cannot take much more bad news from me and I was getting tired of telling it. Didn't he know that? Before I could call him back Kasia called me and broke the news, I had been diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis. We were to meet with him the very next day.

Dr. Frame and I have become very close over the last few months and he refers to me as his All-Star patient. I complain minimally and have accepted each distressing low white blood count and extensions of chemo with open arms. "Thanks for keeping me alive doc" had become a common phrase for when he thought he was delivering bad news. I meant it too. 'Grateful' does not fully grasp the scope of how I feel towards Dr. Frame. He has given me a new life and the opportunity to better myself in a way that few people get the chance. We are the lucky ones. To not take advantage of having cancer and making positive changes in your life would be the real tragedy in it all... that and losing your testicles. He has grown fond of me as well so delivering more bad news was not something he had planned, and you could see in his face that it was hurting him.

Pulmonary Fibrosis is the inflammation of the lungs and can cause holes or tears in your tissue that can be irreversible. Dr. Frame explained the situation; the amount of chemotherapy I endured is not normal... I had passed lung tests with flying colors and physically, minus cancer, was in phenomenal shape. My cancer was new and the decision was to pump me with as much poison as possible for a human to handle. Someone in lesser condition, older in age, younger in age, had smoked cigarettes, slightly overweight, underweight, non-active would not be able to handle it. I had wanted it. I needed them to kill everything in my body that had the possibility of carrying the cancer strand. This was it for me, give me all you can... I can take it, I promise. I was preparing for a war with cancer and I was not going to lose. Pulmonary fibrosis is a side effect we were hoping to avoid.

"What does this mean Doc?" I knew what it meant, I just could not bring myself to thinking it. There was/is a strong possibility I would never be able to play sports again; never put on skis again, never climb another mountain, and I would need to carry around oxygen. Dr. Frame said, "I will never lie to you Robert. There is a possibility you may never get the chance to participate in athletic or strenuous events ever again."

I was defeated. How could I be deprived from what I love so much? I could beat cancer, my will and perseverance were no match for it... and although the recovery would be long, there would still be a recovery. If my pulmonary fibrosis had gone too far it would be irreversible and there would be no recovery, I would become a vegetable. At the time there could have been no worse news for me and for the very first time in my short life I was terrified. I was shaky in the knees, cannot catch my breath, there is a man with a knife hiding in my closet, terrified. I would not be able to handle this I thought... I can't do this. The scariest part was that it was out of my control, I could not fix this by being strong or by sure will. Praying that quite possibly my lungs had not reached the point of no return was the only option... A good option, but I would have liked more. I would have rather been diagnosed with cancer for the third time rather than get this news.

My parents didn't understand. "Didn't they check your lungs? How could they not have known?!" My parents tried to stay positive, but they were confused and upset as I was. I was still alive and I had plenty to be grateful for... but I might as well have gotten the news that I could be paralyzed. I was tired and beaten down. I went from the elation of being done with cancer to the lowest I had ever been. My mom immediately sent dispatches across the country for friends and family to keep me in their thoughts and to pray for healing. She wanted me to be better and didn't know how to make her son feel better, she knew I was taking this harder than anything else I had ever endured. My poor sister was tired of it... she wanted her big brother to be better and could not take getting any more bad news. She needed it to be over and so did I.

This was a fight I was unable to participate in and it scared the shit out of me. A best friend of mine, Aidan O'Connell's father, Mr. Tommy O'Connell, who had quite the hand in raising me due to being at his house a large portion of my childhood, related my cancer bout to a boxing match he was sure I would win. Every time I went through another round of chemotherapy or surgery he would tell me I had won the round and give encouragement for the next... similar to Mickey in Rocky. I had reached the 12th round by all accounts and I was on the ropes trying to stay in the fight.

Dr. Frame immediately put me on a prescription of steroids in hopes to reverse the damage. Kasia had planned a trip to the Baja in Mexico the following Saturday and there was a chance if my lungs did not improve that I would not be able to get on a plane. We were to meet back in 7 days where he would be able to tell whether my lungs were on the way to recovery. The following days I did not speak much, I was in a depression of sorts. I have never felt so low. How could I never be able to stand on top of another mountain peak? How could I never strap on skis again and 'shred the gnar'? It was unfathomable, and the unknown was driving me crazy.

That Friday we met with Dr. Frame, he carefully tested my lungs for about 10 minutes before he sat down and let me know that the drugs were seemingly working. My lung capacity was getting better and I could go to Mexico, and "take it easy."We hugged, Kasia hugged, I could hear a chorus of angels singing in the background, etc. I was stoked, to say the least. Now it was up to me, and based on how I treated myself my lungs would be back to normal at some point. The news traveled to Georgia where my mom and her teachers at her church pre-school supposedly danced, cried, fist pumped and hugged each other. The thought that you can affect so many people is humbling and when I hear stories like that it makes me fairly emotional every time. All in all, I am grateful for the opportunity to go through it... it was just another test in a long, exhausting process and on the upside I have gotten to take steroids for the first time. Contrary to what some people might tell you, I have never taken steroids before... but they are kind of fun. You want to eat ALL THE TIME. And for someone that has been force feeding himself due to nausea and everything tasting like metal it has been radical.

Kasia and I went to Mexico to celebrate being cancer free with my good friends Adam and Annie, and their family. I went surfing every day (not what the doctor ordered), hung out on the beach, flew kites, and had one of the best times of my life. I had actually done it and i was on the mend... we spent 7 days in paradise completely blocked out from the rest of the world without email, facebook, TV, and every other distraction.

We came back and I immediately went back to work on Tuesday full time. I just finished my first full week of going back and I am exhausted... who knew sitting at a desk could take so much out of you? Life could not be better and I am blessed to be alive. My hair is growing back...kinda, I am slowly regaining my strength (the steroids I assume help), I got a good woman, and I am happy. I am the lucky one.

I have been in a few fights in my life, I have come close but I have not lost one yet... I was not about to start now. 12th Round Knockout, right Mr. T?

Happy New Year

2012-01-18T20:30:00.000-08:00

I broke down. Kasia and I walked out of the doctor's office after ringing the bell and finishing my last chemo treatment, the last time I was going to have poison injected into my blood. My thoughts were jumping from place to place as I walked to our car; getting engaged, finding the tumor, telling my parents, Kasia's fear, calling doctors "no matter what, I promise I am going to be okay," losing another testicle, over a hundred hours of chemotherapy, delays, low-white blood cell counts, puking, spending nights in the bathroom, my friends, family, and parents that had to endure all of this with me and it came at me like a tidal wave.

Out of everyone that had been there for me, my parents were second only to Kasia. My mom flew out for the first chemo treatments and my dad spent four weeks in Park City helping drive me to treatments, walk Shadow, and made sure I watched plenty of hockey. They also might have had the hardest time with it, as they were there every step of the way in my first diagnosis and thought we would never have to deal with it again. I knew they would be the first people I would call after my treatment, they more than anyone else needed to experience the high of their youngest son beating cancer after enduring the hell of going through cancer. As I dialed my Dad's cell phone all of my emotions built up inside of me. I didn't even know if I would be able to get any words out but once I heard my Dad's voice I knew it would be over...

-Ring ring, ring ring
Gary: Hello! Did we do it?!
Robert: ...Dad, I

...and the call dropped. Silence... after all of that, a dropped call? Mother trucker, I call back.

Gary: HELLOOOO?
Robert: I'm done Dad. I'm done.

"I'm done." I barely get the words out when the wave crashed. I broke down hard. Throughout the entire thing I had kept it together. Not once did I have a breakdown, I wouldn't allow myself. During the treatment I needed to be stronger for everyone around me and for myself. I no longer had to keep it up, the weight of an elephant had been lifted off of my shoulders and I fell apart. The other end of the phone consisted of faint sounds of my mom sobbing in the background and my Dad telling me how proud of me he was of me in between falling apart himself. Never in my life have I felt that amount of emotion hit me with such force... it was absolutely an unexplainable amount of relief for all of us hitting at the exact same time. After ALL of that, I had to call my sister... much of the same, but shorter.

I had done it. I had beaten cancer for the second time in my young life. And I called it too.

I knew that I was going to beat cancer. Not once from the moment the doctor told me, "you have cancer" to the time I rang the bell did I let myself think that I would not come out of this alive and stronger (at least mentally) than ever. I had just made a promise to someone that I would spend the rest of my life taking care of her and I wasn't about to break it... not then, not ever. Kasia has spent the last four months as my primary care-giver, the job my mother took on in my first diagnosis. There is not enough that is said about the care-giver for cancer victims. She put up with mood swings, late nights, feeding someone without much taste for food, staying in 90% of the time, balancing a full-time job, and therapy treatments. Not to mention the emotional strife in dealing with her new fiance battling a deadly disease. She did it all with a smile on her face (mostly) and did not complain nor question the role she never asked for. I will spend the rest of my life making up the six months she spent nursing me back to health and I will forever be in her debt. I don't have adverse plans on being anywhere else so it should work out. We are both extremely stoked to be able to enjoy our new engagement and Kasia surprised me by letting me know we were headed to Mexico in three weeks to celebrate being cancer free with one of my good friends Adam Lain, his wife Annie, and family. Laying on a beach and not doing much else is exactly what we both need at this point.

A support system is the closest people in your life who band together to make sure you beat the disease and feel your pain almost worse than the actual victim. Without my support system, I would have failed. I cannot thank the people who have been here for me enough and as I type tears fall on my keyboard in recognition of my gratitude.

Cancer doesn't care about how bad this is for your family, how much you hurt, what organ or body party you think you need, and it certainly doesn't give a shit if you ask for mercy. It is unyielding, heartless, and will take your life given the chance without a second thought. Your support system is your family, hurt when you hurt, would give their body parts, and are there to offer their mercy. They are unyielding in support, are made of all heart, and would give their life to save yours without a second thought.

I have a new lease on life. God has granted me the opportunity to appreciate life more than I ever have before and I mean not to waste it. I will do my best to not take the little things for granted and at the same time to let them slide. I hope to be an inspiration for people going through cancer on keeping a positive outlook not necessarily just on life but the experience as well.

There is a long road ahead of me. I will not be feeling well for another couple weeks and I will not be back to normal for 3-6 months. But I am on the up and up and things could not look better in the future. Again, I want to thank everyone who reads this blog and I will continually make updates and blog about Kasia and my engagement, skiing, vacations, wedding, and whatever else I choose to write about.

January 18th will forever be my New Year. And I am going to party like a 16 year old girl on MTV... next year. Until then, I will be recanting how lucky I am to be here and to have this opportunity to live.

I'm done Dad, I'm done.

Not my New Year... Yet.

2012-01-02T15:05:00.000-08:00

Here we are, the last day of 2011. I sit here with my Dad in my living room in Park City, Utah trying to rest up to make it out for the most heralded "going out night" in history. A few weeks ago I was under the impression that yesterday would have been the last day of my chemotherapy and I would be bringing in the new year with a new bill of health. Alas, due to some health issues and conditions outside of my control my dates were pushed back to January 7th, and as of last Wednesday I will continue my treatments up until January 17th. Setbacks, I have learned, are just part of the process in trying to kill cancer.

I want to apologize for not writing more for the people who especially enjoy reading this blog... I have been having a bit of a hard time with the chemotherapy, my cognitive thought process, and so on. So to say the least, I have been very unmotivated to write as to save my good days for skiing or going out with Kasia. I will do my best to remedy this self-loathing and write more of my experiences. Although, please take note: I am actually getting dumber. My thought process makes it hard to remember where I am taking themes and in some cases, even sentences. So it seems these posts might become a bit choppy and possibly bounce around to different subjects. Sorry, I have cancer.

(I actually had stopped writing after that point on New Years Eve because I had no idea what I was writing anymore. It all became fuzzy and I had no idea where I was going with the subject. Before I became frustrated I closed down my computer and walked away... only to open it 2 days later.)

So two days into 2012 and my "new" year has not started yet. Needless to say, I did not make it out for New Years Eve. I spent the last few seconds before 2012 with Kasia, opening a bottle of champagne for her as she opened a bottle of Martinelli's for yours truly. I gave Kas a kiss as the ball dropped for the third time on cable TV, due to us living in the Mountain Standard Time Zone, and fell asleep almost immediately afterward. I have been sick the last few days due to my white blood count dropping to almost non-existent again and also having to receive shots that make me feel as though my bones are being broken from the inside out and are constantly cramping, but help me produce more white blood cells so I will have the strength to undergo chemotherapy.

I wake up puking or just from pain every couple hours on some nights. In a pathetic effort to not wake up Kasia, the dog, or the cat, I tip-toe as fast as I can to the bathroom in complete darkness where I bump into no less than two objects every time. The Tiger (cat) usually follows me into the bathroom to see what all the fuss is about and sometimes to prove that he can smell up the house as well. In fact, sometimes I feel like he is put out with me and all the ruckus I am making so he comes into the bathroom, takes a dump, throws his kitty litter all over the bathroom, gives me the middle finger and goes back to bed... I accept the situation. Lately I have forgotten what it has felt like to feel good... I miss wanting good food, wanting to go out with friends, and other small things that most people take for granted. I can't wait for the day that I can go to work for a full workday, interact with a number of different humans, and then go get dinner with friends or just Kasia. I would like to sleep through the night. It would also be nice if I didn't complain so much... but whatever, this is my blog and you decided to read it.

Although, do not feel bad for me. A lot of having cancer has been blessings in disguise for my family and myself. My brother and his family moved back to Las Vegas a month ago, leaving my parents without their grandson and my Dad's two year old best friend, Maddux James. Last Christmas was the very first one without the entire Sutherland family together and everyone had accepted that it would be harder to get the entire clan together for Christmas Holidays every year going forward. My condition has definitely brought the family together in a number of ways, but the best was everyone physically being together for the Holidays in Park City. I had the best Christmas of my entire life and while I was sitting in my living room watching everyone laugh and Maddux' head almost explode from the amount of presents around him I realized how lucky and grateful I was to be surrounded by the people who mean the most to me. Having cancer can turn you into quite the emotional human, but it gives you a great perspective on life and family while turning you into this shell of a man that I used to be, so of course I broke down. Realizing how fragile life can be and the amount of hell the people who care about you the most go through can bring quite the large dose of humility, something I am sure I was in need of, and at that moment I was realizing it. As you can imagine, Christmas morning became very emotional for everyone...

Afterwards, we sang "Happy Birthday" to Jesus, my mom made her famous grits and eggs, and we all went skiing at Deer Valley (Our family has been skiing at Deer Valley since 1987 and I believe that my Granddad is still the "Unofficial Official Spokesman of Deer Valley," but I cannot be sure, you will have to ask him... although please be warned/prepared for a history lesson on Park City, Deer Valley, and the surrounding area). It was Maddux' first time ever skiing (he is two) and if we could just focus his adorable rage and stubbornness he might end up as the best skier this world has ever seen.

Needless to say, I had an unbelievable Christmas and if everyone was wondering, YES, I DID RECEIVE A PLAYSTATION. Kasia surprised me with more gifts than I had ever expected. I mean, don't get me wrong... I have cancer, I am going through chemotherapy, I am bald, everyone feels bad for me, so I had a pretty good idea that I might get more than I deserve... and I did. Kasia, being the hot/smart/cute thang she is, got me the following gifts: New Playstation, Avalung backcountry backpack, clothes, and lots of other little things that she will surely hold over my head for years to come. I also received unbelievable gifts from my family around the country... a number of people made donations during the Christmas time. I do not know how to thank everyone for their donations to help fight this disease, they have helped us more than you know and definitely made it easier to sleep at night for Kasia and myself. My gratitude cannot be shown through typing a long thank you and I will get around to thanking each one of you personally when I feel better. Please know that everyone who has said a prayer, given a donation, sent a words of encouragement have all played a huge part in me fighting this disease and a huge part in me beating cancer. I appreciate it all and the holiday season makes me realize it more everyday, so thank you and Merry late Holidays to everyone reading this blog.

True to form, my unbelievable parents have been here every step of the way. My dad will be here through the 7th to help Kasia with my next stage of chemotherapy. Due to my ever changing health issues it has been difficult to finalize a date that would mark the end of my treatment... so, much to my Dad's dismay he will not be here on my final day of chemotherapy, which is scheduled for the 18th of this month, barring no more health issues such as a low white blood cell count and of course still having some lingering cancer around.

My family sans Derek's Clan with me at chemotherapy.

My Dad and I playing hockey on a pond in Park City. Great break from chemotherapy. The old man can still skate.

Going back to New Years Eve: while I was pouring Kasia's champagne and listening to Carson Daly's annoying voice countdown the new year, I realized that although this is the worlds calendar new year, it is definitely not Robert Sutherland's new year... my new year will start on the day that I have finished chemotherapy and cancer has left my bloodstream.

The New Year is about starting fresh and taking all of the positives in your life to carry forward while the negatives are given a plan for departure. I cannot, in good conscience, believe that the new year has started for me given my current situation.

2012 will be the best year of my life: I will have survived and beaten down cancer for the second time in my life, my sister will be getting married to an unbelievable guy, I will be getting married to the girl of my dreams, life has more meaning... again, I have a renewed motivation towards work as well as outdoor activities, and I will be getting a new testicle. 2012 is looking pretty damn sweet.

My New Year will start on January 18th at approximately 4:00 PM. I will not be celebrating with alcohol, because I will have just finished chemo, but I will be doing a bunch of fist pumps that everyone is welcome to join me in. Do not feel bad for me, my New Years celebration will be the best I will ever experience... I am the lucky one to be able to get such a perspective. Happy almost "New Year" everyone.

Expectations...

2011-12-12T12:07:00.000-08:00

In September of 2008 I was starting my last semester of college. I was carefree, single, and considered myself an avid outdoorsman. There was not a day of my last summer in Logan, Utah (the location of Utah State University) that I did not spend some time in the mountains, on a river, or on a lake... I was embarking on numerous solo trips throughout Logan Canyon and surrounding areas to try and bag as many peaks as possible with my trusty sidekick Shadow.

A couple days before the beginning of the semester one of my best friends and housemate, Scotty John, had decided that he and another close friend of mine, Brandon Latham, were going to spend a week traversing the entire Wind River Range in Wyoming starting the next Monday. I had declined the offer because I was starting my last semester and was taking a class that had over a 70% fail rate and on top of that, I was growing up. I needed to put rash, immature decisions behind me and start acting like an "adult." I used my dad's credit card to buy all of my books, got some new binders and highlighters and put them in my backpack all ready to start school on Monday.

Sunday night I got into bed and tried to fall asleep to the sounds of Sportscenter anchors in the background. At 10:00 PM Sunday night, I packed up my backpacking bag, called Scotty on his cell phone and let him know I would be joining him at 8 am for the drive to trail head:

Scotty: Hey Sudsy (he has Caller ID)
Me: Hey du... (Scotty interrupts)
Scotty: You're coming aren't you?
Me: Yes... yes I am.
Scotty: Typical.
Me: My bad, I really did not think I was going.
Scotty: Yeah, I bet you didn't. See you in the morning.
Me: Sausage Egg McMuffins are on me. See you early. Stoked.
Scotty: I expected as much.

On the second day of the trip we had hiked past our expected trail head by about three or four miles. This can obviously bring your spirits down while you are out in the wilderness. Exerting any extra energy just pisses you off... but we got it together and began to find our way to our desired trail. Which meant climbing over 2000 vertical feet and over 10 (extra) miles with 60 pound packs on. At some point Scotty and I were climbing together at a fairly grueling pace and I was the lead. During the climb up I had realized that I had not been drinking water for a couple hours and I was starting to get dizzy, I pulled off and Scotty trudged on, we could see the top and Scotty didn't want to ruin his momentum, especially with being so close. I pulled to the side and watched him disappear above the saddle. I was upset with myself for being dumb enough to let the beginning of dehydration to set in and frustrated that Scotty had beaten me to the top (my competitive nature makes me find a competition in everything I do, even if the other person has no idea that I am in a private comp with them... do not judge me). Once I had gotten it together I began to go catch up to Scotty who would be waiting at the top, completely rested, eating a peanut butter honey sandwich, and gloating about how I messed up. 10 minutes later I get to the top and find Scotty; he is sitting on a rock, backpack still on, with his head between his hands. What we had expected was the top, ended up being only about 2/3's of the way... a common misconception while mountaineering. Mentally, it can feel like a kick in the nuts (I still remember what it feels like people) and can/will turn the nicest people into total ass holes. I waved at Scotty and kept walking... he needed some time alone.

Scotty and I at a saddle in the Wind River Range

7 weeks ago, a crew from Skullcandy decided to go on a backpacking trip to King's Peak in the High Uinta Mountains, which is the tallest peak in Utah. This would be my fourth trip to the peak, and I had only been successful getting to the top once due to weather conditions. At some point during the 7 mile trip to our first campsite everyone wanted to know what we could expect:

How far is it from here? Is it hard to get to the top? Is that the peak over there? How long does it take? Will your dog make it to the top? (that question actually bothered me, of course she will make it to the top... well before you will, pal).

I reply with the same answer every time, "Do not have any expectations. You will not make it to the top if you keep trying to put a landmark on the final destination."

In July of 2004 I was at Indiana University where I had just had my lymph-nodes removed from behind my stomach. My parents were anxiously awaiting the news of where my cancer was... Dr. Foster came in and told my parents they believe they had caught it all. I would now have to get checked up every other month with a CT scan to make sure my cancer was not returning. After two years there would be a 95% chance that my cancer would never come back and I would only need to get checked up every 6 months. After four years, there was a 99% chance that my cancer would never come back. No one has ever been documented that had my type of cancer and treatment to have their cancer return after two years. I was stoked to hear the news in the hospital, I was even more pumped after two years, and after 4 years I had expected to never deal with testicular cancer again.

Last Monday I arrived at the hospital with Kasia and my Dad who is visiting from Georgia. I was to start my 2nd round of chemotherapy of doing it every day for five hours straight. Things were on schedule and I was going to be done with cancer on December 30, 2011... I had expected to be done with cancer before the new year and be able to celebrate being cancer free while bringing in 2012. Once I had my IV's in they drew my blood to check my tumor marking and cell count. The nurse came back and said, "we cannot do chemo this week. Your white blood count is too low." In fact, my white blood count was almost non-existent. Which meant that I would not be able to fight off any infection, nor would I be able to deal with poisons being injected into my bloodstream. The best way to understand the situation is like this: A common cold would kill me.

In each situation explained above my expectations were annihilated by reality. The peak in the Wind River Range was another couple miles up, we were 800 feet from King's Peak when we had to turn around (and run) due to a lightning storm, my cancer DID come back, and my chemotherapy has been extended a week... to be finished on the 7th, they expect.

Expectations can ruin friendships, romance, backpacking trips, movies and a McRib. This is of course, if you expect your expectations to always come true or to never change. Not to say you should not set goals and make expectations for yourself, you should. Through my "trials and tribulations" I have found ways to expand my expectations:

I expected to make it to a peak(s) and to finish off the traverse of the Wind River Range.

I expected to have a good climb and hang out with friends on the way to King's Peak.

I expect to receive a new PlayStation for Christmas (not to be used as an example).

I expect to beat cancer.

I have climbed and reached more peaks than I can remember. I have beat cancer once, I will beat it again.

There is a quote that has to do with lemons and lemonade... it would work great here. Look it up.

On the bright side, my dad got in last Saturday and due to me not having to do chemo last week I felt better than I have in 2 months. Which meant that Gary and I got to ski more than we thought; we spent a day at Deer Valley reminiscing all of the good times there since I was three. We also spent two days skiing with all my friends from Skullcandy at the Canyons. Gary is also fairly famous down here in Utah, due to spending so many weekends coming to Utah State to watch hockey games he has built up a pretty good following of my derelict friends. So in consequence we have had a bunch of dinner dates with good friends from college and even high school (the one and only Chad Austin). In closing, I am more grateful today than I ever have been in my short life... think of how grateful I would be with a brand new PlayStation.

Dad, Ski's, and Delays by Kasia

2011-12-06T10:50:00.000-08:00

This week we have been blessed by the presence of Mr. Gary Sutherland himself, the legend. Mr. Gary flew in on Saturday afternoon to kick off round two of chemotherapy. By everything you have read to date, you can only imagine what this does to Robert's spirits. You would almost think that cancer was scared straight out of Robert’s body, and that he was 100% healthy, strong, and cancer free. The last few days have been filled with endless jokes, sarcasm, hockey, ski days, and a feeling of normality and routine. It seems that the motherly comfort of Mrs. Fran, followed by some brotherly love, the sprinkle of sisterly inspiration, and topped off by the strong father-son bond, was just what the doctor ordered. Cancer had no fighting chance in round two.

Best. Picture. Ever.

On Monday we woke up early and were ready to kick start the long week of chemo. We shuffled into the car, drove down to IMC, picked the leather chair with the best view of the mountains and most privacy, watched as the nurse put in the IV that would stay in all week, and then we waited for the first bag of clear liquid fight.

We waited.

Eventually our nurse came out, empty-handed. Then came the words that none of us expected,

"We cannot do chemo today."

Let me backpedal a little bit to give you a better understanding of this situation.

From the first day of chemotherapy Robert has been hosting a full-fledged battle, silently through the night, continuing from sunrise to sunset. He has an active battlefield crusading through his bloodstream, with natural cells stampeding through his body calling for the back up of chemo to beat quickly multiplying cancer cells.

A few weeks ago, in an effort to dumb down the nearly impossible explanation of the effect chemo has on the body and cancer cells, our nurse created a very understandable analogy: cancer cells are like light bulbs and our body's cells are like a mason jar. Since cancer cells are quickly multiplying they do not take the time to fully develop into strong cells our body develops. Our bodies create quality, while cancer creates quantity. The cancer cells may win by numbers, but when calling in chemo, they cannot withstand the treatment as some of our body’s cells do. The "light bulbs" easily shatter while hitting the ground, while the "mason jars" take a good beating, but are not completely shattered or broken.

Our body also creates fast multiplying cells such as white blood cells and the cells that make up our hair. Last Monday Robert started to lose his hair, and is currently sporting a very sleek and handsome dome. This should be a relief to many of us since this means that chemo is destroying the fast multipliers, good and bad. Chemo and Robert are killing cancer.

Mr. Clean never looked so good.

Inevitably with the destruction of evil, there are often casualties. As previously mentioned, white blood cells, the fighters, often drop along side other, very important, naturally occurring counts in the body. Mayoclinic.com gives a great explanation of these side effects.

With a low white blood cell count and, in particular, a low level of neutrophils (neutropenia), a type of white blood cell that fights infection, you're at higher risk of developing an infection. And if you develop an infection when you have a low white blood cell count, your body can't protect itself. Infection can lead to death in severe cases. Even a mild infection can delay your chemotherapy treatment, since your doctor may wait until your infection is cleared and your blood counts go back up before you continue. Your doctor may also recommend medication to increase your body's production of white blood cells.”

Yesterday, Robert's blood counts were far too low for him to move forward with his regimen. His white blood cells, the fighters, were far below what I will call the "red line”, a magic number that all the doctors follow closely through chemo. For this particular count, doctors do not want patients falling below a 1.5. To put this into perspective, before starting therapy he was a 2.6.

Today Robert is a .2.

In layman's terms, this means that his body is lacking the ability to fight infection. Being exposed to a common cold can be extremely dangerous, and we cannot do chemo.

I assume that everyone’s first questions are the same as ours were: Why? What could have been done to prevent this? The answer is, chemo and nothing. There is nothing that we could have done to prevent this, it can happen, and it obviously does happen. The next 3 days Robert will be given a shot to boost his counts. When above 1.5 he can continue chemo, hopefully this coming Monday.

When I say that our first questions were those above, I do not include Robert in “our”. His first question may have been “why?” but his second question should not have come as a surprise to any of us.

“Can I ski?”

Robert Manley does not let anything break him down. He is a rock with a focus on the pursuit of happiness. He lives by the rule that many of us could benefit from: Happiness is health.

Robert can ski, he can be happy, and he will be healthy. His numbers will be increased by the help of the doctors and he will continue his fight towards the total destruction of cancer on the Sutherland battlefield, all while skiing the slopes of beautiful Park City.

Thanksgiving and Toilets

2011-11-28T18:51:00.000-08:00

Today is the Monday following Thanksgiving, and it has been a long time since I have posted on my blog. The last three weeks have been fairly hectic; my mom came in for a week, my brother followed her for 2 days, I had one day of chemo following the previous weeks five days in a row of chemo and on Wednesday I will undergo one more chemo treatment. Wednesday I will finish my first round of chemotherapy with two more to follow.

Truthfully, I have not been my usual "happy, go-lucky" self, at least not as much as I would like. The chemotherapy has had some negative effects physically on me, which has carried mental issues with it as well... I can only assume. Everyone has their own experience with chemotherapy and the drugs/poison will effect every person in a different way. It makes me feel as though I have just woken up from a weekend bender with the boys and I can't shake my hangover... not that I have a lot of experience with hangovers (insert smiley face here). The feeling has a number of similarities to a hangover: headaches, constantly feeling dehydrated, heavy feeling, you either don't want to eat or you eat way too much making yourself more sick, needed extra sleep, puking, and spending way too much time sitting on the toilet. The last part is true, I spend approximately 34.89% of my entire time on the toilet. It. Will. Not. Stop.

This has been the hardest part for me: the diarrhea. Even typing diarrhea is difficult for me to complete. It seems that due to cancer my intestines have shortened to 4 feet in total length, making food go through me in t-minus 26 seconds flat. Currently, I wake up 2-3 times a night to make a sprint to the bathroom before I ruin everyone in the houses and possibly within a mile radius' slumber. Because of this issue I have not slept through the night in two weeks, so if someone has an insomnia issue let me know and we can Skype. Other negative effects have been my irritability and lack of patience for anything... which is why I have constantly decided to not update my blog. I also am on drugs that make me stupid: Lorazepam and Marinol. Marinol is straight THC, some of you are thinking, "ohh sick brah, Suds' gets to get high all the time." And you would be right. I do get high all the time, but I feel like shit... the only reason I take the Marinol (which is maybe once a day) is to calm my stomach and get my head to stop spinning. The other drug is Lorazepam, this drug makes you retarded. It literally slows down the functioning of your brain and nervous system so you can settle your body/mind down enough to relax or sleep. I try my hardest never to take this drug as it is extremely addictive and like I said, it makes me stupid which closely follows losing my patience and showing my irritability. You lose all reasoning and cognitive thought, even when it comes to simple understanding.

As an example, today I went to purchase some things for Kasia's birthday (yes, today is her birthday, most guys can relate). I walked up to cash register to purchase my item, watched her ring it up, put the contents in a bag, and she stared at me... I sat there wondering why did she not push my items back so I could exit. Annoyed with the teller, I recount the events in my head: picked product, brought product to cash register, teller rings up product, puts product in the bag... ohh that's right, why am I assuming this stuff is for free? I have to pay! It is a fairly simple concept that I should be used to at this juncture in my life (being 27 and all) but I could not comprehend it at the time. Feeling sheepish, I take out my wallet, give a "can't win em' all" laugh, pay, and leave the store. Don't think it wasn't awkward for the poor lady either. It was. It took me a good two minutes to realize what was going on... in complete silence.

Throughout all of this there is great and joyous reason to be thankful:
My mom took a week out of her life to come up and help Kasia and myself deal with the first round of chemo. During desperate times or times of distress people sometimes believe they are being watched by an angel or some force that somehow makes them feel better. I have that in my mom. She is a walking, talking, physical angel that God has possibly made to strictly make sure I feel better. Frances Denny has seen me at my very worst and only responds with extreme understanding and love... something only a mother could pull off, I assume.

My brother also came to visit for Thanksgiving. The two days he was here was two of my greatest days I had while dealing with chemotherapy. We went on walks, to dinners, breakfast, hot tubbed it up, and even went out on Main Street one night for a couple hours.

On the day of Thanksgiving I awoke to my sisters message to me: "I am so thankful that I have a brother like you who inspires me everyday to be a better person. Your strength, courage, and confidence are just a few great qualities that make you the person I look up to. I love you more than anything and wish we could be together today. Happy Thanksgiving!" So in typical fashion when Lindsey says anything to me I sat in bed reading it with tears streaming down my face. Lindsey is the best of us, and I have taken pride in knowing that I was somewhat a part of her growing up to be the beautiful, sweet, and generous person she grew up to become. I don't know where or why there was such a gap in my brother and myself in regards to these traits but it is possible that it skipped us to make her so radical.

Gary will be in arriving in Utah on Friday. My friends and I are extremely excited to see him. Everyone who reads this blog or knows me has an idea of how I feel about my dad. If I keep talking about him his head will get too big...

I am thankful for my family.

Kasia and I cannot thank our friends enough for reaching out to us and helping out. Our community in Park City/SLC has helped keep me busy with ski movies, small visits, meals, and constantly offering there help. We spent our Thanksgiving at our old bosses house, whose family, the Kosiba's, has become our surrogate here in Park City, and I stayed up the entire day... and I didn't have an embarrassing bathroom situation. So all in all, it was a great Thanksgiving. I also have a number of friends growing mustaches to help raise awareness for testicular cancer and to support me personally... that is awesome. Here are some photos:

I also have a great friend from my college hockey days, Ben Froehle, who created a wrist band that says: SUDSTRONG. It has caused quite the demand for them. Hopefully we will figure out a way to supply the masses so all you people will be stoked.

I am thankful for friends.

Last week I went skiing at Solitude with a number of friends, including my friend Alex John, who is a ski patrolman at said resort. So he brought us to the good snow patches on the mountain where we found little pockets of powder and a few rollers to throw grabs and weak 360's. During the skiing I was elated. I could not have been happier. After spending the entire week before having 5 hours of chemicals pumped into my body every day, to spend a Saturday doing my favorite activity was a priceless experience. I had a smile on my face the entire time and was counting my blessings on every run... until I stopped. The adrenaline carried me through most of the day, but once I stopped, I hit a brick wall. I slept for 14 hours straight, woke up and continually puked and crapped for another 4 or 5 hours straight. I would do it all over again without thinking twice. So I did. On Sunday I went to the Canyons.

I'm thankful for snow and skiing.

My body is rejecting everything from solids to liquids, I sleep 3-4 hours every night, I take medication that makes me dumb(er), my body is constantly itching, and I am currently feeling like I am always hungover. I am alive. I have caught a disease before it has gotten out of control and I will beat it. I have gotten a better appreciation for life, family, friends that few people get the opportunity to see from my point of view. I am the lucky one.

I am thankful for cancer and the ability to beat it. I am thankful to be alive.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

PS- I am thankful that Kasia loves me for some reason and that she was born on this day 28 years ago. I mean, I really am thankful... what would I do without her?!

30 Days by Kasia

2011-11-20T21:06:00.000-08:00

It’s been exactly one month since Robert was diagnosed with his second round of testicular cancer. 30 days ago the fresh beginning we had started as a newly engaged couple took a turn and our lives changed in a way neither of us could have anticipated. Although Robert had previously had an orchiectomy, the removal of a testicle, and had undergone a very difficult RPLND surgery, nerve-sparing retroperitoneal lymph node dissection, he had never undergone chemotherapy. Robert, his family, and I all braced ourselves for a journey that had no defined boundaries.

Cancer is very unique in the sense that it provokes so many emotions at once. It is very difficult to prioritize feelings and allow yourself to really feel any one feeling at a time. There is an abundant amount of anger, sadness, and fear that hit you. Much like an unexpected ocean wave, you find yourself gasping for air, not knowing up from down. The world moves quickly around you as you struggle to understand the reality of the situation.

You are also flooded with an immeasurable amount of love. In a strange way, the love, is a fuel to all the other emotions. The stronger your love, the stronger your sadness and fear may grow. In parallel, courage, faith, and trust grow rapidly. Faith that this mysterious disease will be beat, courage to be strong through the process, and trust that all decisions and actions in the coming days, weeks, and months are the right decisions for the perfect outcome.

We are at an age where our lives are beginning to move to a more stable rhythm. We are independent, have made career choices, and are building our own homes and families. When cancer floods the established path it is hard to keep focus on the destination. Courage and strength can often dwindle away as the negative feelings take their beating on you. This is when your eyes open up to find everyone who is standing around you, ready to hold you up and make you laugh, just when you thought you may not be able to take another day. Family and friends, in a sense, are much like the chemotherapy used to fight cancer. They enter our lives to help fight off dysfunction, sorrow, and bring us to a state from which we can start building our health back up.

Robert and I have had so many people reach out to us. Many people are a part of our daily lives, others may have been distant friends, and many are people we may not have spoken to for years or had the privilege to grow closer with. Every single one of these people are extending a helping hand and putting us in their daily thoughts and prayers. I regret that no amount of words, written or spoken, will ever be able to express the gratitude that we both have towards every single person who gracefully passed a positive thought our way. This has warmed our hearts and is something we will forever carry. Thank you.

Tomorrow starts week two of treatment. Robert was a true superhero through week one. He sat day after day for hours voluntarily allowing a poison to enter his body. He knew that the poison was not his kryptonite. He knew that although this may break him down physically, this was temporary. He was doing it not only for his own health, but also for his friends, and his family. He was not going to take a chance that could have resulted in a shorter life. He was not willing to allow us to miss out on a single day of his humor or his extraordinary outlook on life.

It is bitter sweet to know that you are starting a winning fight, but knowing that things will get worse before they start getting better. I cannot claim I know what is going through Robert’s mind. I will not be able to empathize with his mental or physical feelings, because these are untouchable and indescribable feelings. However, in his silence I like to think he is hard at work with plans for his next feat.

On Saturday his feat of choice was a ski day. His mother and I worried, but there is no way to deny such a fighter something that will cause them so much happiness, especially before the chemo takes its toll on his body. When I texted Robert in the middle of his ski day asking how he was doing, he replied “Best day ever”. Robert has skied back country, in over 4 feet of powder, in the best conditions imaginable; yet, I really believe this was the best day ever for Robert. In the midst of being broken down, he was able to stand high and untouchable, even if only for a few hours.

Robert has one treatment this week, one next week, and then another full week of treatments the following week. He will then rinse and repeat through the holidays and we hope his last treatment will be the day before New Years Eve. The new year will bring new adventures, a new baby for Derek and Brooke, two new additions to the Sutherland family, and a new ball. We will welcome all of these with happiness, open hands, and open hearts. We will, however, slam the door in cancer's face. This is one guest that was and never will be welcome.

Chemotherapy

2011-11-15T12:07:00.000-08:00

Today I sit in a chair. The chair is faux leather, gray, and smells of chloroform. It is in a room of about 18 of the exact same chairs that are filled with adults who are suffering from similar ailments. Nurses with half smiles on their faces at all times tend to the patients' every need... in my case I have a couple of non permanent nurses in my mother and fiance, as well as my main man Doug, the real nurse, making sure I am comfortable.

I am in the chemotherapy section of the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah. So far, I am the youngest person in the room by at least a decade. Life is currently crazy.

Kasia, my mom, and myself sit here for nearly five hours everyday. We read magazines, they discuss the upcoming wedding, and we get on our computers. I am currently checking Facebook every five minutes... In going through the book I realize how bad peoples lives are. I am not kidding, I find at least every five status updates that make the claim: Worst day ever.

In no way will I diminish how bad someones day is. No one has the right to tell someone they are having a harder day than someone else. I just find it a bit hard to believe that every 5 of my friends on Facebook are having the worst day of your lives, and if you think you are, lets put this in perspective:

Today, I sit in a chemotherapy room where families gather around their loved ones to offer support and comfort in their fight against cancer. In almost every case the family is having a harder time with treatment than the actual patient. Sitting next to me is a woman in her 60 or 70's seemingly going through chemotherapy for the very first time. Her husband, three daughters, son, and grandchild (who is a newborn) are all here to offer their love and support. Her daughters teared up when they inserted the needle into her wrist to administer a poison that will hopefully keep her alive so she can watch her granddaughter grow up, spoil her, and make sure her granddaughter will always feel the same outpouring of love that she is feeling today.

My mom is sitting in front of me, very patiently dealing with my new found quietness. She flew in on Friday from Atlanta, GA to be here for her youngest son's initial bout with chemotherapy... her trip, although a huge relief to her, myself, and Kasia, is not a happy one. She is watching her youngest son fight for his life. Kasia, has gone from complete jubilation (naturally, I asked her to marry me) and calling everyone she knew to tell them she was engaged to the man of her dreams (I can only assume) to being in a hospital room five days a week, answering phone calls from friends and family every hour or so offering their condolences in regards to me dealing with cancer, again. I am my fathers son, there is no one in the world that I look up to more and no one that I am closer with. He is my psychologist, my best friend, and most importantly my dad. I do my best to model how he handles situations and deals with difficult times, which usually starts off with a prayer to the Big Guy. To Gary's dismay, he will not be here for another two weeks, which means he can not physically be here for me like in all other cases. I am assuming he paces his bedroom alone once he is done watching hockey, most likely reciting the Serenity Prayer. Don't get me started on my sister, she is a mess. Derek, my brother, seems to handle these issues with a grain of salt. He believes to his core that I will get through this with barely breaking a sweat and I must say, I agree.

These people, with the exception of Derek, are having the worst days of their lives. Facebook approved.

Dealing with chemotherapy is strange. The first two days are not supposed to have much effect on you. Today they will mix the drugs into me that "knock me on my back" tomorrow. I will start to lose my hair over the weekend (fingers crossed for my stache staying around).

My body currently just feels off, it is impossible to explain. It is like I have the flu but I do not shake or get cold necessarily. In a strange way I am looking forward to how I will feel in the next few weeks... I do not deal well with the "unknown." Unknown variables are the only things that make me nervous. Pain is easy for me, and strangely makes me feel better, as if I am feeling the cancer leave my body. Emotionally, I am fine. I have become reserved and very quiet. You would assume that this would make most people in my family happy... but it is having and adverse effect on everyone around me. In this case, I do not know how to change it. It seems that my mouth and yearn for talking about myself has taken a back seat to me getting lost in my thoughts. My thoughts are not deep, I am not becoming Aristotle nor do I have a Plato to teach me secrets of the universe. If anything, cancer gives you time to reflect on the type of human you are and ways to be better.

For anyone that knows me fairly well, they know that I believe my first bout with cancer was a blessing. It made me grow up, which is something I was lacking at the time. The second bout is no different. Everyday I learn something new about myself or I find lessons in every situation... it is a good situation for someone like myself to slow down and do some self evaluation and come to realizations. Not that I ever thought there was necessarily anything wrong with me before, but it would be selfish and fairly obnoxious not to learn from any life altering event in my young life.

Ever the optimist in all situations, this will work out. It always does.

Thanks for the perspective cancer... on Facebook and in real life.

Today I sit in a chair. This is not the worst day of my life and I am thankful.

Beginning the Regimen by Kasia

2011-11-13T21:43:00.000-08:00

Our apologies for the delay in posts the last couple weeks. Robert and I have been keeping busy with appointments and a lot of planning for the weeks to come. (We have even slipped in a bit of wedding planning!)

Our minds, and time, have mainly been occupied by all the planning for Robert's chemotherapy that starts tomorrow. We are so lucky to have Mrs. Fran in town with us for the next week. She is the breath of fresh air that was needed in our home. Robert has been able to enjoy his favorite comfort foods (our friends and I have been able to benefit from this) and we have been relaxing and watching a lot of football.

Tomorrow reality will kick in. It may be a bit before we are ready, but in reality, no one is really ready to see their loved one go through a struggle. Luckily our loved one happens to be Robert who is more than capable of kicking cancer's butt. I am confident that he will crack jokes through the entire process and be the strong one out of all of us. Even though Robert is the victim in this situation, he tends to worry about everyone else around him. He worries how his family is doing, and how I am handling the situation. If he is scared, or upset, he is putting up a professional front. He stays strong so that we can all stand strong around him. His attitude is contagious.

We are very lucky to have such amazing friends and family surrounding us. Thank you for every prayer and kind word. Tomorrow is the beginning of a difficult couple months that will end with a stronger, unified, happily ever after.

The Fall and the Exaltation

2011-11-08T16:14:00.000-08:00

Here we are, three weeks into being re-diagnosed with cancer and before I get to writin’ I want to thank everyone that has been reading the blog and has reached out to offer his or her support and prayers. All of it has been overwhelming and more helpful than a few words typed on my MacBook could explain.

Moustache Movember

Kasia and I went down last Friday to meet my new oncologist, Dr. Frame and find out my schedule for chemotherapy. Doctor Frame turned out to be a great individual; eccentric, just humble enough, and assuring. Kasia had a number of inquiries for Dr. Frame that he handled wonderfully and answered with the utmost professionalism.

In 2004, I remember sitting in the doctor’s office at Indiana University and discussing the options of having chemotherapy. Dr. Foster did not believe that my cancer had spread past the testicular stage and traveled past my lymph nodes, so it was his belief that I would not need to do chemotherapy after receiving Retroperitoneal lymph node dissection (RPLND)… he was right. It looked as though the cancer had been caught in the early stage and we would not need chemotherapy. This was great, because like most young adolescent men I was fairly obsessed with how I looked (not to say I am currently not, in some faucets). It was bad enough that there was a mammoth sized scar going down my abdomen; I didn’t want to lose all of my hair and look like a Jr. Mr. Clean… I was scared of what people might say and mostly how I would handle it mentally.

I consider myself a psychologically strong human being. I also seem to have at least faked people into believing that I do not typically get scared. This could not be further from the truth… my “scary” escapades in the snow, climbing, or on expeditions are dwarfed by my fear of losing someone close to me and/or having to go through the same thing I am. (Note: my escapades do not compare to some of my friends adventures that are reading this, do not assume I am world class at any of my hobbies.) Kasia mentions in her last post that I told her I would rather have cancer than have to deal with someone, including herself, having to go through it. This could not be any closer to the truth.

My mom, a couple months ago found a lump growing underneath her shoulder blade. This news was troubling to yours truly; I lost sleep; bit my nails, and called her nonstop demanding that she tell me all of the information that I was positive she was keeping from me. So when she called to tell me it was just a mass with no cancer implications I cried with joy. Fran is more of a caregiver rather than someone who receives care well, such as myself. I am a master care receiver. That last sentence is a fact. No one can accept being taken care of better than I can, and don’t kid yourself readers, it is an art.

Back to when I was sitting in Dr. Frame’s office, I was mostly thinking of how terrible this is for my mother and Kasia to have to go through this. I was also thinking about how I am afraid of what I was about to go through… for the first time in a long time, I was actually frightened of something I knew was coming. It’s different when I am in my ski’s standing on a ridge overlooking a cliff, excited and scared of the possibilities that lay ahead. Will I shatter my hand, break my neck, or “ski so hard I hurt myself” again? Or will I come out of it unscathed with a feeling that is completely impossible to understand unless you have been there? The difference in the two feelings is that I look forward to the fall before the exaltation. I am not looking forward to the fall before the exaltation in beating cancer. Although, I have gotten past the embarrassment of looking like Mr. Clean, homeboy makes cleaning a kitchen and bathroom look tough. I don’t know one person who would want to get caught in a dark alley with Mr. Clean… and if you do find someone to say so, you have also found yourself a liar.

Dr. Frame let us know that my timetable for chemo would start next Monday. My regiment will be five hours of chemo for five days straight followed by chemo every Wednesday for two weeks. Repeat until cancer leaves body forever.

Fran flies into Utah on Friday, which is more of a relief to her than myself I assume. There is little doubt that she has had a hard time dealing with this, and making it harder on her has been not being able to physically take care of her baby boy. If you are in Park City it would be in your favor to make an appearance at my house and have my motha cook a meal for you, pour you some sweet tea. I am pretty sure you can’t get cancer from being in the same room as someone diagnosed but I am no scientist. Consider this an open invitation to anyone looking to meet a sweet southern woman with an unworldly ability to cook “feel-good” meals.

In other news, I have created a Movember team that is going to take over the world in growing moustaches and bringing in awareness to men’s related cancer. No offense, but it seems way more fun than wearing a pink ribbon. If you would like to join my team go to: http://mobro.co/lovestronglivestrong

Kasia and I have also received shoes from Tom’s, who is doing a Movember campaign. We would like to thank them so much for sending the shoes and everything else they are doing to raise awareness about men’s related cancer. Check out the guy ones, they’re pretty rad:

So Monday morning I will commence the fall (chemo in this case… get the analogy?). The fall will not be fun. But the feeling after I beat cancer, again, will undoubtedly be much better than any feeling from jumping off a cliff and landing in soft, milky powder has provided me… and that’s a good feeling folks. See below:

In closing, Mr. Clean lives to clean so you can clean to live. Mr. Clean is a lot like chemotherapy. Chemo’s motto would be a bit dissimilar: Chemotherapy exists to clean so you can live.

Coping by Kasia

2011-11-07T19:39:00.000-08:00

I was watching one of Robert’s sports channels and they were talking about the intimidation factor among athletes. There is some truth behind the saying "you should fear the quite ones the most". One football player used red contacts to "reflect the glare in practice" then kept them because they are very terrifying, or because he truly believes that red contacts reflect glare (doubtful). Other athletes talk smack and pull out the handbook of “your mom” insults on their opponents. Then, there is the silent type; the show zooms in on Tom Brady with a look on his face like Jack Nicolas in the Shining. (No one agrees with me but I swear Tom Brady looks like him. Google “Tom Brady angry”). Troy Polamalu also falls into the silent category. One of his opponents said something along the lines of "there is nothing scarier than talking [smack] to an opponent and having them return a silent stare". You never know what is going on in their minds and the silent ones are most often the ones who have pent up anger or feelings.

This takes me to my point that is much less aggressive and entertaining than large football players and their peculiarities: the danger of silence and an unoccupied mind. When my mind is left to itself it tends to go to the extremes and create scenarios that are far from reality. Since Robert’s diagnoses I have made it a point to keep my mind from the extremes. It actually had started on the opposite side of the spectrum of unrealistic positive thoughts and beliefs.

Robert: I have cancer

Me: Maybe it's something else

Robert: My tumor markers are high and the ultrasound shows a lump

Me: Maybe it's an infection or a cyst

Robert: Doc just called. I have cancer and I am scheduled for surgery on Tuesday.

Me: Maybe after Tuesday everything will be better and we can be done.

Robert: I will need chemo.

Me: Maybe you won't.

Fast forward. I was wrong and didn’t want to face the truth.

Reality kicks in, and then an automatic occupation of the brain. I am currently a master cleaner, hostess, cook, and hold a full time job.

Keeping my mind occupied is only a temporary relief from reality, and although temporary, it is great training for domestication and guidelines to being the perfect wife. I swear Robert planned all of this out. Although, I know he wouldn't get cancer just to build a good wife, but I wouldn't completely put it past him.

On a side note, completely unrelated to this topic (yes I have a wandering mind) when Robert and I went on our first road trip ever, with 5 hours in the car alone, Robert told me his first cancer story. I cried, I laughed, (of course) and said I just couldn't imagine him going through everything. He then, with a very serious yet surprisingly soft tone, said "I would take cancer again over having any of my family members diagnosed. I would prefer to get cancer again then ever have you have cancer...” He said he knew he could handle it and laugh through it but he didn’t think he could handle anyone he cared about going through it.

When he was diagnosed I told him that he took the bullet for one of us, I cried. He nodded that single nod that both him and Mr. Gary do when approving of something, or after proving that they are correct. The nod is always followed by a modest smile. I use modest loosely.

The initial point of my rambling is: you need to allow yourself to cope with the feelings you have. Keeping yourself busy is wonderful, but sometimes you get so occupied by cooking and cleaning and planning, that you forget to just sit down and spend time with the person who is carrying the burden of everybody else’s sorrow. The person who knows that due to their condition there are people who are so hurt and upset, and there is nothing that can be done about that pain. Remember that is ok to be sad and cry, and its ok to feel happiness in the midst of all that’s happening. If you can’t laugh and cry in the same day, then you cant begin to cope and understand what you truly may be feeling. I always internalize what I feel and tend to smile through the rough times. In the end it leaves Robert to pick up the pieces when I finally fall apart, and that is not fair to him, or myself.

This is a learning process for everyone involved. We can learn from our reactions and begin to plan out our future actions. I am not saying that when faced with trying times you should sit and cry, but make sure to balance the busy and the down time.

I can happily say, I don’t think I have had a stage 3 break down since last Sunday. Robert has been laughing through every day. Today seems normal. It may be the calm before the storm, but we have to take what we get, one day at a time. We will welcome the tears just as much as we welcome the laughs.

Donate for the Fight

2011-11-03T12:04:00.000-07:00

Hey Everyone,

I have been asked by some extremely very nice people to put up a PayPal account to the blog so people can donate to help out. You can see it on the header of the blog, and at the very bottom. I do not want anyone to think that they have to donate to read the blog. It is there for people who would like to and are able to help out with my current situation.

Think of it as the donation plate that passes you in church, but if you don't put any money in there, the person sitting next to you won't judge you.

Having cancer costs a lot of money, so I appreciate every dollar that goes into the donation. If Kasia and I receive anything over helping to cover the costs of my medical bills we will donate the rest to Livestrong. My family has been making donations to Livestrong ever since I was diagnosed in 2004, and it is a very worthy cause.

Thanks everyone for your support, kind words, and prayers. All of everyone's compassion towards our situation has been unbelievable. I don't know how to describe how thankful Kasia and I are for everyone in our lives...

So again, if you would like to donate go ahead and do it... if not, NBD.

Check Yoself, Fools.

2011-11-02T20:02:00.000-07:00

Ever since my first diagnosis with cancer people ask me, "How did you find it?!" My reply is often surprising to them, which is surprising to me, "I found a lump on my ball."

People look at me bewildered that it is either so simple or that my answer is so matter of fact. Girls seem to get a bit uncomfortable when you are upfront about discussing your testicles... so if you happen to be in the same situation, proceed with caution. With my second diagnosis the question has changed slightly from the masses, "How did you find it, this time?" Again, my reply is met with bug eyes, "I found another lump on my ball."

The issue with young men finding a lump on their testicle is not that they don't know that something is obviously wrong. It is simply that they don't want to discuss with ANYONE their most private and cherished of body parts. From an extremely young age you protect your testicles as if there was a miniature Fort Knox inside of your underwear, and if anyone was trying to get to them they would be killed (*this goes only for aggressive moves towards your junk, with the intent of injury. There are scenarios when you should be allowing, nay promoting aggressive moves towards your junk).

When young women start having their period, they go to see a doctor on a regular basis to make sure their plumbing is working correctly and to check for any issues such as cancer. If anything, when boys reach maturity a doctor comes to your PE class, grabs your nuts, and tells you to cough. It is a very uncomfortable experience, and quite scary for a 13 year old boy. There is little to no pleasantries, his hands are cold (otherwise it would be WAY bigger, right?!), and there is no discussion about illnesses that possibly can show up and what symptoms you should be looking for later down the road.

Although, the old man grabbing your balls at age 13 has nothing to do with you checking them on a regular basis throughout life. You have to be proactive kids! The general population needs to move past the embarrassment of discussing your privates. It is not just an issue for diagnosing cancer... it is also a way to prevent STD's and other genital issues that can be avoided by just recognizing something is different and being vocal. I don't know about all of you dudes, but growing up I had a hand down my pants almost all the time. I knew my twig and berries better than I knew anything else in life... I cherished them, kept them clean, put protection over them for sports, and made sure they were in prime condition.

So freshman year in college, when I was sitting in my dorm room playing Tiger Woods' golf, and I put my hands down my pants I knew immediately that something was wrong. There is a bump there that was not there before... something was definitely wrong. Lucky for me, I was/am far from being embarrassed about talking about my testicles. I was living with one of my best friends of all time, Larson Welsh. Larson and I went to high school together with a group of friends that I am lucky enough to remain my best pals with to this day.

Within a couple seconds of finding it I called Larson into the room. The discussion went almost exactly like this (picture inset is Larson and I at Nascar):

Robert: Hey guy, I think I found something very interesting.
Larson: Yeah? I am fairly excited about the possibilities...
Robert: Yeah. I just found a lump on my testicle, if I touch it, it really hurts.
Larson: oooohhhhh, ok ok. Well bro, I have a lump on my testicle too.
Robert: You do?
Larson: Perhaps we should compare them to see if we both have the same thing.
Robert: I definitely think we should compare them.

*it somehow made sense to Larson and myself that because we lived together, slept in the same room, ate every meal together, and worked out together that we definitely would be suffering from the exact same ailment.

Larson and I then proceeded to figure out how to do this in the most mature and medically acceptable way possible. It was decided that whoever was touching at the time would put a t-shirt over his hand and the touchee would hold the infected area and direct where to press. We decided on who would go first the same way we handled every situation involving a disagreement... there would be a DUEL.

I guess you could consider Larson and myself 1700's gentleman, who find the romance and allure in the old ways... We respect our forefathers and how they handled disputes. Knowing that we could not shoot each other with real bullets, because we would die, we agreed that metal BB gun rifles would be the best alternative to decide any situation in our new household.

The rules are simple: remove your shirt, rifle rests at your waist until the word GO, shoot until the other person can no longer take it and drops their rifle. If you shoot at the face, you are automatically disqualified and must face the firing squad. The firing squad consisted of three friends on the opposite side of the room. The "face-shooter" must get on his knees put his hands behind his back and face the opposite wall... someone would yell, "FIRE!" and all three would simultaneously shoot you in your bare back. Needless to say, you tried your best to not shoot near the face. The best strategy is to shoot for the upper thigh or chest, but to consistently hit near the same spot. I am waaaay more mature than this now...

Larson won this round. He put the shirt on his hand and touched my bumped testicle. He immediately pronounced that my bump felt nothing like the one he had. I confirmed. So the discussion continued...

Larson: Maybe we both have different tumors (we had come to the conclusion that we both have tumors). Something is definitely wrong with both of us.
Robert: I don't know man, I just found it today. It was definitely not there a couple days ago.
Larson: Ohhhhhhh, ok. Cool.
Robert: Why? How long have you noticed your tumor?
Larson: I'm not sure, I think I found it when I was in 6th grade.
Robert: Are you f%#king kidding me Lars?!! You think that you have had a cancerous tumor since 6th grade? Don't you think you would be dead?!
Larson: I don't know bro, maybe I am dying. I don't know these things. Do not judge me.
Robert: I can't believe you are comparing my tumor to one you found 7 years ago. This extremely scientific experiment is flawed and now failed.

We probably laughed for a while, went to the gym, played some TWoods, and I left for hockey. On this specific day of practice we were leaving for a road trip immediately following practice which meant that the team doctor, Dr. Jim Davis, would be there. I figured he would know more about the situation than Larson. After practice I took a shower and then told Doc what I had found. Doc had me drop my pants, he put on gloves (gloves! genius!) and felt the lump. Dr. Jim Davis is the head of medical at Utah State University, a former NCAA football player, a emergency room surgeon, and an all around unbelievable human. To this day I still consider Doc as my main physician, one of my closest confidants and one of the smartest people I have ever met.

Doc's prognosis in the locker room was that it was a swollen gland. Although, he did remind me that he was not a urologist, and if it was something that I was worrying about than I should most definitely should go get a second opinion.

Doc's prognosis was good enough for me. I was fine, and if it got worse, I would go see a doctor. That first check-up took place in the beginning of the month October, hockey season had just started.

Over the next few months there were very noticeable changes going on physically and mentally. I had an excuse for them all:

1. I started seeing black dots in my vision whenever my heart rate would go up. As a hockey player, this became an issue... for I was searching for a black cylinder puck whenever I touched the ice. This resulted in me constantly being flattened on my back by opponents. I would not let anyone know what I was feeling/seeing... it would pass.

2. My nipples become large cones. I figured I was going through another round of puberty. I would be more manly, nay a superhero once this one finished up. In actuality, I found out later that this was happening because my body was no longer producing more testosterone than estrogen.

3. I never slept anymore. Meh, I was excited about being in college. It was the first time I was away from home so that is why I couldn't catch some sleep eye.

4. I had a huge lump on my ball that was getting larger. I don't know on that one.

Overall, I was an athlete and my dad had taught me to play through the pain. Be tough. He explained to me as lovingly as he could, "You don't come out of the game unless there is a bone sticking out of your skin or if you are puking blood." You attempt to play the sick out of you. At age 17, I played Midget ice hockey with a broken hand and wrist for a week until my mom came back from vacation and noticed my swollen extremity. She brought me to the orthopedic to find out that I had broken my wrist in a number of different places. I felt proud though, I had toughed it out.

SIDENOTE: Gary (dad) played hockey through college, was a player/coach for Toledo University, still plays roller and ice hockey weekly and still competes in tournaments around the country. By all accounts from family members and friends has never lost a fight on the ice... back when they played old time hockey... Eddie Shore? Gary is no joke.

Derek, Gary (stache), Fran, and me

Gary raised tough boys. I would ignore the pain until it went away... this was no different than anything else I had assumed at the time. When the season ended, I went back home for Spring Break, in March. Seven months after the first check up. My dad had set up a visit with the urologist, who let us know three days later that I was diagnosed with cancer.

I had the testicle and tumor removed by my urologist in Las Vegas. Went to Indiana University to get treated by urologist Dr. Richard Foster, MD. Dr. Foster revolutionized the way testicular cancer is now treated. My family had read the book, It's Not About the Bike, by Lance Armstrong immediately after my diagnosis (a gift to us from my Uncle Jim, who is, or used to be an avid rider. I believe he is a professional golfer now, but you'd have to ask him) and according to my mother, "I was going to the same doctor as Lance Armstrong! The best!" I was already wearing the yellow bracelet, so I figured what the hell. If you get a chance, read the book... it is the most inspiring thing I have ever read.

After the exhausting and sometimes terrible recovery I was left with one testicle. Throughout my treatment I had not once felt the lone testicle. I was scared of what I might find. Was I a freak now? Would I ever be able to get married? Should I get a prosthetic? How would I explain this to future female suitors?

I decided to weigh the options for a few weeks before I decided my next course of action. The next few weeks were eye opening. I had a premonition: One Testicle is Way Better Than Two.

Here are the reasons:

1. I was streamlined.
2. I could fit in a cramped car with more comfort than the two-baller sitting next to me. Or in my case, a cramped hockey bench was not an issue anymore.
3. I got WAY less Swall. Mom, this a hyphenated word originating sometime in the 1600's that stands for "sweaty balls." Someone will have to check the place of origin, I'm guessing celtic?
4. Chicks dig it.

So kids, to wrap it all up... the lesson we learned today: Check your balls often and thoroughly and if you get the chance to get rid of one of the berries, do it. Be tough. But don't be an idiot. Don't be afraid to talk to somebody about it.

Scribble that down somewhere.

You can die from cancer.

2011-10-31T12:14:00.000-07:00

Last night Kasia broke down. We were sitting there watching tv, she was working on her computer as I controlled the stations between ESPN, ESPN2, Monday Night Football, and numerous hockey games (so I was obviously busy) and Kasia just started crying.

I have seen this before. I have been watching numerous sports before and Kasia was stressed out on something or another, and she just starts crying. I can't always decode the new language she seems to pick up when she starts these "episodes." I can usually pick out a few words that she mixes into her jargon that sound something like these English phrases: something about listening to her (which I can't, because I cannot UNDERSTAND her), not ignoring her, she is not taking this [poop] anymore, something about me growing up, and other ridiculous claims that I can barely hear over the TV announcers voice who seems to effortlessly be putting full English words and phrases together into full sentences. I usually/always find out through these "conversations" that I am the one who is wrong (and to tell you the truth, once she settles down, I do see her point 73% of the time) and I apologize for my actions.

In an effort to speed up the process, last night when Kasia started crying I blurted out, "I'm sorry." It didn't work. She continued to cry and then said something very surprising and heartbreaking, "I'm sorry."

Kasia and I have had friends in and out of our house ever since I have been diagnosed with cancer. The distraction has been wonderful. But that is exactly what is was, a distraction. We have had a whirlwind last two weeks: engaged, doctor visits, diagnosed with testicular cancer again, preop, surgery, and more doctor visits have kept Kasia's brain busy without having to think of the inevitable thought with any substance: I have cancer. Someone with cancer is dying. I am dying.

My dad would have a hard time with me saying that. He does not like to think or see anything that portrays a negative connotation towards my health, or anyone's health that he loves. But it is the undeniable truth. People with cancer are dying, which means that I am currently dying. I have had this sobering thought before when I was first diagnosed and it sits in the back of my mind now, I have already accepted that I have a disease that is killing me. I have also refused to let it.

I have made up my mind that I was not going to let cancer beat me, but that I was going to beat cancer. My sister, Lindsey, posted a quote from Lance Armstrong that embodies my feelings towards having the disease:

"If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or fight like hell!" -Lance Armstrong

Myself; My Nephew/Godson, Maddux; My Dad, Gary. In Florida in September 2011.

Apparently I have issues with discussing my feelings. I really do not enjoy doing it, and most times I get more annoyed and my feelings get more negative if people try to talk to me about it. So Kasia has no idea what is going on in my head in regards to my attitude through cancer... which is completely unfair to her.

Last night Kasia could no longer take putting on a happy face. She was not happy and was tired of acting like it. She was sorry that I had to see her like that, she was sorry that she wasn't stronger, she was sorry that she could not make it all better.

It is easy to get caught up in yourself when you have cancer... everyone is talking about you and it seems the world wants to know what is going on with you in that moment. It can be exhilarating and at the same time completely exhausting. You forget the effect that cancer has on everyone around you, especially the people who truly love you. It is not just hard on you, but just as hard, and sometimes it is harder on your loved ones... it would benefit me to tell my loved ones how I feel and to listen to their concerns as well. This way, I don't have to spend so much time on the breakdowns, because they won't happen as often and in reality, this is all about self preservation. I am all about self preservation and living...

You can die from cancer, but that is up to you.

So for all of you that are having a hard time with this, let me explain my thought process:

I have cancer. I am dying. I will beat cancer. I will live.

Movember

2011-10-31T11:41:00.000-07:00

It's that wonderful time of the year where the men of the world make a stand against cancer and spread awareness by growing that handsome hockey 'stache. Robert tops the charts with his handsome 'stache, and if I could get my hands on a hockey photo of Mr. Gary, I think Robert would have some great competition. I searched high and low for a great photo of Robert's November efforts, however, the flash hides the 'stache and nothing did him justice. (Also, as if our luck wasn't choppy enough, my computer completely failed me last night and I am on a temp until we can save all my info. This is also the reason all access to the archive of the infamous "Robert the sexy 'stache" has been denied.) Here is a gem I came across that will have to work until Robert can dig up the best photo's of him and Mr. Gary.

Ladies do not feel left out. There are plenty of ways to express yourself and support this great hairy month.

In addition to enhancing your facial features there are many other great ways to support cancer awareness. One of my favorite companies TOMS came out with limited edition Movember shoes. The proceeds go to the Movember foundation. Ch Ch Check them out.

Feel free to post your Movember 'staches and grow that facial hair wild in the name of Robert Manley Sutherland.

Thanks,

Kasia

Today I went on a walk...

2011-10-28T15:49:00.000-07:00

Today has been a huge day for me. I went on my first walk by myself since I had surgery. I went about 300 feet outside my house, but I felt like I was exploring some distant land with Shadow. Why was I feeling so adventurous you say? Well, I got my first testosterone shot yesterday and my dad called me this morning to see how I was doing. The conversation started like this:

*Phone ringing**
Robert: Hello Dad (I have a smart phone, so it shows me who is calling)
Gary: Hello Robert, how are you feeling today?
Robert: Just great... I have not moved out of bed today. (I must have sounded extremely manly at this point)
Gary: Your voice sounds deeper... must be the testosterone shot.

Robert: You know dad, I feel a bit big right now. I think I might take Shadow on a walk.
Gary: You're the man

Shadow hanging in the fall leaves today. She matches.

So feeling like Paul Bunyan I hung up the phone, and watched tv for another half an hour. Until I felt another wave of testosterone flow through my veins and I remembered how deep my voice currently is did I crawl out of bed, march myself into the bathroom, and took my first shower in four days.

Washing my body with Dove soap and Bumblebee shampoo I thought about the possibility of calling my doctor for another testosterone shot. But oh well, I got out of the shower smelling effing magical... four blue birds were waiting for me when I got out and were sharing the weight of a cotton towel and the gently dried me off (along with testosterone, I am heavily sedated on pain killers, so this is just my recollection of my morning). I got MYSELF dressed and took a stroll outside. Shadow and I braved the conditions for a good 23 minutes until Kasia got home to make us lunch. We survived with minimal damage. Shadow may have some frostbite, or it is just a piece of ice she is holding in her mouth from the kitchen.

You can see my new scar where they removed the testicle. After my first shower in four days.

How 'the Tiger' takes advantage of me sleeping on drugs. Picture via Kasia.

Shadow is someone that will be mentioned in this blog quite regularly. Shadowfax is my dog (whom I now share with Kasia. *she would get upset without that disclaimer. Kasia, not Shadow), she is a golden retriever/border collie mix, 7 years old, climbed more mountains than most goats, and is as close as I would assume any child I ever have will be. I got Shadow in Logan, Utah after I had returned from my first treatments with cancer. She was a beaten dog and was going to be put down due to the fact that Logan, Utah has no pound. So if the Humane Society does not pick them up... they put them down.

Shadow asked me to keep her alive (she was speaking at 4 months old) and surprised by a dog speaking, I decided to take her home with me... 7 years later, she is still the best purchase I have ever made. Shadow is my best friend, daughter, protector, and all around lifetime companion. She understands that I have cancer for her and I have had numerous talks about it, and we have both agreed that I am going to be completely fine.

Kasia's ring holder ^ That's my girl

"The Proposal" by Kasia

2011-10-28T13:01:00.001-07:00

I will always have Oct 14, 2011 embedded in my brain. I say this but don’t mean it since I cannot remember dates for the life of me. Robert took me to the top of PC Mountain for a quick hike during work around 3pm on Friday afternoon. I had been complaining non-stop while on my trip in China that I would miss my favorite part of the year in Park City. I love the turning of the leaves in fall and being gone two weeks you can miss the best rounds of colors. I had just returned home that Saturday and now stood looking down at the paradise we call home. The colors were perfect and I can happily say I hadn’t missed the reds I was eager to see.

After gazing for a few moments Robert gave me a kiss on my head and told me he loved me. (He may deny it but he gets random sentimental spurts from nowhere, so this was nothing out of the ordinary.) I told him I loved him too and turned to walk back down the mountain in order to make it back to the office for Roberts meeting.

As I walked away Robert didn’t let go of my hand. I figured that maybe I hadn’t given his nice gesture enough attention so I turned to quickly reciprocate when I found Robert down on one knee. What happened from that moment on, I cannot recall accurately. I remember asking if what was happening was real, having Robert nod with the ring in his hand, and walking away wondering if my knees were going to lock and my breathing stop. I now know what it really means to have your breath taken away. I pride myself on always having an idea when something is about to happen. Any surprise is not really a surprise to me. I know something is coming and usually I know when. This, however, blindsided me. After 10 minutes of gathering my breath asking if this was really happening I managed to say yes. I do think I may have been on all fours trying to get the world to stop spinning under my feet, but a yes is a yes.

We were on top of the world.

I truly believe that at that minute in time the world was tilted “just so” and was rotating at the exact speed that put us on the highest point of the earth. Please do not try to prove me wrong with science, its not an argument I am willing to give up so it would simply waste your time and cause you much frustration.

That day was the best day of my life. The man I loved to the moon and back had picked out the most perfect ring on earth and taken a gamble on me. I couldn’t be happier at that moment. The next few days were ethereal. I will let you soak in the happiness of that day, as I was able to.

"Robert" by Kasia

2011-10-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

Robert has a natural pride that he carries in his back pocket. His confidence is second to none, and this is why I know that everything is going to be just fine. I think back a couple years, a few months before Robert and I were “dating”. This confident, dare I say cocky, man told me that some day I would be rich, marry him, and take care of him. I must say he nailed two of those things right on the head. I soon will marry this man, and today I find myself taking care of him. Although, I must admit, that even though I may be his cook, maid, and on-time pill reminder, I am not taking care of Robert. Robert, in fact, is taking care of me. The way he laughs in the face of cancer, and cracks jokes about this difficult situation, make me know that I can make it through anything.

I told him today (yesterday), that I think I don’t cry or realize the severity of everything going on because I do not feel a part of it. I feel that I am floating above the situation just observing. I am well aware of the fact that my fiance has cancer. I cannot change this. However, this is just the state we are in at the moment, it does not define him, it simply allows him to define himself by the way he reacts. I am aware that the next few months will be difficult and at times seem like they may take the best of us, but a year from now we will be laughing and making jokes about how Robert always has to one-up everyone. In this case he decided to do it by not only losing one testicle, but two.

With testicular cancer being among the rarest forms of cancer, but the most common cancer in young men, it seems extremely improbable that one man will be hit with this twice, seven years apart, in one life time. I would assume it would be about as rare, if not more rare, than being struck by lighting twice. I say this very cautiously, because I do not want Robert to get any ideas and make the "lighting strike" his next feat.

Roberts confidence and ability to focus on a goal, and always succeed, should leave all of us at peace. We can sit back and watch the inevitable downfall of cancer, again.

Words cannot express how thankful we are for the support and positive energy that our family, friends, and community have provided for us. Thank you for taking a minute to read our short stories and rambles that have become a coping mechanism for us, as well as a way to communicate Robert's progress.

Thanks,
Kasia

Weighing in for the Title Bout

2011-10-27T23:39:00.000-07:00

Here I am, it is 10:39 PM on Thursday night, 10/26/11. I am watching Fox Sports as literally Freeze JUST HIT A HOME RUN! (I am typing this as he runs around the bases, this is amazing, I really cannot believe that just happened). Wow. I did not make that up. I was waiting the entire game to write an update on the blog, maybe I do control the world with my mind. As before, please forgive all typos and grammatical mistakes as well as rants and medical mistaken quotes. I am still heavily sedated.

Anyways, today we went back to my Urologist, Dr. McFadden to discuss what was found in the tumor.

But before we get to that, I thought everyone might enjoy a quick story about Dr. McFadden and how we found out he was linked to us before I had ever met him. Call it Halloween spookiness, or be more realistic and call it a coincidence.

Dr. Michael McFadden served in the military with my one of my Grandfather's very best friends, Dr. Richard Tapper, a Urologist who has been living and practicing at Toledo Hospital with my Granddad, Dr. Gerry Sutherland, who is a famous Orthopedic Surgeon hailing from the wonderful city of Toledo, Ohio as well. Yes readers, his real name is Dr. Dick Tapper and for a profession he plays with balls and wieners... life is nutty sometimes (pun, intended). Anyways, they served as doctors in the military together in the 70's and had not spoken to each other in thirty years... that is until, I went and got cancer and brought these long, lost, kindred souls back together again. You're welcome you two.

And now back to me... Dr. McFadden successfully removed the entire tumor and testicle from my groin section on Tuesday, he left a very small incision that is rarely bleeding. Today, I was to find out the preliminary test results from the pathology report. Kasia loaded me up in the Nissan Murano, put on some Pandora, turned up the Jimmy Buffett and I serenaded Kasia to, "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" as we drove down the canyon. I am a born romantic, even in the harshest of conditions... it's more of a curse than a blessing. We arrived to the doctors office in typical fashion, 15 minutes late, mostly due to my current groin condition. And also because of the fact that no one gave me a gas powered wheel chair, as I had previously requested.

We got into the patient room and Dr. McFadden showed up in typical Doctor style, 20 minutes late. No joke... all doctors walk into your patient room, or curtain room at least 20-30 minutes after the nurse places you in your designated area. This is not something I am complaining about, but more of an observation that I have decided to share. The best analogy I can think of to relate the situation is like this: Remember as a child when your parents would take you to go see Santa, you were so excited when that short girl dressed as an elf grabbed your hand to take you to the big guy so you can request presents (in my case, what my plan to live is). What if when you got there Santa was dealing with his bladder infection for 25 minutes. I am not saying Dr. McFadden has a bladder infection either, I am just saying... don't bring me back in that room until the good doctor is good and ready to see me, and can tell me what presents I am getting. (I can't believe this is the best analogy I can think of... I can see my dad shaking his head now).

Well after these overblown 20 minutes Dr. McFadden answered my questions. And by my questions, I mean Kasia's. She has been captaining this drugged up ship (me) and making sure I take all of my medications, go to my endless doctor appointments, brush my teeth, consume food, get up to use the toilet, and other odds and ends. Kasia has turned out to be worth the investment on my part... I am going to go ahead and chalk her up as a win for me. My new fiance has continually surprised me throughout this ordeal and has gotten me to fall in love with her in a way I did not know was possible. She is the silver lining on a shitty situation, but man that silver shines, right?! Here are the questions and answers she got from my doctor.

1.What kind of tumor was it?

I have an Embryonic Tumor. This means that I have caught a rare case of testicular cancer that has either attached itself to an old tissue from my previous cancer or even more strange, has started all on its own. Their seemed to be a vascular invasion by the tumor, which means it had survived on my blood stream, and is how the cancer is carried... which is typical.

2. Did we catch it early?

Yes. Because I had been getting regular check ups the cancer seems to be caught early, making the recovery faster and easier on me and all of my friends and family members.

3. What is the recommended treatment?

Dr. McFadden is a urologist and not an oncologist, he cannot give me the details on the exact treatment that I will most likely be getting. Although, he did give me an idea on the typical process that will follow a diagnosis like this: three different types of intense chemo therapy. But there is always "other options."

When you have cancer, the doctors always let you know that you have "other options." The doctors have to treat you like they are speaking to someone that has the intelligence level of a five year old. "We recommend that you should do this. It will save your life. But of course, you don't have to... there are always other options." Usually those other options have to do with dying, which is not in the cards for this guy. I promised my little sister I would remind her that she loves me at age 77 only four days ago. A hefty promise, because 50 years from now is a long time to be alive. But a promise is a promise... Soooo I am going to do the chemotherapy. Unless the different options in this case are something that will keep me alive and kill the cancer.

On the brighter side, lets talk about my prosthetic testicle. Next Friday, is when I think we are going to plop that mofo in. Apparently they used to have lots of different prosthetic testicles but now there is only one approved by the FDA. Which only leads me to believe that the manufacturer of the only current prosthetic testicles burned the other factories down to monopolize the industry. Smart.

**I would also like to thank my good friend Aaron Burrell for offering one of his testicles to replace mine... I will have to get it tested before we move forward, but I think it's going to be tough getting it past the FDA. You're a good friend though.

I also wanted to give a quick shout out to all of our friends that have been there by our side... friends from Park City, college, high school, family friends, and people I haven't spoken to or heard from for decades have reached out to offer that support. For this, I am extremely humbled. I can't express how much it helps to know we have great friends that are ready to help, especially when it actually counts.

The last few days Kasia and I have had our friends Scotty and Kara over to help, because apparently I can be needy. Scotty has helped make sure I don't fall down the stairs, watch hockey, and eat the food the girls prepare for us. Because my appetite has not been the usual trash dispenser Kasia and Kara made homemade chicken noodle soup from scratch, that was "to die for" yesterday. Speaking for both of us I cannot express our gratitude towards Scotty and Kara for being so selfless and dropping their regular lives to help Kasia and myself after surgery. I mean, I don't want to give them too much credit, they do get to hang out with us.

We have also had amazing meals made by other friends as well:
French Dip: Josh and Charlotte
Spaghetti: Britt and Rich... Well, Rich hung out with me, Britt cooked.
The whole Whole Foods Store: The Kosiba's <-- Who have continually been there for Kasia and I through everything.

And other nick nacks and treats from others. They are the best, and so are all of you people. I am falling in between sleeping and staring, which happens when I am on painkillers, so I am not even going to try and proof read this post, nor will I structure any of my thoughts, because I am too tired.

This is RAW blog writing people. You're welcome. Other blogs will have more pictures, my apologies.

No Nuts, No Glory

2011-10-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

Today is Wednesday, October 26th, 2011. It is the first day in my life that I can remember (because I believe toddler's balls' don't drop for a bit, but I am no scientist) waking up without any testicles. At approximately 4:45 PM Mountain Standard Time I had my last remaining testicle removed along with the cancer ridden tumor that is trying to kill me. Rest assured humans, I will not. Also please excuse typo's, ramblings, and/or other grammar infractions as I am on a heavy dose of meds and pain killers.

Going back a few days... I was sitting in the urologists office, Dr. McFadden's in South Jordan, Utah, and he informed me that I would be losing my last testicle. As something that neither of us had ever experienced there were a few questions that needed to be asked:

Dr. McFadden: Do you realize what I am telling you?
Robert: Yes sir. You are removing my ball... (I am prettttty good at Q's and A's).
Dr. McF: Have you saved up any sperm yet from your previous cancer diagnosis?
R: I have approximately three separate donations to the sperm bank. Rather be safe than sorry (backhand the good doctor on the chest, we're obviously homies now).
*I laugh, he laughs, nurse laughs... I'm a riot. Kasia did not laugh.
R: My father has been paying the bill for the last 7 years.
Dr. McF: Sounds like a good guy.
R: The greatest guy ever.
Dr. McF: We can put a prosthetic in as soon as we understand the treatment. We will even get you back to two testicles.
R: No sir. I would like one testicle put back please.
Dr: Excuse me? You would only like one back? It wont be an issue to put two in for you, get you back to what you started with.
R: I understand the situation. I have had one testicle for quite some time now and I have grown very fond of it.
Dr: I have never heard of anybody ever requesting that before.
R: You have also never heard of somebody getting cancer in two separate testicles. And coming from someone who has had the opportunity to have both experiences, I must tell you, the one testicle is the way to go.
Dr: Well, you're the patient.
R: If you get the opportunity, make sure you check it out.
Dr: I'll look into it.

So I have not received my implant yet, but I will once I know the chemo schedule and that there is no extra issues going on down there. As I am writing this I constantly wonder how uncomfortable it makes people that I am constantly writing about my ball(s), or lack thereof. *bouncing around, I am writing loaded on percocet.

Moving on to the surgery. I had my testicle and tumor removed and woke up a bit uncomfortably, but to a very nice nurse who promptly loaded me with more drugs and got my fiance, who was followed by a number of other friends whom had come to console Kasia and see me when I woke up. Those friends were: Pat, Ashley (married couple, and both great friends since college), Scotty, Kara (Scotty is a great friend from college, and Kara is his awesome girlfriend I met this year), Sarah (lived with Kasia in PC, and one of our best friends), and Charlotte (another bf from PC). Apparently I was spouting jokes from the moment they had walked in, some were inappropriate regarding getting frost bite on my wiener (*note: these are stories told to me later, as I do not recall my actions, so this could all be lies), some were more wholesome... again, the nurse thought I was a riot.

As soon as they would let me I left the hospital to be driven home by Kasia. I called my mom, dad, sister, and brother to tell them I was o.k. and to not worry. Telling this to grieving parents and a sister who can't stand to see a bug hurt let alone her own brother dealing with cancer, again, is very tough... especially on me. Almost every time I talk to my sister or see something that she posts on facebook regarding my cancer I tear up. She has had this affect on me for quite some time now.
Another person my sister has that affect on is my dad.

After I had called my parents, Kasia and I were heading up the canyon to Park City and I got a terrible feeling in my stomach that I had not talked to my pops after surgery. I had, just did not remember due to all of the medicine I was on. So even though Kasia had told me that we had spoken I needed to call him again. There has never been someone in my life that brings me more comfort and offers better advice than my father. So, I called again to tell him how much I love him, how grateful I was for everything has done for me, rambled, discussed the surgery, got like one tear, etc. I am guessing he teared up and he repeated the same to me... I had already teared up, but he is a wussy because I was on drugs. It had instantly made me feel better, and less scared... don't ask me why I was scared at the time, probably because I had just lost my last remaining testicle, dumby.

If I am anyone reincarnated, it is in my Dad's image; we have the same sense of humor, face (his nose and ears are bigger), body type, hair <-- Gary loves hair, sport interest (hockey, skiing), and other emotional and physical similarities.
My Dad has been there with me through everything in my life. Gives advice so well I can rarely remember him being wrong... except for that time he told the doctor that, "he does not have cancer, he has a cyst... like I have (points to his groin)." But I would say he is batting over .900 in good advice. He would give anything to take pain away from anyone he loves and put it on himself. His baby boy and BFFE (Acronym: Best Friend for Ever) having cancer is something I know is causing him more then a few sleepless nights. If you see him, make sure you give him a hug for me and tell him I am easily going to beat this thing because he taught me how to be tough, resilient, calm in times of distress, find a solution, and to never give up. He has passed these lessons to all of his children, Lindsey and Derek have applied it in their own lives in separate situations. Derek is a born hero, and took that admirable quality and became a fireman... a damn good one too, for he is wanted in many states for his skill set. Derek is also my best friend and he will be the best man in my upcoming marriage to Kasia. Lindsey made the dean's list throughout college and graduated in four years with a teaching degree. She is the sweetest girl ever to live, something she obviously gets from my momma (who might win sweetest woman to ever live. I am serious... people talk about my mother like she is the second coming of Mother Theresa, and they might be right). But careful crossing Lindsey, because she will mow you down... her fiance, Adam Wood (great southern man), once told me after messing with Lindsey for a while that I was, "playing with fire," and was seriously scared for my health. I was well aware of the fire I was playing with.

Enough of the rambling about my family. But I wanted to portray and explain how much they mean to me, and how important they are in this process... I am also on drugs so stuff it haters.

Fran and Gary will be making trips out to Utah to help out with chemotherapy and I cant wait to see them again and have my mom cook for me. So far my menu for my mother will look something like this:
- Shrimp and Grits for Dinner
- Beef tenderloin, potatoes, and vegetables
- Grits and Eggs for breakfast
- Her spaghetti
- Homemade Vegetable soup and cornbread

I am sure there are more meals that I will think of later on. But I am excited for them to be here and hug them and have them celebrate Kasia and my recent engagement.

I am doing great today. I am thankful for everyone who has come to see me and sent well wishes via text or email. I really do appreciate hearing how awesome I am, so please keep sending those messages about how cool you all think I am... I can't get enough of it.

The tumor is out, and that is the first step to getting better. I will be laid up for the next 6 days in recovery from my surgery... the hardest part so far seems to be getting up to take a piss. I walk as though I am 95 years old with two hip surgeries. The pee takes ten minutes to get out, even though I thought I had to rush to whip it out or I would soil myself, and when it does it takes another 25 seconds for it to get going... but here is the silver lining folks! Due to having my groin muscles cut through to retrieve my tumor/ball, I physically cannot use that muscle to push out the urine through my urethra. I have to wait for it to come out, and that my friends, is the most wonderful feeling in the world. It is impossible to explain to people the satisfaction of having the stream come out without any effort, and to not be able to push out to pick up the pace. After my first surgery to remove my left testicle (the right one just got removed yesterday) I always tried to duplicate this feeling to no avail because the muscle would automatically react and push. The human body is one crazy contraption folks. I never thought I would get the chance to duplicate it again, but here I am, having the greatest pisses of my life. You have to take joy in the little things in situations like this, write that down.

Have a good one everybody, thanks for all of the prayers and kind words. The prayers are working so keep it up.

Diamonds, Engagements, Flowers, and Tumors

2011-10-24T15:16:00.000-07:00

Hello Readers... who are most likely just my family members.

I have created this blog with my fiance' Kasia, to document our experiences from the latest events in our life so our family and friends may be able to follow and get some sort of happiness/closure during this long process. If anything else, we would hope that it would help someone or another couple that might ever go through a similar situation. We will be making posts together, separately and we will do our best to be as honest and forthcoming as possible. The following is my/our story:

In the year 2004 I was a starry-eyed freshman in college at Utah State University in my second semester. I was basically the man, according to me; I skied, I lived with one of my best friends from high school (Mr. Larson Welsh), I was playing hockey for Utah State, I wore aviator sunglasses, etc. Until I found out in March of that year that I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. I dropped out of classes, and spent the following months in surgery and treatment until cancer decided it had had enough of me beating it up and I was cleared of that bitch... down a few lymph nodes and one testicle, but victorious.

Three to Four and a half years later I graduated from college, moved to Georgia for three weeks, drove back to Utah, became a ski-bum clipping tickets, ran out of money, almost moved back to Georgia, and finally landed a job: Accounts Receivable for Skullcandy, Inc. Skullcandy was a dream job; they demand you ski on powder days, hook you up with concert tickets, you can skate around the office, and they DEMAND you ski on powder days... which I did. At Skullcandy I met a number of radical people that continue to be some of my closest friends and professional confidants. Amongst those minions working at Skullcandy was a small, beautiful, petite, intelligent, Polish girl named Kasia Modelski. Her appearance is and was deceiving as she continually scares the shit out of everyone she works with, including VP's and Directors... but alas, I was enamored with her.

Before Kasia would admit that she was checking me out, I informed her via Skype conversation that she would, "make lots of money, eventually fall for me, marry me, and take care of me for the rest of my life," not necessarily in that order. After a few months of wooing her she demanded one Friday night that I plant one on her (a kiss), and after playing a little hardball I finally gave in and made out with her for three hours straight somewhere on or near Main Street in Park City. If a human, or other species with a limb like arm with a hand like appendage attached (I will NOT discriminate species) would have walked past they would have gotten a high-five and a thumbs up from yours truly, for I was stoked, as the kids would say. Fast forward two years later, Kasia is still putting up with my shenanigans and continually surprising me with her grace, love, compassion, and ability to put me in my place when needed.

I had at some point decided that I should probably lock this thing up before she realized what she was doing and bounced... besides, one of the Directors at Skullcandy once told me, "if you were to take a poll from every single person in the office asking, 'Is Kasia too good for Robert?' You would undoubtedly get 200 out of 200 yes's." *-Courtesy of Mark Kosiba.

In light of this scientifically proven finding about myself I bought a ring, hiked Kasia to the top of PC Mountain, got down on one knee, looked her straight in the eye and told her with shaking hands, "everyone thinks I am not good enough for you, please marry me"... and she said yes. I was beyond surprised on the answer and then there was champagne back at the office, drinks on Kosiba at the bar, called our ecstatic parents, had friends over that night for dinner/drinks, and we were on cloud nine by all accounts. Kasia had already started getting ideas for the wedding and thinking about the date we would get married by that following Sunday night.

On that Sunday night, two days after being engaged, I got into bed after playing my adult league hockey game (I scored a hat-trick and got the winning goal in the last 16 seconds but it is NBD, and beside the point) and felt a sharp pain on my last remaining testicle. The feeling was eerily similar to the bump I had found 7 years ago...

After being cleared of cancer in 2004, I was told for the next two years I would need to be checked up every other month, after that I would need to get a check up every 6 months, after 4 years I would need to get checked up once a year and there would be less than a 1% chance of getting cancer ever again. I was treated by the worlds most foremost doctor on testicular cancer, Dr. Foster from Indiana University, who also treated Lance Armstrong on his miraculous recovery. After doing a surgery that removed over a dozen of lymph-nodes from my abdomen I was told that I was now in remission and Dr. Foster sent me home with a letter to give my initial urologist that wrote the following, "...I have never had a patient be re-diagnosed with cancer after being cleared of Stage 1 and receiving a RPLND surgery, but at some point this will happen..." Well it happened, and it happened to me. On Tuesday afternoon I had given blood, an ultra sound, and a ct scan. On Wednesday morning I was informed that I do in fact have elevated tumor markings and a tumor on my testicle, the bitch was back and I was diagnosed with cancer... again.

According to my VERY extensive research, I am the first human to be diagnosed with testicular cancer in two separate testicles as well as the first to be treated by Dr. Foster or anyone else who has received that treatment.

Kasia and I were floored. My parents became beside themselves, not just because the news was tragic but because this time I was no longer near them. My mom could not physically hug me and tell me that we were going to beat it together, she couldn't cook my favorite meals, she could not bare the option of her living on the other side of the country and that she cannot fix or take care of her youngest boy like she did the first time. Our friends and family have been nothing but surprised and more supportive then we could ever ask for, the people from Skullcandy have treated me like family as usual giving us all the time we need and offer endless support, and Kasia has been amazing. She is a seemingly seasoned veteran of dealing with a new fiance' with testicular cancer and I owe her more than she will ever know, or perhaps she does and is just waiting to demand payment. *Fingers crossed for sexual favors... (once we get married of course, if my or her parents/grandparents are reading this.)

I am not scared of cancer. I accept the challenge with open arms on beating the disease. I fondly look back at my first stint with cancer as the best thing that ever happened to me. I became a better person; I cared more about friends and family, I appreciated the little things more, became more honest, got tougher, and overall appreciated the experience and consider it the single most important and knowledgeable time of my life. I am excited to find out what kind of person I will become in the future because of my second stint with cancer... I mean, I am pretty awesome now, think of the future Robert. Woa.

Surgery is tomorrow. We will remove the tumor from my last testicle and after we will know more about the amount of treatment I will have to undergo following the dissection of the tumor. Kasia and I have labeled this blog Love Strong, Livestrong... which has become our battle cry of sorts the last few days for us as well as our family. If you don't understand the meaning, I don't know what to say to you, call someone and ask.