At one point Sunday, Jillian Armenante grabbed my hand during the performance of THE LARAMIE PROJECT: 10 YEARS LATER. It was a nice, calming moment, because with this brilliant woman, the help of Pauley Perrette, but most importantly, the support of the entire staff of Hollywood United Methodist, we had pulled off a miracle. We had pulled off a full scale production to benefit the Matthew Shepard Foundation in under three weeks to a sell-out audience with a tremendous cast.
She grabbed my hand and I thought, "this year has really sucked." I looked over and I saw two men in nice suits and sunglasses, staring out at the crowd.
On Sunday, it will be a year to the date - 365 days or 525,600 minutes since I was lying in bed and found a large lump on my testicle.
For the weeks leading up to discovery, I wasn't feeling "right." I had pain "down there," which I assumed was from lugging camera equipment during the documentary shoot. I couldn't run as fast as my marathon training group. I felt sick.
Finding that lump in the wee hours after Halloween scared the living crap out of me. My heart started racing. I leaped out of bed, grabbed my laptop in the living room, returned to bed and googled to WebMD.com (which one should NEVER, EVER do to self-diagnose) and discovered that whatever this "thing" was, it most probably was cancer.
Just a day or two later, I went to visit my friend Ryan Green. He was one of the first people I told and told me that most probably it was a cyst.
All of my friends tried to cushion it. There isn't a class to take on "what to say when you know someone who might have cancer."
I was put on antibiotics that made me sick, attempting to reduce it. (It did not.) I was sent for second opinions and told "I'm 95% sure it's cancer" (which would be the first time I would hear the word "cancer"). I was told the only sure fire way to know was a biopsy, which would mean removing "Henry" (the sad little testicle) from my scrotum and cutting him open. Whatever it was, it was a tumor. If it was cancer, they would take the testicle, otherwise, if not, they could stick it back in and I would just have a "lumpy" testicle. (That could turn to cancer.)
I had been training to do the Honolulu Marathon with the AIDS Marathon folks and the only reason I did that was because Ryan was coaching. Of course, three weeks before I was set to do the marathon I knew I wouldn't be able to participate. I had surgery exactly 7 days before my friends collecting their finisher medals.
I opted to evict Henry, kicking him out of the scrotum, and of course, but it turned out to be what I thought it was in the early hours of November 1st - cancer.
I walked with a limp for three months (even hiking weeks afterwards... because I'm stubborn), went home to Atlanta for Christmas, and discovered that the oncologist who missed my initial phone call, should have started me on chemo weeks weeks earlier.
Chemo. That was fun.
I quit/ "the job ended"/ my presence was no longer wanted on a documentary that I had been producing for the past six months. On cancer.
I began writing a script the day after Henry was extracted for a producer who would end up not paying me for services rendered. And hurt me in ways no other person ever had, personally, because I was friends with this person.
I wrote for a website that never seemed to be able to pay me on time, even after breaking stories for them - which recently went under. I was considered a "loose canon" because I wanted my money.
I was on unemployment for six months.
My pilot deal died.
I fought weekly with insurance companies.
I was nearly hired for two shows as a writer, but because I wasn't in their fellowships (which pay for the low level writers) ended up not getting hired.
I was up to cast VAMPIRE DIARIES in Atlanta. Practically promised the job, then not hired.
I had another cancer scare.
I lost a few friends to deaths by mysterious circumstances.
I was practically told I would be in the Warner Bros. fellowship, and then didn't make it past the first level.
I (thanks to Catie) finally found employment at a hotel. That has turned me into a vampire. But I have a job and for that, I am grateful.
And then three weeks ago I got what Pauley calls "the God tap" to produce THE LARAMIE PROJECT: 10 YEARS LATER.
And here I sat. Amazing cast on stage and I watched as two men in suits scanned their eyes right passed me. They were here, because of a potential threat from the outside. Because Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptists decided to come play.
We prepared for them. We assembled the congregation with umbrellas. We built angel wings into the wee hours of the night before. We were going to face down this hate from the outside in the biggest, baddest, silent way Hollywood had ever seen.
And they didn't show.
Part of me was relieved. Part of me was pissed. No one likes confrontation, but I wanted these people to face off against my people. The media was ready for it and no one would ever question that on October 25, 2009 - three days before the Matthew Shepard Act was signed by President Obama, that we silently, profoundly and eloquently blew these idiots to the other side of Franklin Avenue.
They didn't show.
The pictures sent to me and the message "remember these pictures" of Matthew Shepard's funeral were considered a threat. Everywhere I went, people followed me. I felt safe, but at the same time, I felt uncomfortable that people were following me for my protection and the protection of my cast.
And as I sat there, watching Zachary Quinto and Helen Shaver reenact a moment as Moises Kaufman and Judy Shepard - in that moment when I thought, "this year has really sucked" - I realized I started off the year with my body trying to kill me and now there were Baptists trying to kill me - physically, emotionally, psychologically - whatever.
And for the first time, I started crying. Couldn't stop. Helen's performance, mixed with the men in suits and the fact that every time my blackberry started vibrating during the performance, I feared it was the text, "Westboro is here."
If I can make it through today, I'll be fine. Then I remembered... "WHY DID I EVER SIGN UP TO DO A MARATHON!?"
On Sunday - 365 days or 525,600 minutes after discovering a lump, I will run. I will run for 26.2 miles through the street of NY. I will run for Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Organization - which was a huge support and education for me over the past year.
Not long ago, I went back through my 12 of 12 pics in January and I remember telling Zen, "I can't believe I tried to hike Runyan a month after major surgery and I was pissed that I had to stop three times to catch my breath" and she told me that all of my friends knew that they wouldn't be able to stop me, so they just let me do my thing. I remember dragging that right leg (where they cut into muscle for the removal) for three months and on Sunday, it's going to be running all over New York City.
I haven't trained properly. We had fires. We had heat. We had rain. I had a crippling cough. I work at night and couldn't sleep due to the heat.
If you haven't followed the entire story - read in reverse, HERE (though, I actually - out of concern for my family and friends, didn't start talking about it until mid-November).
I'm thankful and grateful to everyone who has supported me financially to support Team Livestrong and emotionally. I couldn't have done it without you.
And come Sunday, come hell, come high water - if I have to crawl over that finish line, I'm going to finish it. I'm going to finish and as God as my witness, next year is going to be the best year of my life.