The article in the Cleveland Scene has been published. It went up this morning online and paper copies wtill be available Cleveland-wide tonight.
Check it out!!!
(And never mind the pictures of my blubber!!!)
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Sneaky Video...
... of Mark Nolan.
Posted in deference to the longstanding internet meme... "PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!"
More Developments of an Odd Nature
So I ran the Susan G. Komen race last weekend. I also spoke to Mark Nolan for about ten minutes,but the nature of the race prevented me from being interviewed on TV -- much to mine and Michelle's disappointment, I did get some surreptitious video of Mark as I talked to him, so that was cool.
The Race for the Cure was a cool event with tons of cool schwag. And it was neat being there... although I was the only guy I saw with a survivor shirt. Believe me, I looked for others. There was a small ceremony for the men of breast cancer (for survivors and male family members of survivors) but there was little mention made of male breast cancer.
I remember when I was first diagnosed with this disease, I read that there were incidences of men being treated poorly by some women because this is "their disease". I didn't believe it myself; but I think I did experience it some this last weekend.
In fact, as I was at about mile 2 and a 1/2, I had some women yell at me from the side of the road, "You're wearing the wrong shirt! You're not a survivor!" I was half out of breath, but yelled back that I was. She said something else snarky, but I had already run past her and couldn't hear her over my own labored breathing. I also got quite a few mean looks when some women saw my survivor shirt.
Michelle gets really angry when she hears about this, or watches anything on breast cancer. She thinks it's almost criminally wrong that breast cancer is positioned solely as a woman's disease. She watched the Channel 3 broadcast and grew even angrier because it was about the bravery of women, and about women that had been lost, and how women needed help. It drives her out of her mind that people don't mention the male part of the equation.
I don't mind so much, but I'm starting to come around to her way of thinking.
So I ran the race in about 37 minutes. I've had better 5K times, but I did have cancer 4 months ago, so I'm going to cut myself some slack. I was actually running just under a ten minute mile in fact. My best friend and brother from another mother,Richie, went with me and encouraged me throughout the race. I'll be eternally grateful to him for being such a great friend and staying by my side - which he did throughout the race. He didn't need to do that... the dude runs traitholons... but he did.
That's what makes him such a great friend.
So I was at a sub-10 minute mile race (in the ball park of a 9 and a half minute pace) when we ran down East 9th and out and around the Cleveland Browns stadium. And then we began the arduous, punishing, long run up West 3rd. I lost quite a bit of time there and never made it up.
But I'm glad I did it and will probably do it again next year.
Next on the list is a 10K sometime in the next few months. Wish me luck.
Another interesting development's occurred in my quesst to spread the word about male breast cancer.
I actually sold an article I wrote about my experience to the Cleveland Scene. Dor those not local, The Cleveland Scene is a weekly free newspaper available throughout Cleveland. It is an eclectic mix of news, art, political commentary, and tons of S&M ads in the back. It is actually a well-respected periodical because it doesn't feel the need to impress sponsors and advertisers like the more mainstream local newspapers do. Because of that, it has some great reporting and even better commentary on life in Cleveland.
In fact, on of its main staff writers is a Erin O'Brien... who can be found over in my blogroll to the right. Show Erin some love and visit her blog because she's an incredible writer.
Anyway, I received a call from the editor of The Scene this week and he's excited to publish my piece. Very cool... but there is a more disconcerting aspect to what he told me. You see, I have a Scene photographer coming over to the house tonight to take some pictures of my scars. That's right... the editor wants pictures of me and my scars.
What's freaking me out is that both he and the photographer used the word 'cover' when talking to me. That sound you just heard was me groaning audibly.
There's something disturbing about the thought of my scarred chest and flabby torso spread out on the cover of a periodical that is available in every bar, coffee house, and book store in the Cleveland Metropolitan area. Not to mention that The Scene actually has newspaper boxes on just about every corner where you can find a Cleveland Plain Dealer box as well.
Yeah! for selling my article.... and boo! for pictures of my ponderous gut and paunch.
I just need to keep telling myself that this is all for a good cause and it's to spread the word about male breast cancer.
The Race for the Cure was a cool event with tons of cool schwag. And it was neat being there... although I was the only guy I saw with a survivor shirt. Believe me, I looked for others. There was a small ceremony for the men of breast cancer (for survivors and male family members of survivors) but there was little mention made of male breast cancer.
I remember when I was first diagnosed with this disease, I read that there were incidences of men being treated poorly by some women because this is "their disease". I didn't believe it myself; but I think I did experience it some this last weekend.
In fact, as I was at about mile 2 and a 1/2, I had some women yell at me from the side of the road, "You're wearing the wrong shirt! You're not a survivor!" I was half out of breath, but yelled back that I was. She said something else snarky, but I had already run past her and couldn't hear her over my own labored breathing. I also got quite a few mean looks when some women saw my survivor shirt.
Michelle gets really angry when she hears about this, or watches anything on breast cancer. She thinks it's almost criminally wrong that breast cancer is positioned solely as a woman's disease. She watched the Channel 3 broadcast and grew even angrier because it was about the bravery of women, and about women that had been lost, and how women needed help. It drives her out of her mind that people don't mention the male part of the equation.
I don't mind so much, but I'm starting to come around to her way of thinking.
So I ran the race in about 37 minutes. I've had better 5K times, but I did have cancer 4 months ago, so I'm going to cut myself some slack. I was actually running just under a ten minute mile in fact. My best friend and brother from another mother,Richie, went with me and encouraged me throughout the race. I'll be eternally grateful to him for being such a great friend and staying by my side - which he did throughout the race. He didn't need to do that... the dude runs traitholons... but he did.
That's what makes him such a great friend.
So I was at a sub-10 minute mile race (in the ball park of a 9 and a half minute pace) when we ran down East 9th and out and around the Cleveland Browns stadium. And then we began the arduous, punishing, long run up West 3rd. I lost quite a bit of time there and never made it up.
But I'm glad I did it and will probably do it again next year.
Next on the list is a 10K sometime in the next few months. Wish me luck.
Another interesting development's occurred in my quesst to spread the word about male breast cancer.
I actually sold an article I wrote about my experience to the Cleveland Scene. Dor those not local, The Cleveland Scene is a weekly free newspaper available throughout Cleveland. It is an eclectic mix of news, art, political commentary, and tons of S&M ads in the back. It is actually a well-respected periodical because it doesn't feel the need to impress sponsors and advertisers like the more mainstream local newspapers do. Because of that, it has some great reporting and even better commentary on life in Cleveland.
In fact, on of its main staff writers is a Erin O'Brien... who can be found over in my blogroll to the right. Show Erin some love and visit her blog because she's an incredible writer.
Anyway, I received a call from the editor of The Scene this week and he's excited to publish my piece. Very cool... but there is a more disconcerting aspect to what he told me. You see, I have a Scene photographer coming over to the house tonight to take some pictures of my scars. That's right... the editor wants pictures of me and my scars.
What's freaking me out is that both he and the photographer used the word 'cover' when talking to me. That sound you just heard was me groaning audibly.
There's something disturbing about the thought of my scarred chest and flabby torso spread out on the cover of a periodical that is available in every bar, coffee house, and book store in the Cleveland Metropolitan area. Not to mention that The Scene actually has newspaper boxes on just about every corner where you can find a Cleveland Plain Dealer box as well.
Yeah! for selling my article.... and boo! for pictures of my ponderous gut and paunch.
I just need to keep telling myself that this is all for a good cause and it's to spread the word about male breast cancer.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Some interesting developments...
I've sort of reached that point where there's not much happening with me or my condition.
I have an appointment with a physical therapist next week to discuss working out again. I've been running quite a bit, but I really really need to start lifting again. It's the only way I can really drop weight. And for the record, before this whole ordeal started, I was in the 265 pound range. Now I'm down around 235-240 (it depends on what time of day I weigh myself, whether it's before or after a workout, or even if I've taken a crap that day.) The running helped me a ton, but I need to start lifting again.
In terms of the physical therapist, I'm just following Dr. Persons request that I take it easy going back. I set a goal of September before I started lifting for the simple fact that I wanted give myself time to heal. I stuck with it, but I'm really itching to build some upper body strength. I notice that I still have the occasional twinge of pain when I push too hard (like when I reach overhead to get something out of the rafters in the garage, or when I pull on the cord to the mower or leaf blower). Plus - and this is purely done in terms of vanity - I am moob-free now and I love how my shirts fit in my chest. Now, if I could just lose my gut and build up my pecs, I might actually look good...
Physically, I'm doing better. I've resigned myself to the fact that I have a numb spot underneath my right arm, as well as the areas over both of my mastectomy scars. My surgeon always said that this was a possibility and it looks like I did get some minor nerve damage when they chopped me all up.
Another interesting development occurs this weekend. It's the weekend of the Susan G. Komen 5k downtown. Channel 3 News is the sponsor for the race and, for two weeks, they've been running breast cancer survivor stories. Michelle, who watches Channel 3 exclusively, has been busting my balls to contact them and tell my story. So, this week I sent an email to Monica Robins, the Channel 3 Senior Health Correspondent. She's a really nice woman and she's asked me to, while I'm down at the race, stop and find Kim Wheeler and Mark Nolan - two of the Channel 3 anchors - for an interview. They're actually looking for male breast cancer survivors to do some side stories on.
So, sometime during the nine o'clock hour, there should be an interview with Doctor Zombie on Channel 3. I'll also bring my Flip camera and try to grab footage in case my piece doesn't air, just to prove that I was there.
And how silly is this? My biggest issue all week is whether or not I should shave my head again. At the prompting of Michelle, I've started to let my hair grow out again and I'm finding it's really gray and really thin. It's been like 6 years since I started shaving it and since it was last grown out, so obvious the indignities of aging have caught up with my poor hairline (curse you, genetics!). That's right, my widow's peak has reached Count Chocula proportions. So I've put a poll out on Facebook and have been asking everybody I know whether or not I should keep my gray, brushy fuzz. Unfortunately, the responses I've received have been pretty much split down the middle - so I'm going to have to make the call myself. I'll ask Michelle what she thinks and probably decide tonight whether or not I'll shave it.
Although, my buddy Dave had a great suggestion. He said I should shave everything and not just my head... for aerodynamics. Somehow I don't think that shaving myself as bald as a baby panda will help my aerodynamics, especially considering my not insubstantial spare tire... but it's a worthwhile thought. Of course, he also said I should have grown my goatee out to Anton Levay/Ming the Merciless proportions. Now that's something I could get behind, if not for my stupid security job and their stupid no-facial-hair-unless-it's-a-stupid-70's-porn-star-cop-mustache rules.
Fucking security job...
Tomorrow, by the way, should prove to be absolutely insane. You'd think that, after getting sick, I'd slow down and try to take things easy. You'd think so, but you'd be completely wrong. I have to work at Progressive until 6 tonight, go home and get 2or 3 hours of sleep, go into the hospital at 10 to work an 8 hour shift, get off at 6am, run home, change, scarf down some carbs and fruit, and get downtown for the race and interviews. Apparently, any hopes of getting a good 5k time are shot because Channel 3 wants me to interview with Kim Wheeler at the one mile mark in front of the Channel 3 studios and then again with Mark Nolan at the finish line. After the race - I'm running home to get an hour or two of sleep before going BACK downtown to go to Progressive night at Progressive Field at 7pm. Since I'm going with my family, there will be beer involved and I should be a true zombie by the time the Indians game is over.
Nothing like burning the candle at both ends, huh?
Wish me luck and hope that, after beating cancer, I don't somehow have a major coronary trying to run 5K on concrete tomorrow. That's karma baby... and that's just how this cruel universe works...
I have an appointment with a physical therapist next week to discuss working out again. I've been running quite a bit, but I really really need to start lifting again. It's the only way I can really drop weight. And for the record, before this whole ordeal started, I was in the 265 pound range. Now I'm down around 235-240 (it depends on what time of day I weigh myself, whether it's before or after a workout, or even if I've taken a crap that day.) The running helped me a ton, but I need to start lifting again.
In terms of the physical therapist, I'm just following Dr. Persons request that I take it easy going back. I set a goal of September before I started lifting for the simple fact that I wanted give myself time to heal. I stuck with it, but I'm really itching to build some upper body strength. I notice that I still have the occasional twinge of pain when I push too hard (like when I reach overhead to get something out of the rafters in the garage, or when I pull on the cord to the mower or leaf blower). Plus - and this is purely done in terms of vanity - I am moob-free now and I love how my shirts fit in my chest. Now, if I could just lose my gut and build up my pecs, I might actually look good...
Physically, I'm doing better. I've resigned myself to the fact that I have a numb spot underneath my right arm, as well as the areas over both of my mastectomy scars. My surgeon always said that this was a possibility and it looks like I did get some minor nerve damage when they chopped me all up.
Another interesting development occurs this weekend. It's the weekend of the Susan G. Komen 5k downtown. Channel 3 News is the sponsor for the race and, for two weeks, they've been running breast cancer survivor stories. Michelle, who watches Channel 3 exclusively, has been busting my balls to contact them and tell my story. So, this week I sent an email to Monica Robins, the Channel 3 Senior Health Correspondent. She's a really nice woman and she's asked me to, while I'm down at the race, stop and find Kim Wheeler and Mark Nolan - two of the Channel 3 anchors - for an interview. They're actually looking for male breast cancer survivors to do some side stories on.
So, sometime during the nine o'clock hour, there should be an interview with Doctor Zombie on Channel 3. I'll also bring my Flip camera and try to grab footage in case my piece doesn't air, just to prove that I was there.
And how silly is this? My biggest issue all week is whether or not I should shave my head again. At the prompting of Michelle, I've started to let my hair grow out again and I'm finding it's really gray and really thin. It's been like 6 years since I started shaving it and since it was last grown out, so obvious the indignities of aging have caught up with my poor hairline (curse you, genetics!). That's right, my widow's peak has reached Count Chocula proportions. So I've put a poll out on Facebook and have been asking everybody I know whether or not I should keep my gray, brushy fuzz. Unfortunately, the responses I've received have been pretty much split down the middle - so I'm going to have to make the call myself. I'll ask Michelle what she thinks and probably decide tonight whether or not I'll shave it.
Although, my buddy Dave had a great suggestion. He said I should shave everything and not just my head... for aerodynamics. Somehow I don't think that shaving myself as bald as a baby panda will help my aerodynamics, especially considering my not insubstantial spare tire... but it's a worthwhile thought. Of course, he also said I should have grown my goatee out to Anton Levay/Ming the Merciless proportions. Now that's something I could get behind, if not for my stupid security job and their stupid no-facial-hair-unless-it's-a-stupid-70's-porn-star-cop-mustache rules.
Fucking security job...
Tomorrow, by the way, should prove to be absolutely insane. You'd think that, after getting sick, I'd slow down and try to take things easy. You'd think so, but you'd be completely wrong. I have to work at Progressive until 6 tonight, go home and get 2or 3 hours of sleep, go into the hospital at 10 to work an 8 hour shift, get off at 6am, run home, change, scarf down some carbs and fruit, and get downtown for the race and interviews. Apparently, any hopes of getting a good 5k time are shot because Channel 3 wants me to interview with Kim Wheeler at the one mile mark in front of the Channel 3 studios and then again with Mark Nolan at the finish line. After the race - I'm running home to get an hour or two of sleep before going BACK downtown to go to Progressive night at Progressive Field at 7pm. Since I'm going with my family, there will be beer involved and I should be a true zombie by the time the Indians game is over.
Nothing like burning the candle at both ends, huh?
Wish me luck and hope that, after beating cancer, I don't somehow have a major coronary trying to run 5K on concrete tomorrow. That's karma baby... and that's just how this cruel universe works...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Wow. It's been a month!
It's been a whole month since my last update. Sorry about that. Truthfully, I haven't felt like updating for a whole slew of reasons - but the biggest has been that I just haven't felt like it.
It's not apathy on my part, or even neglect... it's been related to my therapy.
You see, I've been struggling the last few weeks with my new Tamoxifen regimen. I've been battling some depression and fatigue and - creatively - I've been suffering.
I reached the lowest point of it two weeks ago. I called off work because I felt overwhelmed and depressed and just emotionally tired and beat up. Michelle was understanding, but I could tell that it was starting to wear on her.
I am by nature quiet and taciturn, but I am a different person when I'm with my wife and kids. I'm funny, I'm strong, and I am allowed to be myself. Unfortunately, the Tamoxifen turned me into someone else. I was - for the first time in my life - one morose motherfucker. I was bouncing between emotions. At times I was so sad that I wanted to break down into tears, at others I was a total cranky dick. And I couldn't, for the life of me, stay awake past 7 o'clock. I was yelling at the dogs, the kids, Michelle, and anybody who gave me grief. I was wrapped in an introspective black cloud that was so cloying and tight that I felt like I would burst from it's dark embrace.
Fortunately, I saw my doctor on the 5th and explained how I was feeling.
As I've said before, my doctor was really unsure what to do with me. I'm the youngest male breast cancer patient she's ever dealt with and was kind of guessing as to my treatment. When i saw her on the fifth though, she had much better news. She had gone to a conference a few weeks earlier and discussed my case with two of the eminent male breast cancer doctors in the country (one was from Sloane Kettering and the other from the Dana Farber Institute). They all decided that the Tamoxifen was the best course of treatment.
I was fine with this, but told her there was no way I was going to stay on it if it continued to make me feel as bad as it did. She understood and altered my course of treatment a little bit. She said that the Tamoxifen was doing what it was supposed to. It blocks the receptors for estrogen in my body, which means I simply excrete it and it drops my free estrogen levels down to nothing.
The problem is that I also have low testosterone.
This, by the way, is why she thinks I got the cancer in the first place. Since my testosterone level was so low (it's called hypogonadism), it opened the door to estrogen, which formed the breast tissue and the resultant cancerous tissue.
So - she recommended that I resume taking a testosterone supplement I was on prior to my diagnosis. Prescribed by my regular doctor, the testosterone supplement (Androgel) was prescribed in an effort to help me lose weight. Dr. Teston, after reviewing my case, felt that Ii was bottomed out on all of my hormones - hence my depression and fatigue. The Androgel with the tamoxifen, she said, was the best course of treatment possible for me.
"Start taking the testosterone again and I bet that, within a few days, you'll feel much better."
And she was right. Within two days of restarting my Androgel, I felt a lot better. I'm actually feeling creative and happy and not at all overwhelmed. I'm almost back to normal.
Looking back on hat black period, I know that I was overwhelmed largely because I was frustrated and upset that I wasn't snapping back as quickly as I should have been. I know it's borderline stupid to think that I can just jump back into my life like nothing ever happened, but at the same time I am frustrated because I can't get my life back on track.
My whole cancer situation seems so surreal now. People ask me all the time how I'm doing, how I'm feeling. i respond that I'm good and that I'm cured. But Ii still have doubts and the fear that my life has been shortened somehow. I ache to think that I may not live to a ripe old age and that Michelle and the kids will have to go on without me.
So you can understand why I was in such misery.
Fortunately, I'm through that little patch and have regained some semblance of who I used to be... but I wonder how much longer this road will go on.
Other updates:
My liver ultrasound results showed a small spot on it. Doctor Teston said she thought it was a small hemangioma that's been with me since infancy. It's benign, but she thinks that it may have caused some of my hormone problems. Apparently, when it presents in the liver (that's the second most common place for it behind the skin of the back and face)it will cause elevated liver enzyme function and disruption of testosterone or estrogen absorption. So there you go. As Michelle said, "And it took all of this for them to figure that out? You went to a liver specialist, had a liver biopsy and a slew of tests a few years ago, and NOW they figure it out? Fucking doctors!"
I couldn't agree with her more.
Either way, they want me to do an MRI in November. I said, "Why the hell not?!? I've already reached my limits for my health insurance. It doesn't cost me anything. Run your tests! Have fun!"
I was also recently contacted by a woman named Cathy who lost her husband to male breast cancer a couple years ago. She runs a site called Out of the Shadow of Pink and is toiling tirelessly to raise awareness of male breast cancer. She crosslinked with me, and made me realize that I should probably put together a list of links and resources on the side. I'll probably do that in a week or so. In the meantime, I'll post a link to her site and encourage you to check her site out.
Michelle has talked me into doing the Susan G Komen Northeast Ohio Race for the Cure on September 12th. I'll be running the 5k and she'll be doing the walk. I know I said I wasn't going to do these sort of things, but Michelle convinced me that it's a good idea. Besides, it'll give me additional motivation to get in shape.
I , by the way, started training for a 10k in October so, like I said, it'll be a good motivator.
Also - I'll be designing some t-shirts for us to wear. They will not be pink. They will most likely say, "Fuck Cancer". I'll also post a link to the site where I have them made up so you can order your own if you'd like.
Finally - a funny story...
So I like to listen to the afternoon talk show on WMMS. It's called the Maxwell Show. Maxwell, the host, is something of a hypochondriac, and was going on and on yesterday about how he has a growth on the end of his penis. He's convinced it's penile cancer. So they were on the show, looking at WebMD.com, and he said that he didn't believe everything he read on the sites. Whether he was in denial, or it was meant to be good radio... he was totally ditching on WebMD.
For my part, WebMD was the most thorough spot for information I found after The American Cancer Society's site when i was googling 'male nipple discharge'. So, on a whim, I called the show. If you were listening around 6:00 on Monday - you might have heard "Dale from Willoughby" talking about being 38 and having male breast cancer. I was on for only a few seconds... but I encouraged him to take those sites seriously.
So there you go... I'm now an ambassador for moob cancer. A nippleless, formerly depressed, moob cancer radio ambassador.
Yeah!
I do know that they post podcasts of the show online at maxwellshow.com... so I'll try to find it to post up so you can hear.
ANYWAY - TO KIND OF SUM THINGS UP:
It's not apathy on my part, or even neglect... it's been related to my therapy.
You see, I've been struggling the last few weeks with my new Tamoxifen regimen. I've been battling some depression and fatigue and - creatively - I've been suffering.
I reached the lowest point of it two weeks ago. I called off work because I felt overwhelmed and depressed and just emotionally tired and beat up. Michelle was understanding, but I could tell that it was starting to wear on her.
I am by nature quiet and taciturn, but I am a different person when I'm with my wife and kids. I'm funny, I'm strong, and I am allowed to be myself. Unfortunately, the Tamoxifen turned me into someone else. I was - for the first time in my life - one morose motherfucker. I was bouncing between emotions. At times I was so sad that I wanted to break down into tears, at others I was a total cranky dick. And I couldn't, for the life of me, stay awake past 7 o'clock. I was yelling at the dogs, the kids, Michelle, and anybody who gave me grief. I was wrapped in an introspective black cloud that was so cloying and tight that I felt like I would burst from it's dark embrace.
Fortunately, I saw my doctor on the 5th and explained how I was feeling.
As I've said before, my doctor was really unsure what to do with me. I'm the youngest male breast cancer patient she's ever dealt with and was kind of guessing as to my treatment. When i saw her on the fifth though, she had much better news. She had gone to a conference a few weeks earlier and discussed my case with two of the eminent male breast cancer doctors in the country (one was from Sloane Kettering and the other from the Dana Farber Institute). They all decided that the Tamoxifen was the best course of treatment.
I was fine with this, but told her there was no way I was going to stay on it if it continued to make me feel as bad as it did. She understood and altered my course of treatment a little bit. She said that the Tamoxifen was doing what it was supposed to. It blocks the receptors for estrogen in my body, which means I simply excrete it and it drops my free estrogen levels down to nothing.
The problem is that I also have low testosterone.
This, by the way, is why she thinks I got the cancer in the first place. Since my testosterone level was so low (it's called hypogonadism), it opened the door to estrogen, which formed the breast tissue and the resultant cancerous tissue.
So - she recommended that I resume taking a testosterone supplement I was on prior to my diagnosis. Prescribed by my regular doctor, the testosterone supplement (Androgel) was prescribed in an effort to help me lose weight. Dr. Teston, after reviewing my case, felt that Ii was bottomed out on all of my hormones - hence my depression and fatigue. The Androgel with the tamoxifen, she said, was the best course of treatment possible for me.
"Start taking the testosterone again and I bet that, within a few days, you'll feel much better."
And she was right. Within two days of restarting my Androgel, I felt a lot better. I'm actually feeling creative and happy and not at all overwhelmed. I'm almost back to normal.
Looking back on hat black period, I know that I was overwhelmed largely because I was frustrated and upset that I wasn't snapping back as quickly as I should have been. I know it's borderline stupid to think that I can just jump back into my life like nothing ever happened, but at the same time I am frustrated because I can't get my life back on track.
My whole cancer situation seems so surreal now. People ask me all the time how I'm doing, how I'm feeling. i respond that I'm good and that I'm cured. But Ii still have doubts and the fear that my life has been shortened somehow. I ache to think that I may not live to a ripe old age and that Michelle and the kids will have to go on without me.
So you can understand why I was in such misery.
Fortunately, I'm through that little patch and have regained some semblance of who I used to be... but I wonder how much longer this road will go on.
Other updates:
My liver ultrasound results showed a small spot on it. Doctor Teston said she thought it was a small hemangioma that's been with me since infancy. It's benign, but she thinks that it may have caused some of my hormone problems. Apparently, when it presents in the liver (that's the second most common place for it behind the skin of the back and face)it will cause elevated liver enzyme function and disruption of testosterone or estrogen absorption. So there you go. As Michelle said, "And it took all of this for them to figure that out? You went to a liver specialist, had a liver biopsy and a slew of tests a few years ago, and NOW they figure it out? Fucking doctors!"
I couldn't agree with her more.
Either way, they want me to do an MRI in November. I said, "Why the hell not?!? I've already reached my limits for my health insurance. It doesn't cost me anything. Run your tests! Have fun!"
I was also recently contacted by a woman named Cathy who lost her husband to male breast cancer a couple years ago. She runs a site called Out of the Shadow of Pink and is toiling tirelessly to raise awareness of male breast cancer. She crosslinked with me, and made me realize that I should probably put together a list of links and resources on the side. I'll probably do that in a week or so. In the meantime, I'll post a link to her site and encourage you to check her site out.
Michelle has talked me into doing the Susan G Komen Northeast Ohio Race for the Cure on September 12th. I'll be running the 5k and she'll be doing the walk. I know I said I wasn't going to do these sort of things, but Michelle convinced me that it's a good idea. Besides, it'll give me additional motivation to get in shape.
I , by the way, started training for a 10k in October so, like I said, it'll be a good motivator.
Also - I'll be designing some t-shirts for us to wear. They will not be pink. They will most likely say, "Fuck Cancer". I'll also post a link to the site where I have them made up so you can order your own if you'd like.
Finally - a funny story...
So I like to listen to the afternoon talk show on WMMS. It's called the Maxwell Show. Maxwell, the host, is something of a hypochondriac, and was going on and on yesterday about how he has a growth on the end of his penis. He's convinced it's penile cancer. So they were on the show, looking at WebMD.com, and he said that he didn't believe everything he read on the sites. Whether he was in denial, or it was meant to be good radio... he was totally ditching on WebMD.
For my part, WebMD was the most thorough spot for information I found after The American Cancer Society's site when i was googling 'male nipple discharge'. So, on a whim, I called the show. If you were listening around 6:00 on Monday - you might have heard "Dale from Willoughby" talking about being 38 and having male breast cancer. I was on for only a few seconds... but I encouraged him to take those sites seriously.
So there you go... I'm now an ambassador for moob cancer. A nippleless, formerly depressed, moob cancer radio ambassador.
Yeah!
I do know that they post podcasts of the show online at maxwellshow.com... so I'll try to find it to post up so you can hear.
ANYWAY - TO KIND OF SUM THINGS UP:
I was depressed, I'm feeling much better
I'm trying desperately to get back in shape
I'll be doing the Susan G Komen Race for the Cure
I outed myself and my moob cancer, on the radio, to most of Cleveland during rush hour.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
4 Years and 361 Days To Go...
So I met with my regular cancer doctor almost two weeks ago. I haven't updated lately because I, truthfully, have been kind of lazy about it. Sorry.
Anyway, I met with my regular oncologist down at the new UH Ireland Cancer Center down at Chagrin Highlands. My regular oncologist is a woman named Dr. Lois Teston. She's an attractive woman in her mid to late 40's who DOESN'T scare me... unlike Dr. Persons. (Actually, Dr. Persons doesn't really scare me. It's just that she has a low tolerance for my shenanigans and - apparently - a very odd and somewhat vestigial sense of humor. She just doesn't know what to do with me. )
Dr. Teston did a full history of me and my family, or at least as much as I could tell her. I actually haven't spoken to anybody from my mother's side of the family in close to 20 years. There's various reasons for that, but mainly because my mother distanced herself from them and, by extension, so did myself and my sister.
I do know that my maternal grandfather died of heart problems and complications from diabetes. He was a good man who helped pay for some of my college, took me on camping and fishing trips to Thunder Bay in northern Ontario, had a cattle farm in West Virginia where I used to ride horses, and traveled the country. He traveled because he was an engineer who designed the majority of the nuclear plants in North America. He also loved whiskey and developed an Irish brogue when he'd had too much. My maternal grandmother died of heart problems when I was six.
So I have my mom tracking down info on her side of the family.
As for my dad's,the only cancer was with my grandfather. He had stomach, intestinal, and liver cancer and died the weekend of my senior prom. His death was undoubtedly drinking related. Besides that though... the only issue my dad's side has is colon problems. No cancer, just the occasional diverticulitis.
And that's the most confusing thing. There's no reason I should have gotten male breast cancer. In fact, it's even more mysterious because I'm so young. The oncologist said, in fact, that she's had only about 10 to 15 or so cases of male breast cancer in her 20 year career... and the youngest patient prior to myself was 58.
She honestly admitted to having no idea why I, being 20 years younger than that, should have breast cancer. In fact, she admitted at our consult that she had no idea what to do with me. She said she'd need to consult with several other doctors before deciding on a course of treatment.
She was stumped.
So, in lieu of that, she decided that she would follow the regular course she would with any other woman. (At this point, I of course rolled my eyes with manly irritation and growled with undisguised masculine aggression. You know, just like every other time I've been told this throughout this entire frikking ordeal.)
The usual course of treatment means no chemo and no radiation (wOOt!), but it does mean a five year course of a drug called Tamoxifen. But before I started it, she wanted me to get an ultrasound because, as I've mentioned a few times, I have a bad liver.
And Tamoxifen, being a hormone regulator, is processed through the liver.
So she sent me to get an ultrasound of my liver to make sure it's all right and not spontaneously combusting because I've, truthfully, taken to having a few more beers during a week than I normally have been. What can I say, I've been a little stressed.
I actually had a liver biopsy back in 2006 because, in the course of having some regular blood work, my liver function showedd up on the tests like I was in the midst of full blown cirrhosis. The biopsy determined that my liver was clean and pink, just a little bit crazy with its enzyme function. You can read more about that wondrous experience here.
Anyway, I've been really good about not drinking because; a) it was - in my eyes - chiefly responsible for my grandfather's death, hence there's a genetic component not to be trifled with b) I had to get a liver biopsy and, since that sucked ass and I DIDN'T want to get another, it was in my best interest to curb my drinking, and finally- and most importantly, c) Michelle rides my ass about it endlessly because of some nonsense about "wanting me around when she's old and not dead of acute liver failure"... or some nonsense like that.
But, this summer's been a little different. I had a month off and I spent the latter part of that month on my front porch with the wife every night at dusk, having a beer or two. I've grown accustomed to it and we both enjoy watching the kids play in the growing gloom, amidst the fairy twinkle of fireflies. And a beer tastes good then, you know?
So it was with some dread that I went to the ultrasound (which is FREE at this point! We've been getting the panoply of bills from University Hospitals and, at the last estimate, we are somewhere in the neighborhood of $45,000 at this point. Or, another way to look at it is -- each of my flabby man-teats cost me roughly $22,500 each. Were Jayne Mansfield's worth that much? Hell, were Jayne Cobb's? But I digress...)
What I found odd was that I've actually grown accustomed to the waiting rooms, and examinations, and - if they needed to - I'm sure I'd have been like, "Meh." if they needed to hit me with a needle. Like I said, you quickly grow accustomed to the invasive indignity of the institutional medical system and I endured my ultrasound because it was real low - almost non-existent in fact - on the medical discomfort scale.
The only thing that was almost unbearable was the endless chatter of the ultrasound tech. I'm quickly finding that women want to do nothing but talk about all the other women they know with breast cancer and how HORRIBLE it was for them. And I feel somewhat bad saying, "Yeah. that's tough that she got stage three, lost her boobs, and died anyway. By the way, I'm cured."
I think I'm starting to get that I'm part of some strange, scarred, boobless tribe... but I'm still an outsider. I remembered reading about the animosity some male breast cancer survivors experienced from women who felt like this was "their disease" or "their cause". Now I think I truly understand that.
So I went through the ultrasound and got a call back from my doctor 4 days ago.
My liver was fine and, as Dr. Teston said, just "fatty". A direct consequence of modern living and modern diets. Since my love of frothy adult beverages - thankfully - wasn't a problem, she gave me the green light to start the Taomxifen. I filled the prescription and I'm now officially four days into my 5 year course.
Tamoxifen, by the way, is a hormone blocker. I got breast cancer because somewhere in my body (most likely my liver), something was transforming hormones into estrogen. Estrogen goes to the tits and, in men, we get gynecomastia. My gynecomastia and the increased estrogen somehow gave me breast cancer. Tamoxifen blocks the development of estrogen and blocks the receptors for it in my cells. It's really effective, and increases five year survivability rates into almost double digits.
One of the bad parts of Tamoxifen is that it increases the likelihood of blood clots, so I've got to worry about loss of vision, slurred speech, or unilateral loss of motor control. that's right, folks! I've now got an increased risk of stroke and/or embolism. Yay!!! I also, because it's a hormone regulator, now get to share with the feminine gender of the species the wonder and the joy that is hot flashes. I haven't gotten any yet, (of course it's been like 90 degrees here in Cleveland for a week, so I'd have no idea whether or not I was having them anyway) but there's like an 80% chance.
But there are some disturbing side effects I am much more concerned about. They were in big, red letters and the literature made a point of making the side effects really, really, dangerously clear.
I'll quote them from the side effect warning I received with my first dose...
What do you think? Should I be worried?
Anyway, I met with my regular oncologist down at the new UH Ireland Cancer Center down at Chagrin Highlands. My regular oncologist is a woman named Dr. Lois Teston. She's an attractive woman in her mid to late 40's who DOESN'T scare me... unlike Dr. Persons. (Actually, Dr. Persons doesn't really scare me. It's just that she has a low tolerance for my shenanigans and - apparently - a very odd and somewhat vestigial sense of humor. She just doesn't know what to do with me. )
Dr. Teston did a full history of me and my family, or at least as much as I could tell her. I actually haven't spoken to anybody from my mother's side of the family in close to 20 years. There's various reasons for that, but mainly because my mother distanced herself from them and, by extension, so did myself and my sister.
I do know that my maternal grandfather died of heart problems and complications from diabetes. He was a good man who helped pay for some of my college, took me on camping and fishing trips to Thunder Bay in northern Ontario, had a cattle farm in West Virginia where I used to ride horses, and traveled the country. He traveled because he was an engineer who designed the majority of the nuclear plants in North America. He also loved whiskey and developed an Irish brogue when he'd had too much. My maternal grandmother died of heart problems when I was six.
So I have my mom tracking down info on her side of the family.
As for my dad's,the only cancer was with my grandfather. He had stomach, intestinal, and liver cancer and died the weekend of my senior prom. His death was undoubtedly drinking related. Besides that though... the only issue my dad's side has is colon problems. No cancer, just the occasional diverticulitis.
And that's the most confusing thing. There's no reason I should have gotten male breast cancer. In fact, it's even more mysterious because I'm so young. The oncologist said, in fact, that she's had only about 10 to 15 or so cases of male breast cancer in her 20 year career... and the youngest patient prior to myself was 58.
She honestly admitted to having no idea why I, being 20 years younger than that, should have breast cancer. In fact, she admitted at our consult that she had no idea what to do with me. She said she'd need to consult with several other doctors before deciding on a course of treatment.
She was stumped.
So, in lieu of that, she decided that she would follow the regular course she would with any other woman. (At this point, I of course rolled my eyes with manly irritation and growled with undisguised masculine aggression. You know, just like every other time I've been told this throughout this entire frikking ordeal.)
The usual course of treatment means no chemo and no radiation (wOOt!), but it does mean a five year course of a drug called Tamoxifen. But before I started it, she wanted me to get an ultrasound because, as I've mentioned a few times, I have a bad liver.
And Tamoxifen, being a hormone regulator, is processed through the liver.
So she sent me to get an ultrasound of my liver to make sure it's all right and not spontaneously combusting because I've, truthfully, taken to having a few more beers during a week than I normally have been. What can I say, I've been a little stressed.
I actually had a liver biopsy back in 2006 because, in the course of having some regular blood work, my liver function showedd up on the tests like I was in the midst of full blown cirrhosis. The biopsy determined that my liver was clean and pink, just a little bit crazy with its enzyme function. You can read more about that wondrous experience here.
Anyway, I've been really good about not drinking because; a) it was - in my eyes - chiefly responsible for my grandfather's death, hence there's a genetic component not to be trifled with b) I had to get a liver biopsy and, since that sucked ass and I DIDN'T want to get another, it was in my best interest to curb my drinking, and finally- and most importantly, c) Michelle rides my ass about it endlessly because of some nonsense about "wanting me around when she's old and not dead of acute liver failure"... or some nonsense like that.
But, this summer's been a little different. I had a month off and I spent the latter part of that month on my front porch with the wife every night at dusk, having a beer or two. I've grown accustomed to it and we both enjoy watching the kids play in the growing gloom, amidst the fairy twinkle of fireflies. And a beer tastes good then, you know?
So it was with some dread that I went to the ultrasound (which is FREE at this point! We've been getting the panoply of bills from University Hospitals and, at the last estimate, we are somewhere in the neighborhood of $45,000 at this point. Or, another way to look at it is -- each of my flabby man-teats cost me roughly $22,500 each. Were Jayne Mansfield's worth that much? Hell, were Jayne Cobb's? But I digress...)
What I found odd was that I've actually grown accustomed to the waiting rooms, and examinations, and - if they needed to - I'm sure I'd have been like, "Meh." if they needed to hit me with a needle. Like I said, you quickly grow accustomed to the invasive indignity of the institutional medical system and I endured my ultrasound because it was real low - almost non-existent in fact - on the medical discomfort scale.
The only thing that was almost unbearable was the endless chatter of the ultrasound tech. I'm quickly finding that women want to do nothing but talk about all the other women they know with breast cancer and how HORRIBLE it was for them. And I feel somewhat bad saying, "Yeah. that's tough that she got stage three, lost her boobs, and died anyway. By the way, I'm cured."
I think I'm starting to get that I'm part of some strange, scarred, boobless tribe... but I'm still an outsider. I remembered reading about the animosity some male breast cancer survivors experienced from women who felt like this was "their disease" or "their cause". Now I think I truly understand that.
So I went through the ultrasound and got a call back from my doctor 4 days ago.
My liver was fine and, as Dr. Teston said, just "fatty". A direct consequence of modern living and modern diets. Since my love of frothy adult beverages - thankfully - wasn't a problem, she gave me the green light to start the Taomxifen. I filled the prescription and I'm now officially four days into my 5 year course.
Tamoxifen, by the way, is a hormone blocker. I got breast cancer because somewhere in my body (most likely my liver), something was transforming hormones into estrogen. Estrogen goes to the tits and, in men, we get gynecomastia. My gynecomastia and the increased estrogen somehow gave me breast cancer. Tamoxifen blocks the development of estrogen and blocks the receptors for it in my cells. It's really effective, and increases five year survivability rates into almost double digits.
One of the bad parts of Tamoxifen is that it increases the likelihood of blood clots, so I've got to worry about loss of vision, slurred speech, or unilateral loss of motor control. that's right, folks! I've now got an increased risk of stroke and/or embolism. Yay!!! I also, because it's a hormone regulator, now get to share with the feminine gender of the species the wonder and the joy that is hot flashes. I haven't gotten any yet, (of course it's been like 90 degrees here in Cleveland for a week, so I'd have no idea whether or not I was having them anyway) but there's like an 80% chance.
But there are some disturbing side effects I am much more concerned about. They were in big, red letters and the literature made a point of making the side effects really, really, dangerously clear.
I'll quote them from the side effect warning I received with my first dose...
Possible Side Effects of Tamoxifen may include:
- Vaginal Discharge
- Irregular Menstrual Periods
- Vaginal Bleeding
- Ovarian Cysts
- Increased Occurrence and Likelihood of Uterine Cancer
What do you think? Should I be worried?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Not Neccessarily Related...
... but I think it's an important part of the story.
I'm reprinting and revising this from a post I made over on my Doctor Zombie blog back in October of 2006. I feel it's important to relate and let people know about this story because it's the story of how Michelle and I came to be. She's an essential part of why I made it through my ordeal... and without her I'd have never, ever have been able to deal with all that's happened in the last month.
Plus... this last weekend was our 11 year anniversary. I don't know about her... but I'm glad our 10th year is over because the last month of it sucked ass.
For those of you who know the story, I'm sorry. For those of you that have never heard it, I hope you enjoy it and understand a little about how much Michelle and I care for each other. (Or, at least I hope so after all we've been through!)
Michelle and I met way back in the eight grade when Michelle was a young, pretty single girl, and I was a young, single zombie. There was an immediate attraction between us and I did what one did in the 80’s when a boy liked a girl. I asked her to ‘go out’ with me. In fact, we were in our mutual friend Wendy’s basement at a party, dancing to In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. (It was about the time that the song was experiencing a resurgence in popularity because of Miami Vice). Anyway, I looked into her beautiful, hazel eyes and asked her if she’d be my girlfriend. She said yes immediately, and we exchanged Mizpahs. For those of you who don’t know, Mizpahs were necklaces that were two parts of a heart with some cheesy biblical quote on them. The boy wore one, the girl wore the other, and you were officially branded as “Going Out” with somebody.
It was a halcyonic time for Mrs. Zombie and I. We were a couple, we made out, we went to dances together, she let me get to first base… all the usual stuff one does with their first love. Unfortunately, it would all come to an end as summer neared. Her and I disagree on the particulars surrounding who broke up with whom; but suffice it to say, we went to rival high schools and went our separate ways.
The thing is, we both kept running into each other. For example…
*** I get a high school job at the local Sears store and I’m walking through the stock room, where I run into Michelle. She had just started working there also.
*** One night in High School, I’m sitting in the local Dairy Queen with my then girlfriend, and in walks Michelle. We had a long conversation, and I actually pissed off my then girlfriend for ignoring her to talk to some gorgeous, blond basketball/volleyball player from our rival high school.
*** A couple years later, I’m at Bowling Green State University, rushing across campus with my face buried in a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, when I bump into this girl, knocking her books out of her hand. I apologize and bend over to help her pick them up, and I realize it’s Michelle!
Now, not being one to ignore these odd convergences of coincidence, and feeling a weird sort of dizzy happiness because she’d never really been out of my thoughts, I say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” She goes on to tell me, much to my chagrin, that she’d transferred to BGSU to be nearer to her fiancee.
Sigh.
“That’s great,” says I, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around…”
So, fast forward ten or so years. Michelle’s husband has left her and she decides to go on a trip and do some soul searching. “What,” she asks herself, “is good in your life now? What in the past has made you happy?” And it is during this time of quiet introspection that she realizes that me, Dr. Zombie’s, always sort of been in the back of her mind. She resolves to track me down and find me once her divorce is finalized, although she’s convinced that I must be married and in another state by now.
Not a week later, she runs into an old friend. Remember I mentioned how I first asked Michelle out? In our friend Wendy’s basement?
Phil Collins?
Sound familiar?
Anyway, this friend happens to be the same Wendy and Michelle asks about me.
“Oh!” Wendy says, “I work with him now at Progressive! Do you want his phone number?”
Two days later, I return from lunch to find a phone mail message. It’s Michelle and we make plans for coffee.
We met on a rainy, stormy fall day. I arrived first and was drinking a cup of herbal tea when she walked into the coffee shop. I caught my breath and felt that same dizzy, giddy feeling I’d felt years earlier. I knew right then that she was going to be my wife. She said she knew at that moment also. We were caught up in the iron grasp of destiny and fate and we realized that our love was meant to be. It was right, it was pure, and we had traveled across oceans of time to be with one another.
It was October 26th 1997 and it was some 15 years after we’d first met one another.
8 months after that, on June 20th, 1998, we were married.
So, Michelle - - I love you baby. You are the bright spark of goodness in my otherwise dark and evil heart. You were and are my destiny and I will always love you. I couldn't have done this without you. Sorry that the "in sickness and health" jazz happened a little sooner than it was supposed to...
Happy anniversary…
I'm reprinting and revising this from a post I made over on my Doctor Zombie blog back in October of 2006. I feel it's important to relate and let people know about this story because it's the story of how Michelle and I came to be. She's an essential part of why I made it through my ordeal... and without her I'd have never, ever have been able to deal with all that's happened in the last month.
Plus... this last weekend was our 11 year anniversary. I don't know about her... but I'm glad our 10th year is over because the last month of it sucked ass.
For those of you who know the story, I'm sorry. For those of you that have never heard it, I hope you enjoy it and understand a little about how much Michelle and I care for each other. (Or, at least I hope so after all we've been through!)
Michelle and I met way back in the eight grade when Michelle was a young, pretty single girl, and I was a young, single zombie. There was an immediate attraction between us and I did what one did in the 80’s when a boy liked a girl. I asked her to ‘go out’ with me. In fact, we were in our mutual friend Wendy’s basement at a party, dancing to In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. (It was about the time that the song was experiencing a resurgence in popularity because of Miami Vice). Anyway, I looked into her beautiful, hazel eyes and asked her if she’d be my girlfriend. She said yes immediately, and we exchanged Mizpahs. For those of you who don’t know, Mizpahs were necklaces that were two parts of a heart with some cheesy biblical quote on them. The boy wore one, the girl wore the other, and you were officially branded as “Going Out” with somebody.
It was a halcyonic time for Mrs. Zombie and I. We were a couple, we made out, we went to dances together, she let me get to first base… all the usual stuff one does with their first love. Unfortunately, it would all come to an end as summer neared. Her and I disagree on the particulars surrounding who broke up with whom; but suffice it to say, we went to rival high schools and went our separate ways.
The thing is, we both kept running into each other. For example…
*** I get a high school job at the local Sears store and I’m walking through the stock room, where I run into Michelle. She had just started working there also.
*** One night in High School, I’m sitting in the local Dairy Queen with my then girlfriend, and in walks Michelle. We had a long conversation, and I actually pissed off my then girlfriend for ignoring her to talk to some gorgeous, blond basketball/volleyball player from our rival high school.
*** A couple years later, I’m at Bowling Green State University, rushing across campus with my face buried in a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, when I bump into this girl, knocking her books out of her hand. I apologize and bend over to help her pick them up, and I realize it’s Michelle!
Now, not being one to ignore these odd convergences of coincidence, and feeling a weird sort of dizzy happiness because she’d never really been out of my thoughts, I say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” She goes on to tell me, much to my chagrin, that she’d transferred to BGSU to be nearer to her fiancee.
Sigh.
“That’s great,” says I, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around…”
So, fast forward ten or so years. Michelle’s husband has left her and she decides to go on a trip and do some soul searching. “What,” she asks herself, “is good in your life now? What in the past has made you happy?” And it is during this time of quiet introspection that she realizes that me, Dr. Zombie’s, always sort of been in the back of her mind. She resolves to track me down and find me once her divorce is finalized, although she’s convinced that I must be married and in another state by now.
Not a week later, she runs into an old friend. Remember I mentioned how I first asked Michelle out? In our friend Wendy’s basement?
Phil Collins?
Sound familiar?
Anyway, this friend happens to be the same Wendy and Michelle asks about me.
“Oh!” Wendy says, “I work with him now at Progressive! Do you want his phone number?”
Two days later, I return from lunch to find a phone mail message. It’s Michelle and we make plans for coffee.
We met on a rainy, stormy fall day. I arrived first and was drinking a cup of herbal tea when she walked into the coffee shop. I caught my breath and felt that same dizzy, giddy feeling I’d felt years earlier. I knew right then that she was going to be my wife. She said she knew at that moment also. We were caught up in the iron grasp of destiny and fate and we realized that our love was meant to be. It was right, it was pure, and we had traveled across oceans of time to be with one another.
It was October 26th 1997 and it was some 15 years after we’d first met one another.
8 months after that, on June 20th, 1998, we were married.
So, Michelle - - I love you baby. You are the bright spark of goodness in my otherwise dark and evil heart. You were and are my destiny and I will always love you. I couldn't have done this without you. Sorry that the "in sickness and health" jazz happened a little sooner than it was supposed to...
Happy anniversary…
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