Nothing prepares you for it. You may think you’ve come to grips with the possible diagnosis, but you aren’t. When the Doctor says those three words, “You have cancer”, your entire life crumbles like the towers on 9/11.  You sift through the rubble of emotions and thoughts, trying to find survivors, a glimmer of hope, anything. Anything at all. You get lost in the smoke and dust, unable to find your way. It burns your eyes and throat, makes you choke and gag. It brings you to your knees, and instead of prayer you let out a litany of curses.

Then things begin to settle down. The dust thins out, the smoke dissipates, and your eyes can start to focus again. You realize your alive and each shallow breath you take feels like none that have ever come before. You finally understand how precious life is when you are close to losing it.

Then, you get up, dust yourself off and start to plan on what to do next. How to rebuild, and make yourself stronger. How to recover from something so awful you wouldn’t wish it upon your worst enemy. You vow to beat it, not let it win. You now have purpose.

Welcome to cancer.


It was nearly 7 months ago I lost my mother to pancreatic cancer. While still reeling from that I received the diagnosis of testicular cancer. Certainly not close to the severity of pancreatic cancer, but still, not a walk in the park. The worst part is, I feel fine. For the firth time in a long time my blood sugar is under control. My blood pressure is lowering, and I can walk a little farther without pain in my calves. I actually feel good physically for the first time in a very, very long time. How could I have cancer? Well, I do, and it doesn’t matter how the jackass got in the ditch, I gotta get him out now.

And that’s what I hope to do, and what’s more, I want to document it each step of the way. I never want to forget this, and I never want anyone to go through what I’m going through. I feel good and I feel hope, and I have only one thing left to say about this; fuck cancer.