My Story, Part 3

I remember high school so well.  All the choices I had to make were so dire.  The question of what classes to enroll in was less about preparing for a prosperous career and far more about ensuring I could sit next to the pretty girl.  The question of what to wear was less about practicality and more about grabbing the attention of anyone who would feign an interest.  The question of what to eat was less about what my body needed to sustain itself and more about what would help me look a certain way.  The questions of high school were so exhausting because they were never as small in my mind as they were in reality.  In my mind all of these things had to be just right; when to wake up, what to eat, what to wear,  what colour my hair should be this week, how to style it, what time to show up, where to go, who to sit with, what to do… It was all so important.  I agonized over every decision and invariably still managed to get the majority of the answers wrong.  What I, and most high school students today, failed to realize is that life is merely preparation for more living.  High school is a time that prepares us for what’s ahead.  Unfortunately, all of the decision making that I was so constantly aware of as a student still didn’t prepare me for the choices that laid before me.

I remember thinking as I awoke the day after my surgery, ‘waking up in a room full of people staring at you is one thing, but feeling like you got hit by a truck and having to be personable at the same time is just unreasonable…’ It must have been mid-day because in the room, on the foot of my bed sat the surgeon.  Standing beside the bed was the team of interns that worked directly beneath him.  Karen and Niko were there with me, they had arrived earlier in the day and had been sitting playing a fun game of ‘poke the baby: watch him giggle’ while I had been taking yet another narcotic fueled nap.  It strikes me that this time in my life was much like an episode of House only instead of draining an hour of your time, its your entire life, and no one laughs because there is nothing funny… At this point, my life is an unfunny episode of House with no commercial breaks, and no end in sight… As I drifted back to the waking world I became a spectator watching my wife have to deal and cope with her absolute worse case scenario.  I wanted to be involved in what was happening around me but between the pain of the surgery and the high doses of narcotic flowing through my veins it was like I was in a front row premier of the tragedy that was my life.  As I came around and the doctors began to notice me, the conversation shifted.  My surgeon was an amazing guy and I hope that these remembrances of my time in the hospital do not paint a darker image of who he was or what he did for me.  This is a man who saved my life and afforded me the opportunity to write these things to you.

As my surgeon began to address me he told me of the surgery’s success. That despite the fears and struggles of the surgery, I had pulled through and made it safely (relatively) to the other side.  He asked me how I felt and I remember describing the pain as similar to waking up in the middle of a traffic accident and he noted that I would need more pain killers.  At this point the doctor had finished his gamut of testing and sat with a file several inches thick and began to explain to me exactly what was happening in my body.  The news was expectedly bleak, like the blast of the cold winter wind that bounced off the hospital window it was sharp, piercing.  The cancer was in the final stage of progression.  Stage 4, colorectal cancer.  The cancer had spread throughout my body, into all adjacent organs and worse yet, it had journeyed to the one place that the doctors feared the most: my liver.  As I vainly attempted to keep my composure, the doctor continued by saying that the biggest issue I was facing was the seriousness of the tumor attacking my liver, and that there were a few important things to keep in mind.  First was the immensity of the tumor itself.  At the point of diagnosis, my liver tumor measured approximately 11 centimeters in diameter which meant that the majority of my liver was cancerous.  The second thing to consider was that, as advanced as we are, and as far as we have come with research and medical breakthroughs, metastatic liver cancer is still a cancer that is incredibly difficult to treat. The third thing to consider was the surgery that I was just freshly recovering from, the intense nature of that surgery had left me with a colostomy and an open wound in my abdomen that was more than two centimeters wide (the incision was left open to ensure I wouldn’t get sepsis) and almost 15 centimeters from top to bottom and my body would need some time to recover from this surgery before we could consider any further or aggressive treatments.

The sum of all of these considerations was that the cancer was too far spread, the organs that it had spread to were far too damaged, the surgery had left me far too weak and the treatment was far too dangerous to be an option.  The prognosis was given; I would have approximately 60 days left to live.  I took a moment to let that sink in.  What would you do if you had 60 days left on this earth?  What is it that is most important to you?  Some well-intentioned people have told me I should check out this movie called The Bucket List, that I would really enjoy it and perhaps it would inspire me to create a ‘bucket list’ of my own.  Well, the reality is, I have a bucket list.  My list of things that I want to do before my time is up contains a mere 2 items: First, I want to be a father to my son, to watch him grow and teach him everything he needs to know, to support him and care for him no matter what happens in his world and to be here for him so that he will always know that I love him.  Secondly, I want to be a husband to my wife, to help her raise our little boy together, to help her realize her dreams and make them a reality, to watch her grow old and be here beside her so that she will always know that I love her.  So there, I have written out my ‘bucket list,’ unfortunately my items aren’t quite as superficial as climb a mountain and try skee ball, my dreams, my list, my ‘musts’ before I leave this world involve me being around.  Being present.  Trying my best to be adequate.  And most importantly being here.  So how do I cope with a proclamation of a 60 day expiration date hanging over my head, wherein I will spend the majority of that time recovering from a surgery that just saved my life and simultaneously is standing in the way of pursuing further treatment?  What do I do now?

The doctor and his team give us some options.  The first that they suggest is the one that comes with the stamp of approval as the most recommended course of action.  They will set me up, either in hospital or at home, with all the medication and care I need to be comfortable, they will give me the space and treatment and time I need to say my good-byes to this world and all who are in it, to everyone who means something to me, they will make me comfortable and I can take my final months to focus on mending relationships and saying goodbye.  Or, the other option is to wait for my body to recover from this surgery, which will take weeks, then immediately jump into an aggressive chemotherapy and radiation therapy and try to eradicate some of the cancer in my body, while keeping in mind that this option still comes with the same prognosis because of the liver tumor.  The difference between the two options according to the medical experts is quite simple.  One option allows me to spend my last two months with friends and family in a comfortable setting, in a comfortable state, and the other option forces me to spend my last two months in agony dealing with the side effects from aggressive chemo and radiation.  He reminded me that the option to treat would essentially rob me of the time that I had left and that at this point my focus should not be on quantity of life, but rather quality.  He said he understood that some people have a need to try to fight the disease and that the option was up to me.  He also understood that this was something that I could not simply decide on the spot.  Do I roll over and die comfortably or do I fight in vain?  Is this a matter of will? Determination? Pride?  What is best for me?  More importantly, what is best for my family?

As the team of doctors left Karen and I to think about our course of action (and I say ‘our’ purposely because we are now and have been in this war together, side by side, dealing with this thing as one, so her thoughts and needs and decisions are my compass in figuring out what I want to do and what we will do together) our eyes meet.  I can see her looking at me wanting to have the serious discussion while needing to run away from it.  Her mind is visibly racing and her emotions are thick on her sleeve.  What do I want to do?  Those are six words that are currently absent from her vocabulary, and I couldn’t be more in agreement.  What do we do right now?  We do what’s most important.  We focus on each other and our family, we spend time together and we worry about the big decisions later.  The most important thing in the world for me is just talking and we spend the rest of the afternoon until the evening avoiding the mammoth (yes, it’s much bigger than your average elephant!) in the room that is my prognosis and the need for an eventual discussion surrounding our intentions, desires, and difficult decisions.  We speak of memories, of moments, of all the time her and I have spent together in the mere 16 months since our first meeting.  We laugh until we cry about all of the ridiculous things that we encountered in our time on the road and as the day turned to night and visiting hours were up, we had managed to avoid the destructive conversation completely, and just spend a day together as we had so many days previous, before doctors, and drugs, and diagnoses, before hospitals and the fresh hell of our current situation.  We spent the day just being who we are, who God created us to be; the other half of each other.  We were complete because we completed each other, and that was never more evident than in the bassinet that held our son.  As Karen and Niko left for the day we smiled, the expressions on our face masked the reality of a heavy day of discussion ahead tomorrow, in that moment we were just like any other happy family.

When left on my own my mind was a flood of disastrous thought.  I fell asleep that night thinking about my options and really pondered hard about whether my strong urge to fight was a matter of pride or a matter of determination.  I cried out to God that night, praying about this pivotal choice and confessed my true and strongest emotion to God.  I was confused.  I needed guidance.  I needed to know what I was supposed to be doing.  How can this reality be part of the bigger plan, the mystery unbeknownst to the rest of us and something that God preordained and destined me to from the time I was in the womb?  Did God decide that cancer was going to be my fate?  That I would yearn my entire life to become a musician, and the second that I attain some measure of satisfaction with where I am at musically have that ripped from me, only to throw me into a hospital bed and let me die of one of histories most heinous plagues?  Is my story the story of a boy who spends his entire life searching for a girl who accepts him only to finally find her hiding away in a country halfway around the world to meet her, fall in love, get married, have a child and die all in under a year and a half?  Is that my lot?? How can God give me the world and then tear it from my hands like a child’s favourite toy?  Why must I endure year after year of emotional punishment just to sort my life out and ultimately end up dying of something that wasn’t preventable in the first place.  I suppose all of these questions, statements, prayers, amount to the same question: Why me?  I fell asleep at some point still wallowing in this state and the dream I had would change the course my family was on forever.

As I drifted back into a much needed and well deserved sleep I was able to dream and for the first time in a long time I woke up and remembered everything.  It was as clear as a movie and more real than any dream I’d ever had.  The scene was set with Niko as a teenager, probably fifteen or sixteen years old.  He had on a pair of old jeans and a white and blue tee shirt.  He had grown up to be such a great looking young man and as I watched him walk through the hallway of a home, he sat down at a table with my wife.  Karen was breathtaking, she looked as she did the first day I met her and as the two sat together I became aware of the heaviness that was the tone of the room.  Both figures were incredibly sad and looked to each other for comfort and strength.  Finally, after some time had passed, it was Niko who spoke up.  ”Mom,” he asked “why didn’t dad try?”  As the words formed off of Niko’s lips Karen’s heart was shattered and she looked up from the table where her gaze had been resting to Niko and then to me.  As she stared through me, my own heart sank and I began to weep.  I cried so hard that it woke me and I was still crying.  The image of my own teenaged son questioning why I didn’t fight was more than enough motivation.  If it was the last thing that I was ever going to do, if I was destined from birth to succumb to this disease then I would set a positive example for my son and I would go down swinging.  I called Karen, still in tears we talked for a moment as I described what had just happened to me.  As I described the dream in detail to her she was silently crying on the other end of the line and as I finished retelling the story she was quiet.  The moment of silence faded into an eternity, and at once our question of what to do seemed so insane.  What other option was there?  What else could we do?

We fight.

My Story, Part 2

Its a weird thing. English, I mean. We have words to describe everything, and so many layers to enhance or emphasize. We are first peckish, then hungry, then starving, then famished, but really, we just want something to eat. We are sleepy, tired, drained, exhausted, but all we are looking for is the pillow. We get nervous, alarmed, scared, terrified, we’re really looking for comfort, peace, stability… Perhaps an answer to a question that is plaguing us… No matter how diverse the English language is, we still don’t have adequate words for many situations. How do we describe the horrors and atrocities of times like the crusades or the holocaust? How do we describe the hatred we feel when we are faced with the reality of child abuse or molestation? Our language is so full of synonyms yet our words fail us miserably. I cant begin to explain the word cancer. What it does to you. To your family. Six letters, carefully arranged, systematically destroying your life.

I awoke the next morning, having no concept of how long I’d been asleep. A porter had come into the room to change the garbage and accidentally knocked over the bin. When I woke all I could think about was how badly I wanted this to have all been a dream. Some freakish nightmare that could just be erased with a warm shower and big breakfast. But here I was still wearing that blue hospital gown, still lying in that blue hospital bed, still listening to the heart monitors beep incessantly, still wondering what had happened to me not even twenty four hours ago. It took a long time for visiting hours to come. When the trash can hit the ground it was still dark outside and there was no clock in my room, so all I know is that it was early. I wanted to go back to sleep, to try to wake up again, maybe this time in a better place… but it wasn’t to be. There was very little sleep for me until the day of the surgery.

After a lot of testing, the surgeon, a fantastic man, told me that I had stage 4 colorectal cancer. He explained that this meant not only did I definitely have cancer, but that it had spread to the majority of my major organs and was considered, incurable and inoperable, throughout the course of our conversations he even used the word terminal. That’s another toxic word, eating at you, wearing you down… Terminal. What am I supposed to do with that? He tells me that the pain I’m feeling in my abdomen is actually due to my system being so backed up because it’s so full of tumors and growths, that I need an immediate surgery or I will basically explode, and that this surgery will leave me with a colostomy. He told me that the surgery was risky as there was no way to know exactly how backed up my system was and cutting into my intestine could cause it to rupture, to have the backed up contents spread, cause sepsis (a bacterial infection in my bloodstream) and I could die. He told me that the alternative to the colostomy was definite death. So Karen and I decided to go forward with the surgery. The surgeon booked it and we had one more day to wait, one more sleepless night, but a lot less pain, as the doctors started me on some pretty intense pain killers.

I was able to sleep that night as the narcotics drifted through my body. It was the first good sleep I’d had in weeks. I woke up pretty refreshed and waited for Karen to come and visit me again. When she got there I decided that I wanted to make some calls and figure out what would happen to Karen and Niko if the worst were to happen to me. I asked Karen to make the calls as the drugs were making me feel a little loopy. I had her call about my life insurance, I wanted to ensure that if this were the last opportunity that my beneficiary was set up to be her and not someone else. I was also curious as to what kind of money would be left for Niko and Karen, wondering specifically if my life insurance would cover the financial burden left by my absence. The lady on the other end of the phone was quite short with Karen and refused to give her any real details, she said that she needed to speak to me directly as Karen was not listed on my policy. So Karen put me on the phone and I tried my best to understand what the lady was saying. Essentially, at some point while I was out of the country I should have received some sort of correspondence explaining to me that I no longer had a life insurance policy. Not that I hadn’t been paying for it, just that they had gone ahead and redefined what it was I was paying for.

The lady explained to me that while it is called “Life Plus,” and while it was once what it claimed to be “life insurance” it is now actually accident insurance. There is no payout if I die for any reason whatsoever. So when i was calling to talk about updating my beneficiary in case of death, there was no beneficiary listed, because  the policy didn’t cover my death. It now only pays out if I get into some sort of significant accident and am left wounded but alive.  She explained it by saying that the best way for me to get a payout was if i were to be hit by a truck or something similar.  I asked about the repercussions of a botched surgery, if that counted as an accident. She said it did not. I wanted so much to argue with this lady but I just didn’t have the strength. I was thoroughly disgusted with this policy change and lack of notice but I figured there was little I could do in one afternoon and I really just wanted to spend the time with Karen and Niko and spend some time in prayer, trying desperately to figure out what was going on and why, trying my best to reassure my wife and son that everything was going to be ok, and trying to convince myself that I was going to make it.

I spent the rest of the day slipping in and out of consciousness. While I was awake I spent every moment with Karen and Niko, others came to visit knowing it was the day of my surgery and they all stayed with me until I was taken downstairs. I remember wanting so badly to see my mother. It’s funny, the way we revert back to that childlike state where all we want is our mommy. There were a lot of people around me as the porter came to wheel me off to the OR. It seemed everone was there except my parents. I knew that my father was unable to make it, he had called the night before and we had a good talk, he was out of the province and asked me if I wanted him to return but I told him that it was important for him to be out there and that I was fully in support of what he was doing, I promised him that I would be okay and told him that I didn’t want him to cancel what he was doing to come back to Ontario. While I know it was incredibly difficult for him, he respected the decision we had made and stayed out west. What I couldn’t understand is why my mother wasn’t there yet. I was still really drowsy from the meds and I kept trying to stall the porter and told him that I wasn’t ready to go. Waiting for my mom to get there was absolutely my priority. I didn’t want to go into a life threatening surgery without having my mom and the rest of the family who could make it pray with me.

The porter stalled as long as he could for me, he let me dress myself for the surgery and I took my sweet time, but eventually he had to get his job done and he said there was no more time to wait, he had given me an extra 10 minutes or so and then he needed to start wheeling me out of the room. I began to weep, I knew my mother was in the hospital somewhere, she had given my sister a ride, and dropped her off at the door, leaving her to find me while she parked the car. My sister had made it, but my mom was having all the difficulty in the world finding a parking space. The porter, who really was a great guy, had a schedule that he needed to keep, he pushed me into the hallway with tears streaming down my face. As we turned the corner into the hall, the elevator door opened, my mom was there, she had made it. I cried even harder. Knowing that she was there and she would be able to pray over me. When we saw her, the gurney halted, the porter offered us a few moments alone as everyone joined hands and hearts around me and lifted me up in prayer together.

I don’t remember all the words that were prayed over me, but having my mother, my wife, Christina, Tracy, Myles, another pastor invited by my mother and, of course, my son surround me and blanket me in prayer made me feel an immediate euphoric release. Like a three thousand pound weight had been lifted off of my chest. I absolutely believed in that moment that God had me, that there was a greater purpose and plan in motion here, and that I would be okay. Karen was in tears as she held my hand all the way down to the OR. I remember just looking up at her and thanking God for every moment he had given me with her in my life. From the moment that we had met on August 15, 2008 at a BBQ in Minnesota, all the way up to and including this day. God had blessed me with a woman who accepted me for who I am, and somehow managed to loved me regardless, she honestly wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with me. Wow. I remember smiling at her and for a moment she smiled back. I love you. I love you. It’ll be okay. More tears. It was the longest ride of my life. Down the hall to the elevator. Down the elevator to another hall. Down that hall and around the corner. It seemed like weeks had passed and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t focussed on the pain, I wasn’t worried about the future, I was just with Karen and everything else seemed to fade into the background.

When we arrived in the room adjacent to the OR I snapped back to reality. All of a sudden I was aware of what was about to happen to me. I was about to undergo a life-threatening and simultaneously life-saving surgery. I was terrified. It hit me so hard that I just wanted to get up from the stretcher and run out of the hospital. If i’d had the strength maybe I would have taken a shot at it. The surgeon came out and met me and began to explain what was about to happen. I didn’t want to hear about it. I tried my best to ignore him and I just watched Karen and her reaction to what he was saying. I was laying there daydreaming about moments in Denmark with Karen and my extended family, wondering if I’d get a chance to see them again. I remember the surgeon saying that they were ready to take me in, I’m sure Karen’s hand was broken and turning blue from the pressure with which I was squeezing. I saw a lady come from the OR and as the door swung open I got a small glimpse of the sterile place where they were about to cut me open. I asked the lady, who it turned out was the anesthesiologist, if she could put me under before I got into the OR, I explained that I didn’t want to have any memory of the OR if at all possible. At first she said that it couldn’t be done, that the machine they were going to use to put me under was not portable, then her and the surgeon spoke for a moment and she retracted her objection. She gave me a shot and I stared at Karen. I love you. I love you. I closed my eyes. And I smiled.

A moment later I opened my eyes. I remember looking up at Karen and thinking that the anesthetic hadn’t taken. She was still standing in exactly the same spot as before, holding my hand in exactly the same way. I opened my eyes and smiled at her and said, ‘you’re so beautiful. what’s that about?’ She smiled at me. I asked her what had gone wrong, if she knew why the anesthesia didn’t work. She told me that it had worked, that it was about four hours later, that the surgery was a success and that I was okay. We would find out months later that as they cut into my abdomen to do the surgery that my bowels had ruptured, that there was a huge mess and that I almost didn’t make it through this surgery, but in the moment both Karen and I were blissfully unaware and happy that for the first time in what felt like a very long time, something finally went right. I was wheeled back up to my room and as I was on the way I couldn’t help but thank God for pulling me through the surgery, for blessing me with such an amazing family, and for the grace that was having literally zero recollection of the entire surgery. Its like those four hours didn’t exist for me. Wiped from my consciousness. I was pretty exhausted when they brought me back up to my room, its hard work, lying there while someone chops up your insides. Also the surgery was slated to start at 6:30pm and with all my stalling and a delay in the room I hadn’t actually headed back to my room to recover until after 11:00pm. Its also possible, I suppose the anesthetic hadn’t completely worn off, so I was understandably drowsy. As I drifted back to sleep all I could see was Karen’s face, Niko’s smile, and relish the fact that I was still here, still a husband, and still a daddy.

My Story, Part 1

I have been thinking a lot lately about my journey with cancer and have decided to document a few details…

There was so much happening in my life throughout the past few years, I don’t know where to begin.  I want to say that this all started when i was on the road with watermark.  what a great time, fantastic experience, if you have the ability and desire to spend a year of your life in full time music ministry and service to the Lord than i strongly recommend looking into a group like Youth Encounter.  my life was forever changed, the friendships i made are the forever kind.  and if my situation were different i would absolutely do it all over again!

I remember before i left for the road, in the summer of 2008, I wasn’t feeling the best.   I was feeling dehydrated all the time and that made life in the bathroom difficult.  I remember thinking that if i were honest with my doctors about what was going on then i may have to forfeit my place with watermark, and that was something i was not willing to do.  I assumed the dehydration would fix itself as i got on the road and began drinking gallons of water a day trying to keep my voice lubricated enough to sing a very full schedule.  but as fall of 2008 and winter 2008 passed i remember the issues getting worse.

by this time i was having a lot of trouble in the bathroom and even more problems with eating.  a lot of the food we were eating on the road was making me feel really sick which i chalked up to the fact that we were touring in the USA, eating fast food several times per week, sleeping in a different town each night tearing down and setting up for up to 3 concerts per day, sometimes with hours worth of driving in between… i figured the lack of nutrition and proper rest was just making me feel like junk and i convinced myself that it would get better heading into the winter of 2009.

It has always been my dream to be on tour in Europe.  and nothing would stop me from accomplishing this goal… I left for Denmark in January 2009 hoping that my health would fix itself and trusting that the ministry i was a part of was far too important to let my digestive issue come into conflict.  Again, i could have seen doctors but i was afraid that i would be kicked off the team and i wanted so badly to see it to the end.

by the spring of 2009 I was getting much worse, there were weeks when i ate nothing at all, weeks where i drank nothing but yogurt… days when i could barely lift my guitar and would have to run off the stage to puke in the wings, i was losing weight, my complexion was changing and i was feeling really sick…

the first doctor i saw in Denmark said i had IBS and that i should limit my intake of fruits, vegetables, dense meat, and grains… (yeah, so i was cleared for dust and sugar??) now if you know danish food, as i have come to know it, the idea of having no fruit, no veg, no meat, and no grain leaves a big question mark in your head as to what you’re allowed to eat… the food in denmark is the best i’ve ever had and watching my team and (soon to be) family enjoy it up to 6 times a day without me was difficult to say the least.

After some time of not feeling better, Karen, my then girlfriend and team-mate, my now wife, pointed out that she worked for a doctor as a medical secretary for some time and that her mother, my now mother-in-law was then working with him as well.  She suggested that she explain the symptoms to him and try to get a diagnosis.  He sent Karen’s parents to come meet us (as we were on the wrong side of Denmark and could not see him personally) they gave me some samples to fill and mail back to him, which i did and soon after we heard the news that the results were inconclusive, further study was needed.

During my last week serving in Denmark I stayed with a lovely family who’s mother was a nurse.  she worked odd hours and more than once came home in the middle of the night and caught me throwing up in the bathroom.  she looked at my complexion and was very scared for me and started making some phone calls on my behalf.  all of a sudden the jig was up.  everyone knew i was sick.  all the work i did to hide it from Youth Encounter and Indre Mission (our american and danish sponsors) was for nothing.  Now everyone knew.  They, together with Karen and our contact Lars, took me to see one final doctor in Denmark who did a VERY thorough examination of the *ahem* problem area.  She recommended a colonoscopy and reiterated what was already my fear, what i had heard from the first doctor and what i didnt want anyone to tell me… I needed to quit Watermark, go home, and get this looked at.

We spent one more week in Denmark before our flight out.  I wanted to spend as much time with Karen’s family as possible, and it wasnt a work week for the team.  Taking the mini vacation afforded me the opportunity to get to know my brothers and sisters in law as well as my mother and father in law.  I took the time that week to make my engagement with Karen official.  I had asked her father’s permission weeks prior and asked for her hand later that day, but in this final week in Denmark we went into Aarhus and bought our rings, they were beautiful and even though i wasnt feeling well, i was on top of the world.

The flight home was difficult.  A 9 hour flight from Denmark to Chicago feeling like my insides were trying to escape forcibly was insane.  I don’t remember a lot of this trip except a few moments when different people would ask me if i was ok, karen, christy, the stewardess… everyone seemed to notice the pain i was in.  i remember sweating a lot, throwing up a few times, shaking a bit, it was scary to be me, and im sure it was that much worse to be watching me and not knowing how to help.

After a brief layover we were in St. Paul again.  Soon we were back at Youth Encounter Headquarters and I knew I needed to have a few difficult conversations.  The team already knew i was sick and that my involvement had been suffering as a result and the office had heard some things but no one really knew the extent of how bad it was.  I explained to everyone that I needed to leave team.  I had to go home and get well.  It was the hardest thing i would ever have to do because i loved watermark.  they were a family to me, and i hated the idea of leaving them with 4 months of service left unfinished.  I felt like a failure, but i had to get well and make sure the issue wasn’t serious.

Karen decided to come with me and we left Watermark in Minnesota on 05/11/09.  Almost 9 months after arriving, I was heading home early to meet with doctors to find out why I couldnt eat anything.

We stayed with my mother for a short while in Woodstock Ontario before finding out that there is nothing in Woodstock Ontario.  We decided to move into Kitchener and rent the basement of our friends house while I found work.  Karen and I were in a rush to be wed as we had a timeframe involving Christina’s ability to sing at our wedding.  Her team happened to be serving in Woodstock in mid July and we wanted them to be there and involved, so we began planning the wedding and I began working with my father slugging bricks in the hot and humid Canadian summer.  I was able to save a bit of money and pay our bills and my father and father-in-law generously paid for the vast majority of our wedding.  My mother officiated the service and we used her church to help keep costs down, friends also chipped in where they could and helped with the catering and the cake, and we were married 09/19/09, just 13 months and 4 days after the first day we met.

While on our honeymoon, generously provided by my father, in Blue Mountain Ontario, I received a phone call that one of the resumes i had dropped in a retail store was biting, I had a brief phone interview and scheduled interviews for when we would be home and by the beginning of August 2009 I was a full time manager with Campus Crew.  A wonderful job, with wonderful staff, in a great store with an awesome DM and Head Office.  very supportive people who wanted to make sure that i was ok and helped me as much as possible with my scheduling to make sure i could see the doctors when needed.

I saw the first Doctor in Woodstock, who, after hearing the symptoms immediately scheduled me for a CT scan, and referred me to an expert.  That expert was on vacation, so instead i was examined by a different radiologist, who found nothing wrong with the picture in the scan and re-referred me to yet another doctor, this time in Ingersol Ontario, a gastroenterologist.  He examined me and concluded that I had something called ulcerative colitis.  an inflammatory disease of the bowels, painful, but manageable.  He prescribed pills and warm baths and said that the problem should solve itself within a few weeks.

August was a bit of a struggle in the store, as there was a bit of a mess to clean up. September, we were showing growth, October we were up and then November came and Niko was born.  The light of my life.  My son.  I love him with everything in me and will blog in great detail about the night of his birth in another note.  Niko coming in to our lives on 11/11/09 was the single greatest thing that could have ever happened to me, greater than i even knew at the time…

By this time we had entered into the Christmas season and working as a retail manager, I had a lot of commitment to my store.  It was an extremely large volume store with a large staff and there was a lot of work to be done.  there were also rumours lingering that the store would be closed due to a lease expiry by the end of January, so we needed to prove ourselves by proving our dollars.  Even though i was hurting every day, we were able to do some great things in the month of December, and without revealing any confidential information, we did well.

After Christmas I had booked a few days off to go up north with my family in celebration of Karen’s birthday, and it was during this vacation in January of 2010 that my father and some others sat me down very seriously and made me take a long look in the mirror and admit that i was not looking well.  they asked about the meds i was on and i had to admit that they werent making me feel any better and we decided that when we got home i would call up the gastroenterologist and have him take another look.

After speaking with the GE this would have been the fourth of fifth time, he referred me to a surgeon at the University Hospital in London Ontario.  At this point i’m getting a bit tired of all the referrals but hopeful that we can work something out and get some answers.  On 01/11/2010, niko’s 2 month birthday I take the morning off at Campus Crew and head down to London for a quick consultation, planning to be back in kitchener by 4 to work a close shift in order to keep my hours up.  and it was that day that changed everything forever.

While in the waiting room karen and niko and i were all playing around, luckily niko was only 2 months old so peekaboo was as extraneous as our activities were getting, we were called into a smaller consultation room relatively quickly and while waiting in that second room i recieved a call on my cell phone.  It seemed that H+M had heard of me and a head hunter had gotten ahold of my number and started asking me questions about jumping ship and becoming a regional supervisor with them.  Knowing that my store was closing in just a few weeks I began to chat with the very nice girl on the other end of the phone, and Karen sat and quietly played with Niko.  After a few mins of chatting the nurse came in and I asked if I could call her back in a few minutes.  This seemed like a great opportunity for me and my new family and i didnt want to blow it by being sick, but i needed to hear what they had to say.  she agreed, and i hung up.

The nurse asked me just a few preliminary questions and then told me the doctor would be with me in a moment.  I was unsure about whether or not to call back H+M because i didnt want to hang up on her again, and after talking about it with karen for a second and watching niko giggle I decided that they could wait what i assumed would be a half hour or so, and i would call her from the road on my way back to kitchener. Karen and i continued chatting and poking at niko, watching his big blue expressive eyes light up as he was beginning to be so curious and starting to recognize us.  he would smile and squirm a bit, he was so amazing!  what a miracle niko was to us then and is to us now.  truly, a real blessing in our lives.

The surgeon finally came in and seemed like a really nice guy, complimented niko for being the cutest baby hed seen all day, asked us how life was going and got a little background, it seemed almost social.  after a few moments of chatting he said the phrase that has been etched into my brain forever. he said “now before i say this i want you to know that i have a lot more tests that need to be done.  but i need to use this word with you so that you can begin digesting it and making some decisions.  the word i am going to use with you today is cancer.”  silence.  what do you say to that?  both karen and i stared blankly at his face. “ok,” he said “im going to get some tests ready, clear your schedule, im going to keep you for the day at least” and then he left the room.

I stared at my hands for a long time… eventually becoming aware that i still had my cell phone in my hand, wondering if i should be calling H+M or my parents or what i should do… i began staring at the door that he had just left through in a trance.  the word just bouncing around the corners of my mind.  Cancer.  what am i supposed to do with that? i look over at karen, as i see her tears i become conscious of my own and we sit and weep together, i look at niko, hes still giggling.  what a fantastic boy.  so pure. so innocent.  has no comprehension of the nuclear strike that has just hit our room.

the next hours are a daze of scans and scopes, blood work is drawn, im admitted and wearing one of those sexy backless, buttless blue hospital gowns and trying my best to stay positive.  after all, this is now the 12th doctor we have seen, what’s to say he’s any more right than any of the others? we overhear a conversation being had between the surgeon and some unknown other party, the words uttered were “look at this CT from July! any first year medical student should be able to see cancer all over this thing, look at his liver!” its getting much harder to stay positive and i begin wondering what’s really in store for me.

I held karen and niko a lot in the next few hours between being plugged into machines and ivs as well as a myriad of other medical devices and we are all just so lost… after several hours of poking and prodding in every conceivable nook and cranny my body had to offer, the surgeon tells me that he is going to admit me to hospital and i would be staying for a few days.  i call the store and cover my shifts and try to mentally prepare for whatever is laying ahead.  Karen and Niko stayed as long as they were allowed to but eventually my mom had to take them home, and i was left alone with my thoughts in a dark hospital room, listening to heart monitors beep and wondering what just happened to me…