The Backstory

My brother Brad and I are going to Hawaii! That's what we had thought. That's what we had planned. We had tickets for November 7, 2001. We both needed a break from our busy lives, and sitting on a beach sipping something with a pineapple wedge attached sounded perfect.

On the morning of November 1, however, my feet were "tingly." I tried to walk off the weird feeling, but it persisted. The next day, I had trouble walking, so I went to a doctor. Even though I wobbled when I walked, the doctor labeled it as "stress." (I wobbled! That's not stress!) I left pretty angry (now that's stress), and spent the weekend watching my ability to walk deteriorate. By Monday, I was using an office chair to help me get around the house. I didn't know what to do.

I called the doctor again, and, after some convincing, had an appointment with a neurologist on that Wednesday (November 7).

Between "tingly" Thursday and the "Hawaii" Wednesday, I saw a Western medicine doctor, an Eastern medicine doctor, a therapist, and a masseuse.

Brad came down from San Francisco the day before we were supposed to leave, Tuesday night. I couldn't even get up from the couch to greet him. I simply yelled, "You have to come around back, where the door is unlocked!" After letting himself in, he took one look at me and said, "We're not going to Hawaii."

The word, "Duh!" had never been more appropriate. To be fair, Brad knew my condition was bad -- I don't think he even packed his snorkel.

The next morning, Brad carried -- yes, carried -- me into the neurologist's office, where the doc took one look at me and knew I wouldn't be there long. He did a few taps on my knees and asked a few questions. He then sent me directly across the street to get an MRI (that 5 minute office visit cost my insurance $300 -- I start med school next week).

The MRI was quick -- I laid in a coffin-like structure and ignored the tapping and buzzing for about 30 minutes. Just after the MRI, I was told that I had Stage 4 Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Other than the number 4, I didn't know what any of it meant. I decided to cry anyway.

I called my mother (she was a nurse -- surely she knows what "stage" meant) and told her the news. To my surprise, she let out a sigh of relief. For her, the past week of not knowing why I couldn't walk was terrible. Having a diagnosis meant the fight could begin. She's so smart. I decided to cry anyway.

Within an hour, I had seen a neurologist, had been given an MRI, and had been admitted into the hospital, conveniently across the street from the MRI center (hey, what kind of racket is this?).

At this point, the word "cancer" hadn't been uttered by anyone. In fact, I didn't really know it was cancer until that night when I asked my oncologist (whatever that was) if I had cancer. He said yes.

While being wheeled up to my new deluxe suite (now I know what those wheelchairs in hospitals are for), the nurse congratulated me on getting "the good one" I assumed she meant the room -- maybe it had a jacuzzi. But she meant my cancer.

Hodgkin's Disease is a curable cancer -- meaning that they can get rid of it and it doesn't have to come back. Ever! It didn't sound lucky at the time. But these days, I'm thankful every moment.

Once I settled into my room (no jacuzzi, sadly), I was told that I had a rather large tumor pushing against my spinal cord, causing my lower body to slowly become paralyzed. That's why I couldn't walk. I knew it was something.

The good news was that the battle had begun. The next day I had surgery to remove the tumor. The day after that I had more surgery to insert a catheter into my chest for easy chemo access. And a few days after that, I had my first injection of chemo.

Looking back, I could see the signs. For months, I had an infrequent sharp pain in my back. Also, I was losing a lot of weight and I was sweating like crazy at night. I had a stack of shirts next to my bed just so I could put on fresh ones during the night. All of these were symptoms of Hodgkin's, of course. But I didn't consider any of this serious because I was still feeling OK overall -- I was exercising, I was running on the beach, etc. etc.

My point is, if you look like this...

... you're not OK.

So pay attention to yourself, listen to your body's needs, and never, ever, ever, plan a trip to Hawaii with Brad!

Just kidding, of course. See how Brad saved my life by reading the rest of this web site.

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