This is a story about a regular guy, with some irregular news.
This is a story about finding the motivation to do what you were designed to do.
This is my cancer survival story.
A Different Class
“See you later mom. Love you!” I had an Electronics Circuits class to be at in an hour, with thirty-five miles of morning traffic to wade through before getting to the University of Houston. No easy feat, I assure you.
“Hold on, Richard.” My mom, ever so good at stopping me in my tracks, pulled me back in with motherly love. “Did you schedule an appointment with the dermatologist, yet?”
“Uhhh… I really gotta’ go now. I’m late!” The beads of sweat on my forehead are giving it away aren’t they?
“That’s a no. Please, sweety, I’m concerned about that bump on your shoulder. It’s been bugging me for too long. It’s been put off for too long and it’s past time to get it checked out. Just get a check-up – that’s all.”
“Speaking of bugging…”
“Son. Please. Make an appointment soon.” Mom’s don’t make puppy-dog looks. But you know that one that’s pretty dang close? It just grabs your heart and gives it a big hug. How am I supposed to say no to that?
“Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll do it.” And with that, I left her house with a heavy sigh.
Waiting for a Sample
I ended up calling the doctor’s office after my class and they were pretty good about getting me in the next day. How many magazines about pop stars and motor cars can you read when you’re in one of the most nerve-racking places known to mankind? Turns out, about three. So I have to give them some credit for getting me back quickly.
“Hello Mr. Stephenson. What brings you in today?”
“My mom.” Seeing that strained smile the doctor must give 800 times a day begged me to clarify. “Okay, well, I’ve got this bump on my shoulder that looks kinda funky. It’s been there since I was a little kid and it’s no big deal.”
“Let me see.”
The doctor runs her hand across my shoulder, letting out a mysterious mumble here and there. I think they do that just to make you squirm.
“It looks a little abnormal.”
“Okay…” I say, wondering how something could look a ‘little abnormal.’
“I’d like to run a few tests and see what we come up with.”
“What kind of tests are we talking about.”
“A biopsy. Basically a small punch of skin from the area that we can further analyze.”
“Oh. Okay. When can that be done?”
“We can do that right now.”
She pulled out what looked like the meanest metal McDonald’s straw I’ve ever seen. After the cleaning gyrations that come with tools in a doctor’s office, she headed my way. I had given my nod of approval when a quick shot went in to numb the area. Love those things so much.
“This is our biopsy punch. It’s going to feel a little weird as I collect the sample.”
Weird is an interesting choice of words. It felt like a number two pencil’s empty eraser end being twisted into my back. Sure I was numb, but talk about a funky feeling.
“That’s it. I’ll get this sent off to the lab and we’ll get it checked out soon.”
“Okay. Sounds good. Thanks, doctor.”
Not Your Ordinary Day
“Hello? Mr. Stephenson? This is Jane at the doctor’s office. The doctor would like to speak with you when you have a chance.”
“Now’s good.”
“Okay, hold on one second please.”
It’s funny how one second, when spent waiting for status on your health, can seem like eternity.
“Mr. Stephenson? This is your doctor. I have the results of your biopsy.”
“Oh, great! It’s been a while and I was beginning to think that no news was just good news,” I said, letting out a nervous chuckle. Shortly thereafter, the irony crept into my mind.
“So it looks like the biopsy indicates a nodular melanoma with ulceration.”
“Umm… not exactly sure what you mean.”
“Skin cancer. You have a very dangerous melanoma that needs to be addressed further.”
My heart dropped through my stomach.
Why is this happening to me? I’m only twenty years old for goodness sake! Isn’t this supposed to be an old person’s thing? Maybe she’s just wrong. Maybe I should get some more opinions. Should I just skip it all like I’ve done all my life?
“I recommend going to the appointment we setup with the good folks at MD Anderson Cancer Center for the full round of tests. These tests will help determine the next steps.”
What exactly am I supposed to say now? Thanks? “Oh. Okay. Um. Yeah. I guess I’ll get that information from your folks and do that. Um. Oh and just so I’m clear on this, what’s the outlook?”
Understandably, the doctor was silent for a while. “Not usually a good sign, Mr. Stephenson. Please, be sure to go through with the next appointment.”
“Oh okay. Will do.” I don’t even remember if I said goodbye, but I was definitely done with that conversation.
No Turning Back Now
There I am, bored and cold in my green back-drafted apron, sitting in a waiting lobby. Apparently, they spend a little more money on waiting areas where people have less than favorable outlooks. Make the most of every moment.
I take a slow look around the room and begin to notice something. I’m at least a third the age of everyone in here. And I’m not the only one who notices. In sync, it seems as if each person looks at me as my eyes sweep around the room. Such knowing and charitable eyes.
They speak volumes, but the loudest that makes it out is pity. At least, that’s what I hear. I’ve been through so many tests in the past few weeks. Even CT scans with fire-hot barium pumped through my veins just for fun. I know it’s all necessary, but I can’t wrap my head around why the heck I’m here.
This is the second time I’ve been at the Cancer Center in the last three weeks. It turned out I was confirmed for having a large melanoma on my shoulder. And a few more on my back and leg. Bonus points.
Today was the day I would get forty-eight square-inches of skin removed from my body. That’s about half a sheet of 8.5×11 paper, only this is my body. And I wasn’t even sure it would help. From my crash course research on skin cancer while waiting, this is just step one in a long line of steps.
But whatever. Here goes. I let out a couple of funny little jokes, as I often do when I’m nervous, a few extra prayers, and kiss the lights goodbye.
Over seven hours later, I was still staring at the back of my eyelids. This wasn’t good.
What is a Second Chance?
It took several people a very long time to wake me up. There goes my confidence in the cure being less dangerous than the treatment. Thankfully, I was up and about only a few days later, albeit with a bit of a stiff neck. Apparently, your head is harder to move when your back skin is stapled together.
The fact that I was recovering physically wasn’t doing much for my mental health. I kept diving into books, websites, and doctors that seemed to believe I was done for. In which case, I admire the doctors’ patience in continuing to try and help me.
Why is it, knowing I’ve been given a second chance, I can’t seem to jump out of this gaping rut in my path? Why do I keep turning my head down to the ground of what was instead of up to what is to come?
The melanoma turned out to be 7.2 mm and very much over the safe-zone numbers. Thank God nothing had spread out to my lymph nodes, but I would still need checkups on a monthly basis for years to come. I had been thereby dubbed a “high-risk patient” and would be under watch for the foreseeable future. Good times.
I was convinced the numbers were too bad. My grades were slipping, my work was lagging behind, and I pushed those closest to me further and further away. I was low. I was real low. I started experimenting with drinking to ease the pain of the unknown. It was getting bad.
Now is the Time to Do
Until that day. That day I was stopped in my tracks by questions I couldn’t ignore.
Do I go on like this, accepting what science, society, and medicine has deemed my future? Do I just give up and be bound by these boxes people keep putting me in? Is this what I was put here to do?
I was given another chance by God to turn my life into something more. Something more meaningful for the world, my family, and me. Something that would show I appreciate why I was put here and show my desire to give back.
Now is not my time to go. Now is my time to do.
That started my thirteen year journey through discovering the growth in me. And now I’m here to help you.
This is the draft version of Chapter 1 of my latest book:
Unleash Your Strengths: Take the Test, Know Yourself, and Guide Your Change
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Thank you for sharing your story! I, too, am a nine-year survivor of a rare form of cancer in my early 30’s. I see cancer as a gift! It gave me the clarity of purpose and the dogged determination to follow God’s will for my life. I live every moment with a greater sense of presence and no longer take life for granted. We are never guaranteed tomorrow—even without cancer—–live life to the fullest with no regrets!
Amen Tonya! I was headed down the wrong path and got put back in a good place. Thank God! People have a hard time understanding why I care little for TV, trends, sports, and other similar things… but I just say, “Hey – I’m confident I was given a second chance to do something more than what I’ve been doing all my life.” It isn’t until we almost lose something that we begin to realize how important it really is to us.
Thank you for visiting and your comment, Tonya!