It Strikes

It was called leomyosarcoma. When found it was about the size and shape of a healthy carrot growing directly inside my inferior vena cava (IVC), which is the main blood vein in the center of the body leading back to the heart. Kidneys, bowels, and liver tap directly into this vein as it travels a foot or so.

I'm told it's a pretty rare cancer, although not so rare that they named it after me. Just as rare was it's location, kind of a double-whammy. Regardless, this was the Monster. The Thing that everyone feared, and it was going to kill me. A greater opponent than I could fight. Even with help, the odds weren't good.

July 10th 2009 was my last day at work. I was in quite a bit of discomfort, but had been getting used to it. The next day would be my Friday, then a weekend to relax, and finally a Cat scan on Monday to try and diagnose exactly what my problem was. I was working with Bill Carpenter that night, who is generally talkative and fun to be around. My friend John Glowacki also loaned me an inspirational book 'The Shack' that night, which was kind of unusual. So I was looking forward to reading it over the weekend.

Maybe I should get that book back to him. Hmm. Been awhile, now.

After a restless sleep that day, I woke to some chores waiting for me. Julie and the kids were moving rooms and beds around, and it was my part to get a futon from upstairs to a room downstairs. Not an easy task, and after trying I vaguely remembered that we had to disassemble it getting it up there. Only 15 minutes or so of exertion and I was exhausted, covered with sweat and barely able to walk. Sitting down for awhile outside, my right leg and fingertips started going numb. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. After another hour or so, these symptoms kept up strong and I could hardly walk through our house without breaking into a sweat. By evening I'd decided these were classic 'heart attack' symptoms and we made a trip to the emergency room at Grays Harbor Community Hospital. They immediately admitted me to the ER and took some tests.

One pretty neat thing happened during this time. Before a doctor came to talk with me, I had three visitors. Julie had told Hilary about what was going on. Within an hour, her husband Kevin stopped by to visit. Before he left, Jim Furb and Justin also stopped by. What a treat!

After a few hours laying there in a night gown, we finally seen the ER doctor. She told us the tests were complete and there was no sign of a heart problem. No sign of anything at all except an apparent kidney failure.

Huh? What on earth do my kidneys have to do with it? But she said that my kidney function would be considered good for a 62 year old diabetic, NOT for a 42 year old man in good health. They didn't understand it either, but told me my doctor should continue with any diagnosis. This wasn't a life-threatening condition. Before they sent me home, the doctor told me that most of this must be 'in my head' to quote her. She immediately apologized, realizing that it wasn't very tactful to say that, and as much as I didn't want to I forgave her.

Julie brought me home and I think I got to bed by 2am. I had to call in sick to work, which I hate, but there was no getting around it. I woke up the next morning alone, and realized that Julie must have taken the kids to the Riverfest as planned that day. By the time I'd made my way downstairs, something interesting happened.

Remember that movie Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? There was a little girl who chewed a piece of gum and started swelling up like a huge blueberry. That's what began happening to me. My legs started swelling up into something huge, turning blue and purple. It began getting awkward to walk, and the pressure-pain built up. I tried calling Julie but her cell phone must have been off. I lay down on our living room floor and waited it out. Eventually the swelling would go down, or Julie would get home. We'd see which happened first.

It took awhile, but I didn't even get bored. Laying there on the floor with some wierd, painful thing going on, making me look like a freak and scaring me witless. I was fairly confident by then that it wasn't 'in my head' anymore. Small comfort. On cue, a rare phone call from Kenny Hughes came in and I enjoyed talking with him...can't remember about what.

Julie came home before we were done talking. She immediately knew something was wrong, and began making arrangements for the kids so we could trip back up to the ER. Life seemed a little surreal by then. We actually argued a little after leaving...she wanted to go directly to St. Pete's in Olympia, but I'd rather make the shorter trip to GHCH since they should still have a file on me cooling down from the night before. I won the argument, but Julie was right...Grays Harbor Community was pretty much a war zone that day. Dozens of people were bleeding, crying, and moaning in the ER waiting to get helped. After 30 minutes or so waiting, listening to some frustrated and overworked staff begin to tell people to sit back down, quit complaining, and wait their turn...we gave up and got back into the car. To Olympia we would go.

Providence St. Peters Hospital in Olympia was pretty cool. They immediately took me in, got my story, and ran some tests. Within 90 minutes they'd given me an initial diagnosis: major thrombosis in my right leg. What's that?

It was a blood clot running up the main vein in my right leg. They didn't know why it was there, as there was no other trauma or history leading up to it. They needed to do more tests, and so decided to admit me. The doctor, while nice enough, did some tests that...well...I had to forgive him later. 'Nuff said.

I was impressed with the room, the nursing staff, and the effectiveness of what they were doing. Everyone there seemed on the same page, and they treated me very well. They also kept me drugged up, which was just as well considering the battery of tests they subjected me to. Julie stayed a couple of days, returning home after Pastor Steve came to visit and offer her a room to stay for the night.

In fact, I felt like a rock star. It was pretty amazing how many people took the time to stop by and visit. Amazing, I was honored. I certainly hope I didn't offend anyone, as I wasn't quite coherent much of the time. Some varient of morphine they gave me. After three days at St. Pete's, the hammer fell and the head radiologist was called in to biopsy my IVC. She told me I was a very sick man, and I wouldn't be at St. Pete's much longer. After getting back, I could tell they'd told Julie and she was doing her best to muster up the courage to face me. She knew I had something seriously wrong and I might not live to tell about it. It was so endearing...

I got to ride in an abulance to the University of Washington the next day. Julie went home to make more preparations and take care of things. The UW Medical Center was gargantuan, confusing, and definately different than St. Pete's. However, they did their best to keep me comfortable. There was a level of beaurocracy that I recognized almost immediately. After sharing my story with 3 or 4 doctors in succession, I got to meet students and doctors in groups at a time. Obviously I was a training exhibit, exciting to them in a detached way. This should've discouraged me much more than it did. After all, cancer diagnosis and treatment was their bread and butter.

After two days of more tests, they finally told me what they'd found. The cancer had been growing in my IVC for only 3 months or so, making it's steady way toward my heart. The thrombosis actually extended down both my legs and into one kidney, blood flow being reduced or blocked for a number of weeks. Once the cancer reached my heart, blood flow from my liver would be cut off (among other things) and it'd get pretty messy from there. They diagnosed it as 'advanced stage three' in development and surgical removal was the only option.

Boy, they were good. No wonder they were excited...this was RARE. I began to realize that I was getting VIP treatment from these guys. They didn't tell me odds or expectations, but introduced me to the surgeons who would be getting together to operate. Dr. Lord, my attending physician at UW, offered a great letter to excuse me from work. Dr.'s Kristy Mitchell and Eric Meissmer endeared themselves to me that day: they came in to explain a few things.

They told me, with a great amount of compassion, that there was NOTHING I did to have brought this cancer on. Additionally, there was nothing I could've done different to have avoided it. Then they told me I was going home for 3 weeks.

Their looks told me to make preparations. I might not come back from surgery.