A Fortnight's Stay

Ok. I know, I'm terrible at this.

I need to keep you guys posted on what's going on, and I'm sorry that I have not been. I have mentioned it before, but I've always been a person who in life feels that if you are mentally strong, it will be that much more difficult for physical ailments to take you out.

So, I guess in my own little world I felt that by not writing I was not accepting my disease, and therefore weakening it. I know, odd.

Anyways, here's an update. I have since received my second treatment. It went really well, and I didn't have any negative effects from it. The first three or four days after, I do have some bouts of nausea, but the medicine they give me really helps. I have been able to keep working at the Pelicans.

I have in the past few weeks truly realized how many people read my blog and are praying for and thinking about me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. I have people come up and tell me that they are reading my blog and praying for me and it just blows me away. Some people I don't know. People stop me at the Pelicans and ask me how my treatment is going and how I am feeling, and it is just amazing all the love I am receiving. I just hope you know that it does not go unnoticed.

I have always thought of myself as a strong person; I have the ability to see a goal through and get done what needs to be done. Before this battle, I wasn't so sure about that fact. But when you are fighting for your life, you realize what is important. I have a lot of people who have come from being acquaintances to being dear friends, simply because they are showing me what should be simple: friendship and support. It isn't always easy to befriend someone who perhaps can't always be out late at night or party all the time, especially at my age. And that is frustrating for me. But I want those of you who keep asking to know that it really means a lot to me. And for those of you who haven't been able to hang out all the time, I still love you, and I know that life is life, and that means you don't see some people for a while, and that's ok.

The last few weeks have been the hardest since before I got diagnosed. Two weeks ago I went in for my regularly scheduled treatment and was told that I was being pushed back a week because my white blood cell count was too low. White blood cells are the cells that fight off infection, a big part of what we know as our immune system. To put it simply, if your WBC is too low, you are more susceptible to diseases and will have a tougher time fighting one off if you do contract it. That said, my lowered counts mean that if I got sick, even a cold, it could put me in the hospital. It also means that my body was not in good shape to handle the barrage of drugs involved in a chemotherapy infusion. So I was pushed back a week, and told that following my next treatment, I would receive a shot called "Neulasta," that would help my body rebuild my immune system and prevent my counts from getting too low again.

But, I can only get it following a treatment, which my body was too weak to receive. The next week (last tuesday) I went back to get my treatment. I sat down in the infusion suite, head held high and optimistic about my counts being back up. The nurse took my hand and spoke softly about the Pelicans game that her and the nurses attended (I gave them tickets last time I went as a token of gratitude for their awesome care). She prepped my finger to get a blood sample so they could check my counts.

Can I just say that I have had surgeries, been in pain because of tumors all over my body, had a bone marrow sample taken, and been in the hospital more than any 25 year old should, and getting my finger pricked by a tiny needle is my least favorite thing in the world?

Anyway, she took the sample and disappeared for what felt like hours. Still hopeful, I turned to see her approaching. She slumped down in the chair in front of me and immediately the look on her face said it all. I looked at her, exasperated, and said, "Really?
She looked at me and said, "Really."

My counts were again too low for treatment, and she told me that the only thing I could do was eat well and exercise, as if running hundreds of laps around a 6500 seat baseball stadium in the August heat didn't count. Talk about frustration.

I left the office, downtrodden, for the second week in a row. If there is something I hate, it is a problem to which I can't really actively contribute to the solution. I have been eating better, trying to rest, and trying not to focus on the fact that my particular strain of cancer is one of the fastest-growing. Although my scan said that my biggest tumor is 85% reduced and the smaller ones are all gone, I still live with the fear of it someday returning, or growing without treatment.

These are the things I deal with on a daily basis, on top of trying to make enough money to support myself and trying to ensure that I can soon get a full-time job that has insurance in case it ever comes back.

I am so blessed. I have an amazing family that not only has been here before, but that accepts me for me and supports me in my daily struggles. I have friends that tell me that my bald head is handsome, that my music is awesome, and that I can do anything I set my mind to, including defeating this disease.

I want to thank all of you for your constant support. I want to thank those of you to whom I have never spoken but that pray for me on the daily. I want to thank those of you who shoot me a text or call or email just to see how I'm doing. There are days (more often than not, thank God) where I feel normal. Save for the lack of follicular activity on top of my head, you wouldn't know I was sick. And perhaps I feel a little guilty for how good I feel given the circumstances.

When I go to get chemo I see people who are dying. People who are getting treatment just to be able to survive long enough to see their grandchildren born or walk their daughters down aisle. For me this is a temporary stop, a fortnight's stay at the worst hotel I've ever been to. I will survive, and I hope to see more of this life, including walking daughters down the aisle and seeing grandchildren born. But I couldn't do it without the amazing set of companions that God has set before me. I couldn't do it without the daily affirmation that not only am I stronger than cancer, so is my team of friends and family. Thank you.

Tomorrow I will re-enter that infusion center, and I hope that you will join me in praying for high blood cell counts and a stress-free treatment. Again, I thank all of you for your thoughts and prayers, and will be talking to you sooner than later.

Let's do this dance.

Que dios les bendiga - God bless all of you.

-Matty