Yes my friends, Tyler has a tattoo. 4 actually.
You see, they need to mark the skin for Tyler's radiation treatments so that they point the laser beam at the same spot each day to get the right area. Really, I can hardly even tell anything is there. It is smaller than a freckle. But, nevertheless, Tyler has 4 tattoos, two on his front and one on each side.
I think this is hilarious. But somehow, I think he'll be okay without a visit to the Bishop.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Our Not So Little Secret
***Update: I wrote this post a few weeks ago, but didn't have the nerve to click "publish" so I am finally doing it now. I have written many successive posts, and I will post those later. I am in a much happier mental state now; please do not worry about my psychological health. :)
I've been debating for a while when or even if I should publish this post. After a lot of contemplation, I've decided what the heck, I'll share it. Just please do not feel ripped off for hearing the news via blog instead of phone call, but for my sake I cannot afford to call up my friends and personally share this news. It was difficult enough to tell our parents, and I don't think I can do that over and over again.
There's really no easy way to put this, so I guess I'll just come right out and say it.
Tyler has cancer.
Testicular cancer to be exact. It all started with a regular doctor's visit which we pointed out an enlarged testicle that has been present for some months. No masses were felt, but to be safe, an ultrasound was done. Lo and behold, a mass was found on the ultrasound and a referral to a specialist and blood work confirmed that Tyler indeed, did have testicular cancer. Apparently, the tumor had grown from within the testicle itself, not on the surface as we had suspected, and grown to be 6cm large. But our urologist assured us that surgery would be needed and following surgery and the biopsy, we would determine if there was any need for chemotherapy or radiation. Testicular cancer is highly treatable, and, if detected early enough, only requires surgery to remove the cancer.
June 1 was the surgery to remove the mass. It went well, no complications other than Tyler's inability to handle strong medications. After a few days we received a glowing report that the tumor was non-aggressive and Stage I (that's good, indicates that it was well formed with little signs of spreading) and that x-rays and CT scans would be needed to confirm that the cancer hadn't spread anywhere else in the body. We were relieved and started to feel as though our cancer scare was finally over with little harm. At the 2 week follow up appointment from surgery, we reviewed the scans and were told the worst.
The cancer had spread.
The cancer that is supposed to be highly treatable had already spread to a lymph node near the kidneys.
Tyler would need chemo or radiation.
That appointment to the doctor still haunts my thoughts. I remember being happy in the waiting room, awaiting him to tell us the good news and that we could get on with our happy lives again. When he came in and started talking, it took me a while to realize he was telling us bad news. All I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears and feel the huge lump forming in my throat. How could this be? Even he was surprised the tumor had spread because everything else looked so promising.
Now we await our appointment next week with the oncologist, to discuss whether Tyler should receive chemo or radiation for treatment.
I remember in nursing school learning about cancer and upon hearing that testicular cancer has a 95% survival rate, I told myself that if anyone in my family got cancer, I wanted it to be testicular. Wow, I'm eating those words! Even now, following surgery, there is a 90% success rate following chemo/radiation.
It's all just frustrating. We are young and healthy. Why us? All of my other married friends are graduating from college and moving to other parts of the country for grad school and having babies. That should be us, doing what everyone else in early marriage does, not face cancer together. I'm graduated and should be working in the hospital caring for other patients, not caring for my husband.
And Tyler never had ANY of the risk factors for testicular cancer! (Aside from being a Caucasian male between the ages of 15-30) Much like I don't have the family history of diabetes. I always thought our health obstacles would be centered around me and my chronic illness, not around Tyler.
I don't tell you all this asking for pity. I tell you to inform you. This is why I've been a lame-o friend. This is why I've been a hermit living out of my house ever since graduation. This is why I am hyper emotional and burst out in tears at church upon seeing the little children running chaotically around (who knows when we will be able to have children, if at all with my diabetes and his cancer).
I'm not in need of pity, I've done a great job doing that myself with frequent pity parties complete with junk food and movies (after all, he's got cancer! Who cares if he has ice cream and oreos and chips and soda and pizza at 11:30pm?). What we need is a lot of prayer. And hope. I'm afraid friends that my hope is starting to run dry. I've been so great at shouldering this load throughout surgery, but facing more unknown treatment is taking its toll on my hope. I can't bear to get my hopes up again only to have them crushed by more devastating news in the doctors office.
That being said, my faith is still firm that we will beat this sucker. I know that Tyler will live. I am not even processing that thought because Heavenly Father has assured me that much. I know we will make it through, I just don't know how much longer we will be on this cancer road.
I've been debating for a while when or even if I should publish this post. After a lot of contemplation, I've decided what the heck, I'll share it. Just please do not feel ripped off for hearing the news via blog instead of phone call, but for my sake I cannot afford to call up my friends and personally share this news. It was difficult enough to tell our parents, and I don't think I can do that over and over again.
There's really no easy way to put this, so I guess I'll just come right out and say it.
Tyler has cancer.
Testicular cancer to be exact. It all started with a regular doctor's visit which we pointed out an enlarged testicle that has been present for some months. No masses were felt, but to be safe, an ultrasound was done. Lo and behold, a mass was found on the ultrasound and a referral to a specialist and blood work confirmed that Tyler indeed, did have testicular cancer. Apparently, the tumor had grown from within the testicle itself, not on the surface as we had suspected, and grown to be 6cm large. But our urologist assured us that surgery would be needed and following surgery and the biopsy, we would determine if there was any need for chemotherapy or radiation. Testicular cancer is highly treatable, and, if detected early enough, only requires surgery to remove the cancer.
June 1 was the surgery to remove the mass. It went well, no complications other than Tyler's inability to handle strong medications. After a few days we received a glowing report that the tumor was non-aggressive and Stage I (that's good, indicates that it was well formed with little signs of spreading) and that x-rays and CT scans would be needed to confirm that the cancer hadn't spread anywhere else in the body. We were relieved and started to feel as though our cancer scare was finally over with little harm. At the 2 week follow up appointment from surgery, we reviewed the scans and were told the worst.
The cancer had spread.
The cancer that is supposed to be highly treatable had already spread to a lymph node near the kidneys.
Tyler would need chemo or radiation.
That appointment to the doctor still haunts my thoughts. I remember being happy in the waiting room, awaiting him to tell us the good news and that we could get on with our happy lives again. When he came in and started talking, it took me a while to realize he was telling us bad news. All I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears and feel the huge lump forming in my throat. How could this be? Even he was surprised the tumor had spread because everything else looked so promising.
Now we await our appointment next week with the oncologist, to discuss whether Tyler should receive chemo or radiation for treatment.
I remember in nursing school learning about cancer and upon hearing that testicular cancer has a 95% survival rate, I told myself that if anyone in my family got cancer, I wanted it to be testicular. Wow, I'm eating those words! Even now, following surgery, there is a 90% success rate following chemo/radiation.
It's all just frustrating. We are young and healthy. Why us? All of my other married friends are graduating from college and moving to other parts of the country for grad school and having babies. That should be us, doing what everyone else in early marriage does, not face cancer together. I'm graduated and should be working in the hospital caring for other patients, not caring for my husband.
And Tyler never had ANY of the risk factors for testicular cancer! (Aside from being a Caucasian male between the ages of 15-30) Much like I don't have the family history of diabetes. I always thought our health obstacles would be centered around me and my chronic illness, not around Tyler.
I don't tell you all this asking for pity. I tell you to inform you. This is why I've been a lame-o friend. This is why I've been a hermit living out of my house ever since graduation. This is why I am hyper emotional and burst out in tears at church upon seeing the little children running chaotically around (who knows when we will be able to have children, if at all with my diabetes and his cancer).
I'm not in need of pity, I've done a great job doing that myself with frequent pity parties complete with junk food and movies (after all, he's got cancer! Who cares if he has ice cream and oreos and chips and soda and pizza at 11:30pm?). What we need is a lot of prayer. And hope. I'm afraid friends that my hope is starting to run dry. I've been so great at shouldering this load throughout surgery, but facing more unknown treatment is taking its toll on my hope. I can't bear to get my hopes up again only to have them crushed by more devastating news in the doctors office.
That being said, my faith is still firm that we will beat this sucker. I know that Tyler will live. I am not even processing that thought because Heavenly Father has assured me that much. I know we will make it through, I just don't know how much longer we will be on this cancer road.
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