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[ranknfoul-blog]

Step 2 (clink, clink, clink, clink, clink)

The rollercoaster continues.

I got the x-rays done, no word on the flouride tray nonsense, but I needed so much work done just to be able to start murdering my cancer. To whit:

I needed the dental thing sorted out. Apparently, since my cancer was in my throat, I had to get any bad teeth yanked right the fuck out so they wouldn't cause problems down the road.

I needed something called a 'port' implanted surgically in my chest. At the time I was told this, I had no idea what the hell this entailed. I now know what the hell this entailed. You can Google it and spoil it, or you can just follow my journey and learn (like I did as I was going through it). The choice is yours.

I needed ANOTHER thing called a PEG tube (again, google it now or learn as I did): Basically, a self-administered feeding tube. It's like this: Tube going into your stomach, like 6 inches of tube outside of the 'ingress' into the stomach, end piece has a cap that you can remove and replace. At this time, this is all I knew about it. At this time (0h my GOD you poor sweet stupid 'past me' idiot), I was all arrogantly 'doubt I'll need it.'

Anyway, that's all in the future at this point. At this point, I somehow got my dental x-rays taken, but I needed more than what this dentist I went to (have I mentioned, dental insurance, in general, SUCKS?) and one of my oncologists sent me to the Oral Surgeon.

I won't sugar coat it. The nasal packs were FUCKING BRUTAL What happened with the Oral Surgeon was...only slightly less so, but was way more worrying. But none of that happened in the first meeting. This seems convoluted, but it will all come together, please bear with me (or don't, I'm not trying to sell books or anything and this is for me, if you don't like it then fuck all the way off).

[ranknfoul-blog]

Step 1

So, in late November/ early December, here is my 'state of':

Diagnosed with stage 2 throat cancer.

Left tonsular tumor so large, I can't seriously chew and swallow solid food. At this point, people who know me, know that my voice is WAY different (unbeknownst to them, it was super hard to speak. Not their fault at all, I hid this as much as I could as long as I could). ALSO, I know absolute dick about nutrition, I just want to fill my belly. So at this point I'm swallowing (not eating mind you) farina and grits.

I didn't know this at the time, but spoiler alert: I went from 240 pounds to about 165 pounds. Yeah, who knew? Cancer, the slimming agent anyone can get!

Treatment had to be set up. In order:

I'm not pulling out the whole Doctor order on this, the exact wording is not central to the story. The upshot was: "Figure out how many teeth may need to be yanked, and give this fucker something I'm going to cryptically call a 'tray' involving flouride." I know, you're confused. I was too. Welcome to my world.

So, I went to some random dentist. Why? 2 reasons: Dental insurance is A TOTAL RIPOFF, and no one gave me any referrals. This visit was a disaster, but not at all because of who I went to.

You see, at this point the tumor (try not not gag) had affected my jaw muscles to the point where I could open my jaw maybe a half inch.

So here I am, in this dentist's office. They need to take a dental x-ray (whew, if I get seriously murdered some day, I can at least get identified), but they have this device that's like 1.5 centimeters too large for my maximum jaw allowance. I'm not sure how they did it, but they were able to take the needed x-rays.

The only other issue was, they couldn't provide me with the 'flouride tray' nonsense.

I can't lie. I was pretty new in my cancer journey, and I was pretty annoyed (on the INSIDE. Outside, nothing but polite and/ or cordial) with them. But I got some x-rays.

I had the x-rays, so now on to the other things. The rollercoaster hasn't yet crested the top...

[ranknfoul-blog]

The rollercoaster is about to begin

At this point, my care has been (as far as I am concerned) RIPPED from my ENT doc, and now I have these other docs: The Chemo oncology doc. The Radiation oncology doc. A nutritionist A GI doc

Future players:

A dentist. An oral surgeon A general surgeon WhoEVER the hell it was that plugged my chest port in me.

I want to say 'honorable mention', but honestly as far as I'm concerned she is the absolute star of the show. The major star of the show, I couldn't have gotten through this without this person at all:

My Navigator (I get a shiver down my spine even saying that title)

Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a complete 'War and Peace' level of writing so bail now if you want. I won't fault you.

[ranknfoul-blog]

So, you've been diagnosed with cancer, here's what's next

As mentioned prior to the interludes, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 (not spreading, that's all I was holding on to at this point) squamous cell throat cancer. I got scheduled for something called a PET-C scan. Yeah, I could go look up what that's all about. YOU could go look up what that's all about. Neither is necessary, really. Let me walk you through my first-person experience of it.

So, I had to go to a different hospital. I have a hospital (remember the jerkholes with the forever-to-be-hated nasal packs?) a couple blocks from me. This time, I had to go to a hospital 30 minutes away from me. ONCE AGAIN, spoiler alert, this hospital is now basically my second home. I spent months driving there and back, Monday to Friday. It was actually a pleasure. Know why?

I drive a hybrid. Even in the thick of going back and forth, I was buying gas like once a month. In summer, once every 2-3 months. Hate on electrics all you want, gas hybrids are amazeballs as far as saving you money on gas.

Anyway, I went to this other hospital. I entered through a special door (I learned, this door led to the 'radiation suite'. I would go through this door, both ways, for about 2 months. I just didn't know it at the time). I got led to a regular looking exam room (uncomfortable exam-type chair, covered in tissue paper, etc). I was attended by a woman with a pretty thick German accent.

Stop there a sec. I have no issue with her having a thick German accent. In the midst of all of this uncertainty and fear, this was actually a point of minor joy for me. I would type out her responses in her accent (for example: Zis vill not heurt you), but to me it would be a celebration and to you it would be me just being a jerk, so I'm forgoing the accent-typing. Plus, it will save me trying to figure out how to spell some words, and will probably save me some keystrokes. Just know, she had a thick German accent, and given the setting and circumstances, I absolutely loved it!)

She handed me a bottle and told me to drink it. Half of my mind remembers it as 20 oz. (like a bottle of coke kind of size). Half of my mind remembers it as like 1/4 gallon. I'll update when I get my second scan. It seemed like a lot at the time, but maybe it was just because I had to drink it all at once.

Anyway, she handed me a bottle and told me I had to drink it. I was given the distinct impression that I couldn't just sit there sipping it, I had to chug it. I had other difficulties going on at the time (I mentioned dyspashia, but more on all of this later), so I chugged it as fast as I could. This was a solution that contained Barium.

I know a little bit about a few things, and probably you do too. There's the joke 'If you can't Helium or Curium, Barium' but it's just a joke, Barium won't kill you.

However, Barium will show up on certain imaging. A PET-C scan, for example. As soon as I saw on the container that it had Barium, I knew what it was for. When they told me to drink it as fast as I could, I knew why. It wasn't unpleasant, overall. Although it was kind of minty and I hate mint ("Oh yeah Bill? Do you hate minty flavor more than you hate DEATH???" Jesus, calm down. I hate mint, but I wasn't here for a taste testing for fuck's sake).

While I was dealing with that, the HCP walked out of the room, and came back with something that looked like a crude fire safe, if that crude fire safe was crudely fashioned from small sheets of lead, and had a lock on the front of it.

"Are you living with any children?" "No" "Any pets?" "No" "Any women who are pregnant or who might become pregnant?" (I'm starting to already feel a little judged here. I mean Jesus, I already look and sound like hell, and now you're asking me if I'm getting it on with someone? Really??) "No"

She unlatched and lifted the lid on this box. Inside was like a hypodermic on steroids with a massive metal collar around it. While this was happening, she explained:

I'm going to inject this (she said what it was, I admit I wasn't listening because in her hands was a GIANT hypodermic needle with a MASSIVE metal collar around the outside of it) into you. You're going to be radioactive for a day or 2. You shouldn't be around children, pets, (you get it from the questions above).

So naturally, being an introvert, and not wanting to die, I refused to refuse this whatever-it-is being injected into me.

So she injected it, and I immediately felt...absolutely nothing. Seriously, even days and weeks later, nothing. I'm not going to lie, all of that buildup was massively anticlimactic. No super powers. No flash-forwards or future seeing. I just had to stay isolated for a couple of days (joke's on them, I live for isolation!).

Then they threw me in the machine.

I later had a date with a CAT scan machine. I'm sure I'm confusing my experience between the two, so:

In either one or both of the machines:

I had to lay completely still.

The machine told me when I could breathe

The machine told me when to hold my breath

The machine then made personal comments on my grooming (at that time, I had all of my facial hair. I also had all of my head hair, but by 'all', I mean 3/4 of that was already on its way out. Machine: Nice eyelashes but you may want to check out Rogaine after your treatment. FUCK YOU MACHINE YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!)

Anyay, after all of the horizontal gymnastics involved (with both the PET-C and the later CAT scans), I was led up and out with no indication given as to what any of the results were.

Results came later. Even for those that knew me and talked to me while this was happening, no one, no one at all, knows the scope of what I went through. Here is where the real rollercoaster starts.

[ranknfoul-blog]

Interlude 2 ('Thoughts and prayers')

For those of you that know me, well, hate me if you must.

I've always been 'turned off' by the phrase 'thoughts and prayers.' Hear me out here.

To me, 'thoughts and prayers' has become the ultimate throwaway cliche. I refuse to use it, I will do my best to come up with any phrase except for that (some examples: Please touch base with me to let me know you you're doing. I hope things improve for you. Have you tried (I'll put x, where x is any suggestion you think may work and hasn't been tried)?' etc. To me, 'thoughts and prayers' is only slightly less offensive than using a thumbs-up emoji as a response to a message you send in Teams (Yeah, I spent 3 hours on this thing that has nothing to do with me to find the answer you and 2 other teams were looking for, and here's the solution it took me almost as long to lay out....*thumbs up*).

I'll be the first to admit: Weight-wise, emotionally, perhaps not a significant difference. However, I take the time to think out a response. 'Thoughts and prayers' to me is just something to say when you don't really have anything to say, and/ or you don't really care how things turn out and/ or it's just an autopilot response.

Maybe that's not the case. Maybe there are 'thoughts and prayers' people out there who get emotionally invested/ upset. Maybe they think prayers will make a difference.

To me, I've seen too many people going through too many tragedies, and invariably, I find about a 90% ratio of 'thoughts and prayers' to people who suggest or offer actual solutions.

I get it. There's no solution my favorite cafeteria worker could offer or suggest that would be an actual solution to my throat cancer. But I'd rather I just get some heartfelt commiseration (I'm sorry to hear that / that sucks / fuck cancer, fuck it right in its fucking ear) than 'thoughts and prayers.' Or, I dunno, some extra tater tots. Either option would mean the world to me (love those tots), but 'thoughts and prayers' would just break my heart saying it to my face.

THAT SAID, one thing I was dreading, absolutely DREADING, was a bunch of that from my team, and my sister teams. I think I only heard it twice, and even then it was from no one I directly worked with (i.e. my team, or sister teams).

I say this with complete honesty: Once I found out the beans were spilled by my boss before we really planned the 'roll-out' of that news, 'thoughts and prayers' was a whole other level of stress I had. Can a cancer patient be selfish about something like this? I didn't want to hear that phrase. To me it was like a litmus test of people who didn't give a shit about me, and I was 99% sure I was going to hear it from 99% of everyone, and it was causing me stress.

And I only heard it once or twice. A low enough number that I didn't even note who exactly said it (for purposes of possible future passive/ aggressiveness). It was honestly an unexpected relief at a time that I didn't expect to have any emotional relief at all.

For those I haven't alienated, we'll move on to me becoming radioactive and the rest of my cancer journey.

[ranknfoul-blog]

Interlude One

As far as what I do is concerned:

Let's say you have a surgical procedure. Now, (goodness forbid), let's say that something bad happens to you during or after that procedure. Let's also say that post surgery, more surgery (called 'intervention') is needed after the fact.

One of three things happen at this point: A sales rep reports that an additional (let's call it a 'revision') procedure took place. We have to report it, both within the company (because honestly, if you keep seeing a consistent failure, you seriously need to know about it because if you keep seeing it, well, you need to fix it. Think of the airbag recalls as an example), and to Regulatory authorities - In the US, that would mean the FDA. You know how starting in 2024 there were a billion recalls on food items ranging from chocolate, to lunch meats, to salads? Yeah, mandated reporting is how that happens for us. I'm not 100% sure, but I think for food items it's likely the public at large (see Thing 2 below) and/ or healthcare professionals reporting to the FDA - because believe me, they both DEFINITELY report things to the FDA. That's speculation on my part. Where I work, speculation when reporting things is strictly forbidden. But this is my blog, damn it, I'll speculate away.

Thing 2: patients self-report to us and/ or a Regulatory Authority (again, in the US, that would be the FDA). And Facebook. And Twitter. And one time, LinkedIn. Or Thing 3 below. Not a great look, if it was something a sales rep should have reported initially. EXCEPT, and this is important, no additional surgery takes place. As an example: I had this surgery a year ago. I've got pain that's worse than the original issue. Nothing has yet been done to fix it surgically, but dang it I'm in distress. A rep wouldn't know about that. The patient definitely will

Thing 3: Lawsuits. Seriously, I don't think you can have a company that deals with anything medical and not have lawsuits (Let me be brutally honest. I don't think you can have a company and not have lawsuits). So it's always a fun surprise getting served with a lawsuit.

So yeah. My job is like a complaints department, if the overseer (Regulatory authority) has a loaded shotgun in their hands is just pacing back and forth behind you.

Here I am, at the time dying of cancer, and I'm STILL loving this!

[ranknfoul-blog]

So you've been diagnosed with cancer. What's next?

So, my ENT doc knows I have le cancer. Honestly, I think I'm messing up my timeline. Sorry for the revisionist history here, you HAVE to understand I was going through a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I was barely able to swallow food like grits, or farina, or oatmeal, or smoothies (look up dysphasia if you feel so inclined. I did, because I kind of HAD to at the time). I knew barely ANYTHING about nutrition at the time. I was dealing with an unending nosebleed. Like seriously, the temporary solution from my ENT doc (and believe me, I am saying this with nothing but love because NEVER NASAL PACKS. NEVER EVER AGAIN) was: Get cotton balls. Roll them in your palms until they're in a (this is kind of ironic) cigar shape. Put 'em up there in your nostrils. Keep changing them, CONSTANTLY. Oh also, might want to sleep in a pretty much sitting position so you don't choke to death on your own blood.

Just so you know, and I've already said this, there will be many sarcastic and smartass moments from me about this journey. I will, YET AGAIN, stress that I am not at all, not at ALL trying to diminish anyone else's struggle. I will also constantly acknowledge that, so get used to it if you're in this for the long haul. But I had some really scary moments. One of them was at this particular time.

So as my unending nosebleed continues, I had to sleep sitting straight up in bed. I had a pillow under my right arm so that I could have my right hand to my forehead to try to keep my head upright. I had a thick towel, doubled and doubled again, under my chin. I had the 'nose tampons' in place. I slept so, so badly because I was sure I was going to choke to death on my own blood. Obviously, I did not. But I went through a lot of cotton balls, a fair number of towels, I couldn't sleep more than 2 hours at a time (probably because of the terror)...This whole era, before the chemo started, was a complete mess of bad sleep and terror for me.

(I will say the 'cigar cotton balls' were gone through at a copious rate. I will also go as far as to say that that is as far as I will describe what went on during that period),

My ENT doc

(I keep wanting to call him my ENT 'guy', like, 'I got a guy.' He deserves more than that, but he's kind of my guy, so I've settled on 'doc' vs. 'doctor.' Apologies if that offends, but apologies is as far as it goes, I'm not changing anything)

Another thing I want to say, just in case any 'Outside of the US' people happen to read this blog: This is going to be another spoiler alert, but the fact is, with some adjustments, some minor time off, I worked the entire time. Before anyone gets all up in arms about 'US Healthcare sucks!/ US treatment of employees who need healthcare sucks!/ etc,' let me clearly and unequivocally state 2 points, here and now: 1) I probably could have applied for disability and gotten it. But if I sat around every day doing nothing but treatment-related stuff, I would have lost my entire, COMPLETE, (channeling Sir Samuel L Jackson here) GOT-DAMNED mind. Seriously, I do love what I do. But I also love being able to DO things. This is why I will probably never retire. It's not a Boomer thing (Gen X btw), it's a kind of 'I love doing this and don't want it to end' thing.

You see, (I don't care, I'll repeat myself) I actually love what I do. Yeah, there are parts I am not a fan of, but I love what I do. Not being able to do that, for a span of weeks/ months? Nah, there is no reason to put other people at risk, just let my brain do what it loves to do.

What do I do, you may wonder? Well, I will have to craft a cagey response to that, for a couple of reasons: I definitely do not want to get fired (because honestly, I love what I do), and, well, I definitely do not want to get fired (because super honestly, I love what I do and disability would basically be the end of my sanity). I'll talk more about what I do in my next post. It'll be a nice interlude to talking about the multiple things trying to murder me.

But the second point! 2) Don't make fun of me for this. I was scared. I have a couple of close friends, but I only have a couple of close friends. The people I work with aren't ENEMIES or anything. Not at all. And maybe my philosophy isn't unique. But without knowing how this whole thing was going to go, I wanted as many people as possible around me, for as long as possible. Did I want them at my funeral? I don't even know how to answer to that. I'd be dead! How would I know who showed up and who didn't? I just wanted some basic human connection while I fought. I challenge anyone reading this to say they'd feel otherwise. The funny thing is, this blew up beyond anything I'd planned.

You see, I told my manager what was going on. My personal expectation was, we'd keep it 'in house.' Well, the next thing I know, I'm getting all kinds of messages from other (higher level even than him) people from other teams with messages of commiseration, 'thoughts and prayers' nonsense (more on this later), etc.

So, great, cat's out of the bag. I can see a strong argument for sharing that info, but the argument is going to make me look like an arrogant prick.

You see, giving everyone a heads-up that I might die would mean that unless I gave a lot of SUPER HIGH INTENSITY training, that would actually be absorbed, the quality of work passed on to other teams would tank. Fair play to letting everyone know that that was possibly going to happen. Hey, I said it would make me look like an arrogant prick. Along that train of thought, keeping it quiet for as long as possible would mean that I wouldn't be forced into disability (no one ever tried to force me, but how the hell was I going to know that going into this huge horrifying scenario? I was counting myself lucky for not being fired on the spot!), and I wouldn't have to deal with 'thoughts and prayers' (again, more on this later, and please power through that post. It's not charitable to me, but it gets better I swear).

On the other hand, again, this was pretty super personal on a not-worrying-about-employment level. It was hard enough sharing this with my team, this was deeply personal. And now, my boss just went and broadcast it, and I'm getting all these messages and Teams calls?

Dude (and dude, if you're reading this, seriously, dude...) probably not the time to throw this at me. Or at least, not without warning.

Lesson learned, set the boundaries when an announcment like this is made.

Now for the interludes.

[ranknfoul-blog]

The diagnosis

Let me say that part of me expected to get cancer because until early 2020, I had been chewing tobacco for almost 40 years. I had quit, and switched to nicotine pouches (and I'm trying to wean off of those to this day). Honestly, I'm shocked I didn't get throat cancer sooner. The super weird thing is (spoiler alert), it was NOT the tobacco that caused the cancer.

One day, in November 2023, I got a sudden nosebleed on a Friday. By 'sudden,' I mean I felt like I had a runny nose, looked down, and there was blood all over the front of my shirt.

I went to the ER of a hospital that is only a few blocks away from me. Their answer? Something called nasal packs.

For the unitiated: Nasal packs are these thinner-than-tampon things that they jam down your nasal passage. These need their own paragraph.

Take a super slim tampon. Say, the width of a straw. Jam one up your nostril, past where your sinus becomes the sinus. That alone hurts. No. HURTS. Unimaginable pain. You think you're done there? Oh, you child. They then rip off the sleeve so the 'far' end can expand and start sucking up that blood.

Then they did it to my other nostril.

After 24 hours, I bled through the nasal packs, and went back to the ER. They referred me to an ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) doctor.

Spoiler alert, I will love this man for the rest of my life.

He saw me, got the nasal packs out (Bear this in mind, kids: JUST AS if not MORE PAINFUL) and noted I had one huge tumor in my right tonsil, and a smaller (but noticeable) tumor in my left. He asked me if he could take a biopsy.

I'm not going to lie, and I feel a lot of people in my situation know where I'm coming from. I'm not an idiot, and I was pretty sure I knew where this was going. So I said yes.

He took the biopsy. Right after it (before any results were even possible), he asked me if he could present my case to the 'tumor board.' So wow, now I'm like an interesting case, being presented to a board and all. Yeah, bro, knock yourself out.

The diagnosis came back: Stage 2, squamous cell carcinoma of the tonsils. I never knew what the whole tumor board thing resulted in, probably because I didn't pay attention before he told me the most embarrasing part.

Before that, though: Through this interaction, I never knew what the different stages of cancer are. To this day, I'm not sure what all of them are. I'm not going to look them up, I don't need to be knowing how close I am/ was to death. Here's what I know: Stage 2 means basically you have noticeable cancer (I mean, the ENT doc spotted it with his naked eye). Stage 4 means you have cancer and it's spreading (I know this because he specifically told me this). I'm very lucky (Yeah, I know. Lucky??? Hear me out), that I had Stage 2 and not Stage 4. No idea what Stage 1, 3, or anything beyond 4 involves. I assume Stage 1 is like barely noticeable, Stage 3 means...I don't know, it's about to spread? And if there are stages past 4, NOT to be disrespectful, but you should probably be starting to make 'arrangements.'

The cause of my cancer? Not cigarettes (didn't smoke) or cigars. Not chewing tobacco (quit almost 4 years prior, remember). No. None of those. I got my cancer because of an STD/ STI.

My cancer was caused by HPV. This is something around 90% of the entire world's population has. There have been advances and vaccines, but there's one funny thing about this:

Men cannot be tested to see if they have HPV.

So basically, I have HPV. And all I had to do to get that confirmed was to get throat cancer.

FML. I wish I could say I was surprised, but this is how I find out about a lot of things in my life.

[ranknfoul-blog]

This is the intro to my cancer journey

I was diagnosed with stage 2 squamous cell carcinoma of the tonsils (throat) in November 2023. I really feel the need to explain this journey.

I need you to understand some things:

I don't really think anyone will care. In some ways, I hope someone will - I hope I can give some people hope.

My views will seem irreverant. Let me right now say, from the outset I know I've been extremely fortunate. This is not about my rapid successes as much as it is that I've surprised a lot of Health Care Professionals (HCP's) throughout my treatment. I know, and I understand, a lot of people in my position do not have it as 'easy' as I did. There is no rubbing of faces. There is no invalidation of others' experiences. I'm giving a full account of MY experiences, with the full hope that it will give others hope, especially if their situation closely matches mine.

I'm writing all of this after the fact. Some of the dates may be a bit inaccurate (say, plus or minus a week or two). For those of you seeking receipts, I've already given a reasonable effort for those receipts. Anyone coming at me with 'You said the 14th of November and it was the 21st,' well, this blog is not for you.

I'm not out of the woods yet. I'm still dealing with side effects/ affects (can never figure out which one to use). So this isn't a case of me standing on the other side of the 'winner' line belittling those who aren't. I know, cancer is serious. However, even if things hadn't gone the way they had for me, I'd still be exactly as much of a smartass as I am about to be.

You're welcome to stay, you're welcome to go. Just know that this is my story, and everything I'm about to post, belongs to and is personal to me and me only.

So, shall we?