Where Am I After Nearly Six Months With A Lethal Cancer

You're Going To Die, Mr. Morton. I'm very sorry.

-My doctor

It's been nearly six months of living in my new reality. Since then, every day has become part of an unexpected journey. When I look backward, I remember joking about 2024. I told the closest person to me that I just wanted to get through the holidays without anyone dying. Unfortunately, I forgot one other day that stands out.

It's unexplainable, but February 17th has brought dread more times than not. There are certain things you don't want to hear. That day is the anniversary of hearing those things.

Hearing the dreaded words once is unfortunate. Throughout life, those words are used repeatedly. The older we get, we face them again. What if you hear them on the same day, under the same circumstances, more than a few times?

It first happened in 1979. It was February 17th when I first heard someone say the words "going to die." That time, it was my grandmother. Then, in 1993, it happened again. This time it was my mother.

Twice it had happened. But it would happen repeatedly until the last one. The third time it happened, it was my father. That was in 2010.

Statistically, it was going to get harder for this repeated cycle of grief to strike on the same day of the year. The older I got, the fewer people that were around.

Now we are in the present year. It's 2024, and everything felt safe. Nobody was dying during the holidays. It's a traditional time for something terrible to happen. But there was another wallop to come. This time it was me.

It was February 17th when some lab results were available on OSF's MyChart. It was only supposed to be a CMP (Complete Metabolic Panel). It's a routine test done all the time. We were looking for my A1C, and I am over 50.

One of the lab results was curiously high. Oops! I shouldn't have read it. I should have given myself the weekend. Seeing what it was and finding the meaning behind the test result, I looked up studies on the test and the likely outcomes. One word came to me.

Why that day? Is that day cursed? There are 365 days in a year. That's not lottery odds, but there's only a one in 365 chance of it happening on a given day.

February 17th, 2024, would start a new journey. After four years of peace, a new fight emerged on the horizon. As a member of the Law Enforcement community for most of my life, there'd been many fights. There were far too many to walk away without scars, both mental and physical. 2024 would become a fight to survive.

I'm sorry bud.

Doctor #1

Then came:

I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but you're going to die.

Doctor #2

Apparently, from what they all said, nobody has seen one this high. I'm sure that's just in this area, but it wasn't comforting to hear my test results were so high nobody had experience with them.

You're going to die. I suggest you speak to a lawyer, consider setting up a trust to protect your assets, and speaking with your family about your final wishes.

Doctor #3

People love to throw around the word existential. Usually, it's an existential threat from somewhere or someone. The climate crisis is one people attach the words existential threat to. Then there's Vladimir Putin, and in the United States, Donald Trump.

Stage IV cancer with an extensive metastatic spread. That's an existential threat. The disease threatens my existence.

Tomorrow is the halfway point in the treatment regimen. It'll mark round three of the IV infusion. We'll see how it goes.

Round two was rough. At the 15-minute mark, I started to feel strange. My heart wasn't taking the strain of the medicine on my system. I started to feel my pulse racing and my head felt like it was going to explode.

A third of the way through treatment, I mentioned to the nurse that I felt off. We had to halt the infusion. They let me sit and rest for a while and the symptoms disappeared. What the hell was that?

As miserable as it felt, and as close to a stroke as it might have been, why would I want to keep going? Remember, I had the highest PSA anyone in my region had seen. Then it went even higher.

Buddy, this is going to kill you someday. But not anytime soon.

Doctor #4

In May, my PSA had gone from 329.8 to 941. I was dying and it was spreading fast. Ribs, spine, kidneys, liver, bladder, lung, heart, pelvis, and left femur.

In June, Doctor #4 had me on a course of medicine that knocked my PSA back to an 8.1. My lab tests are improving dramatically. If the chemo infusions are to help kill what's trying to kill me, then no way in hell would I want to quit. I told the nurse to start it back up.

What works and what doesn't is still somewhat of a mystery. I guess it's all what you believe. When you're faced with an existential threat to your life, such as cancer, you have two choices.

1. Accept your fate and just live your life comfortably until the end.

2. Throw everything you can at the threat, including the kitchen sink.

As I approach the six-month point, I am seeing the hard parts of dealing with cancer. The physical side is brutal. The mental health side is a struggle. Even from the stage I got to, it can be beaten. That's the positive mindset one must keep.

If this happens to you, or someone you are close to, remember that positivity is important. All the science in the world is as good as Santa Claus or the Christmas spirit if you don't believe in it. And that amounts to bubkus.

At six months in my only fear is as I get sicker I can't slow down. Having never gotten that "big break" I found myself woefully unprepared for this fight. Every day is a struggle to keep from sinking into soul-crushing poverty.

The first round of scans = 2360 out of pocket.

And the second round of scans was 2200 out of pocket.

Next came the biopsy, which was nearly 2500.

Then came the genetic testing, chemotherapy, doctors bills, lab bills, radiology bills, more lab bills, and so on and so forth. When you're getting labs done every three weeks, it's going to be expensive.

How am I doing? The best I can under extreme circumstances. I'm beating it, slowly and surely. It's giving me a chance at a second lease on life. It's getting me a chance at making a comeback and being there for my brother, my son, my grandson, and my daughter-in-law. That's my sixth-month update.

My little brother started this for me. It wasn't a bad idea. Not being famous or having tens of thousands of connections only probably slows it down, but with the prescriptions, chemo, doctors, pharmaceuticals, and the expense of trying to beat this, it's not an easy one to wrap my head around. If you're able, it would be very appreciated. Even if you shared it on your social media and took a few minutes to spread it around the internet, I'd be honored.