Posted by Joe on his FB 4/5/11

Dear friends,

I wanted to pass along an update tonight about my condition. I hope you will understand that my mind is being pulled in a million different directions; some are light, some are not. I waver back and forth after today’s news between euphoria because of the excellence of my surgeon, and fright because of the nature of this beast. So, I apologize if this is disjointed, and I also apologize to those whom I haven’t personally responded to by text, FB, or telephone. I also want to thank you ALL for your prayers and thoughts. I am telling you, I can feel them buoying me up, even when I am feeling sort of down.

This morning, Dr. Venkatesh Krishnamurthi went through my CT scan results with me, and showed me a large mass that is on my kidney, and into my vena cava. The size and the growth of it indicate that it is cancerous, but they won’t know that for sure until they yank it out and test it. Everyone’s always told me I’m ‘exceptional,’ and this is certainly no exception. Of the small population of humans who contract kidney cancer, only 5-10% develop it into the vena cava. So, I guess this is one of those times when I’d rather not be special. I’d like to think of it as having a midichlorian count even higher than Master Yoda’s, but alas, a tumor at this stage is identified as Stage III cancer.

Now, you can probably imagine the flood of emotions when someone uses the word “Stage III” to describe something within your body, and most of them ain’t good! But it’s not necessarily like that with this junk.

Dr. Krishnamurthi explained that, in a surgical procedure Monday at Cleveland Clinic, they will remove the kidney, the adrenal gland atop it, and all of the tumor mass that has grown into the vena cava. Then, the real fun begins when they sew up the vena cava (or replace a section of it, depending on how hard the tumor fights back); sew up the rest of my parts, and leave me with a scar that I think is going to look just totally badass when I run bare-chested late this summer. The surgery will take about five hours, and my recovery period will have me in the Clinic for a week, and then another three to five weeks of recovery at home.

The surgery is the solution with this form of cancer, and that means I don’t have to worry about radiation or chemo afterward. The doc uses the word CURABLE with this, and that's good enough for me. The boogeyman in the closet from here on out will be recurrence, which happens to about 40-50% of people with this sort of thing. That generally happens in the first three years after diagnosis, if it’s going to happen. I’ll be volunteering for some trials on medications designed to fight off recurrence.

I cannot even express to you the confidence I have in Dr. Krishnamurthi. He’s an Ironman triathlete, and judging by his CV, he’s about as good as they come. I enjoyed him personally, he has a great positive attitude, and I love the fact that we were able to talk running a bit!

So that’s where I’m at physically. In fact, physically there’s little difference between me today, and the way I was a week ago. I am thinking about even going to school this week to check in with my students one or two more times before I’m gone for four-to-six weeks.

To be honest, that’s the easy part (so far, which is easy to say before being chopped open!). Mentally and spiritually, I ebb and flow. As I have talked with cancer survivor friends, they say this is not unusual, but for those who haven’t been down this path, I have to tell you (even at the risk of sounding like a crazy person): I swear to you, I can feel it sometimes. I never felt it before, however long it was in my body. Keep in mind, it was found by providential accident because I was constipated last week, and I never had the slightest clue what was going on in there! But sometimes, I feel something in my side, and my brain convinces me that I can feel the tendrils of the tumor crawling up my vena cava. Talk about something to make you feel nuts.

Spiritually, this has me completely confused, and I don’t think that’s abnormal. When you quit drinking, the first thing you learn is that there are things you control, and things you don’t, and that God’s will shall be done, no matter what your plans might entail. One of the things I have loved in getting to know my Algerian and Tunisian friends is the phrase ‘insha’Allah,’ (if God wills it) tacked onto the end of any sentence that’s set in future tense, sort of like, “I’ll see you later, if God wills it.” It’s a beautiful declaration of our place in this world, and of living in the moment and accepting that the future is not guaranteed.

That’s something I am really grappling with for the first time at the life and death level. I think all of us know at a base level that we’re going to die someday, but this experience has taken in a bit further out of the abstract for me. It creates a dynamic tension in one’s soul between being a faithful servant accepting God’s will, and the absolute and necessary conviction I have that I’m going to kick this tumor’s ass and live a long life. I know what MY will is in this situation, and I am really hopeful that God’s will is the same as mine!!!!!

So I guess I’m going to leave it at that tonight. There comes a point when you’re all cancer-ed out for the day, and it’s really not very much fun to talk about. Thank you all again for your prayers, thoughts, and support. It means more than anything you can imagine.

Joe