GREEN BAY – Cancer sucks.
I know this firsthand, in more ways than one.
My mother passed away from breast cancer nearly 20 years ago, and my youngest sister succumbed to the disease earlier this year in January.
I, too, am a cancer survivor.
On Nov. 1, 2023, at the age of 51 — I know, a few years later than I should have — I headed in for what I thought would be a routine colonoscopy, only to hear the words, “I think it’s cancerous.”
Doctors found a medium-sized tumor in my rectum that had invaded the rectal wall and was touching my bladder.
Further tests concluded I did in fact have cancer — which was eventually diagnosed as Stage 3B — but thankfully, it had not spread to any other parts of my body.
Keep in mind, I had no symptoms of any sort.
I guess you could say I’m a poster child for getting a routine colonoscopy, even without symptoms.
Starting Phase I of chemotherapy and radiation in January 2024, I was equipped with a pump that injected one milliliter of chemo into my port every hour for 40 straight days.
For those of you wondering, that’s 960 consecutive hours.
Concurrently, I also went through 28 rounds of radiation.
After about a week off to “recover,” Phase II of treatment began.
This time, I traveled to the cancer clinic on a Monday, got the chemo pump reattached and then came back two days later to have it removed for 12 days.
The full 14 days were considered one cycle.
I was prepared to slog through 12 cycles, but after the fifth, my doctor said, “I think eight will be enough.”
I felt like I had won the lottery.
During Phase II, I fell into a familiar pattern — feeling okay from Monday through Wednesday, feeling like crap on Thursday and starting to rebound by Friday morning.
I didn’t eat much for the first four days of each cycle, but then I’d slowly regain somewhat of an appetite as time went on.
Each cycle got harder to rebound from, but I made it through — ending treatment two years ago from this writing.
After treatment, a scan showed my cancer looked to be gone — yes, gone.
My doctor told me it’s not too common — but is becoming more common – for treatment to totally wipe out a cancerous tumor, but he said that was a really good sign.
The bad news was that the same scan showed a large blood clot had formed near my spleen, which was probably the result of my treatment.
A call from the doctor – while I was at home sitting on the couch watching the Olympics – a visit to the emergency room, an overnight stay in the hospital and some blood thinners for six months did the trick.
Under my doctor’s recommendation, I still opted for surgery in July 2024, just to make sure everything was clear.
Tissue samples indicated what the doctor had expected — there was no sign of disease.
Five scans and three colonoscopies later, I’m still living a cancer-free life.
I know I’m not out of the woods yet, but the results have been encouraging.
My doctor told me that if my next scan in November is clear, we can push the next one out to a year – a milestone indeed.
Throughout treatment, I vowed to get daily exercise of some sort — even if that meant a short walk.
Love him or hate him, former professional cyclist Lance Armstrong, who also went through cancer, always said, “If I can ride my bike, I don’t feel sick.”
I took those words literally — I walked, jogged, biked and worked out at the gym.
Early on during treatment, I remember going to the gym and placing my chemo pump on the treadmill while I walked.
I became anemic, so I was often out of breath – so much so that when I’d bike with my daughter, Frankie, and girlfriend, Meg, I’d drop far behind.
I’m a cyclist who logs thousands of miles per year, so that was a hard pill to swallow.
I was obviously concerned about the blood clot, but days before it was detected, Meg and I had signed up for a 50-mile bike ride in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, taking place two days after my unexpected ER visit.
Ironically, that’s pretty much all I could think about lying in the hospital bed — I wanted to complete that ride.
Upon discharge, I asked the doctor if there were any restrictions going forward.
I prayed to hear the news I wanted, leaving out the details of the upcoming bike tour.
I’m happy to say it went great, and I survived – another emotional moment for me.
Exercise helped save me, both physically and mentally.
In the grand scheme of things, my treatment may not have been as rough as what others might go through, but it was still rough.
My doctor was amazed at how much I did physically and often told me, “Your blood counts are better than mine.”
The last time I visited him in April, he told me of the CO21 Challenge Trial that showed exercise after colorectal cancer treatment resulted in longer disease-free survival.
The trial concluded that colorectal cancer survivors who took part in a three-year structured exercise program had a 28% lower risk of cancer recurrence or a second cancer.
It had been 25 years since I first tackled a half marathon, but all of that changed with completing the EPIC on Sunday, May 17, in Green Bay.
Last fall, Meg challenged me to complete another half, and I accepted her challenge.
I’m always suggesting these crazy bike events to her, so it was about time I did something she wanted.
Beginning training in about mid-February, neither of us missed a scheduled day – even if that meant getting up at 4 a.m. to run five miles on the treadmill during the cold.
Each of us also battled a cold during the three months of training.
I had a sore throat and cold when we completed our longest training run of 11 miles.
Sometimes the training got long and a bit boring, but we both trudged on – knowing race day would be “fun.”
In total, we logged 38 runs and recorded almost 170 total miles during training.
I was nervous on race day, but EPIC didn’t disappoint.
I felt decent until about mile nine, but then my legs felt like lead blocks for the remaining 4.1 miles.
The thousands of people, Meg, three of my sisters and Meg’s mom on the course and Frankie at the finish line helped, too.
I not only wanted to complete EPIC to prove I could do such a thing after battling cancer, but also for all cancer survivors and those currently battling the United States’ No. 2 cause of death.
I didn’t set any land speed records, but we managed to finish in 2 hours, 22 minutes and 38 seconds.
Had I not had to stop a few times to visit the restroom, we could have finished in under 2 hours and 20 minutes.
Amazingly, the winner of the full marathon passed us close to the finish line, which meant he was running twice our speed.
Shortly after finishing EPIC, I began my colonoscopy prep for my procedure being done two days later — fun times!
I’ll keep running some to stay in decent shape, and I’ll run my first Bellin 10K on June 13 — Meg’s birthday.
After completing a few area bike tours, we are heading to RAGBRAI — Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa — in late July.
This year’s route is approximately 400 miles in seven days of riding, complete with heat, hills, humidity, cornfields and about 30,000 of my best friends.
As former NFL player Bart Scott once said, “Can’t wait!”
In closing, if you’ve been putting off that colonoscopy or physical, get yourself into the doctor — it could save your life.
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