Prelude to a Cancer Stroy

If someone were to ask me to summarize the past four months of my life in just a few words, I would tell them that is a stupid request and they should shut-up. There were too many emotions to be summarized in a tidy little package, and I have never been good at condensing long stories so that people could save time by not listening to, or reading all the details. I prefer the idea of laying it all out there, and I think for my own sake I need to do it like that because everything happened so fast I never really had a chance to wrap my head around the enormity of it all.

Such is time. It goes by without delay or trepidation. It doesn't slow down to make sure you're keeping up, and it certainly doesn't stop to wait for you. In fact, when you wish time wouldn't go so fast, that's when it starts lapping you.

So now that I've been able to reclaim a bit of normalcy and routine back into my days I feel like it's time to start confronting the emotions I've openly expressed, and the feelings I know are in there but never emerged while I was sick. By releasing my mind through written words I hope to come to grips with how my life is forever changed. I know I am, and am not, the same person I was before, but after everything that has happened I feel as though I am beyond vulnerable and ready to confront the reality of my second chance.

Throughout the course of my treatment the last thing I ever wanted is pity. I never wanted the deep pathos that comes with being told you may have a terminal illness. But I think it's natural for people to react that way, and when it comes to cancer they automatically feel sorry for you. It allows humans to show they care and that they're concerned about someone else's well-being, and I'll admit that when I felt like death warmed over it was good to know people were out there feeling sorry for me. It made me feel like a fighter--like a survivor. Besides, how else is someone supposed to react when getting the news that their friend, brother, son, husband, or now father, is facing something as ominous as the 'C' word. There's no best way to react, and so we do what comes naturally--we cry, we worry, we wonder, we might even start to pray again. Regardless of what we do, we do it based on who we are.

In writing about my experiences I don't want people to revisit those feelings for me again. All of this is meant to be an experiment, an exploration, a sincere reflection on what has happened and what might happen next. It's hard to say whether or not any of this is going to come out of me in chronological order, but it should be relatively easy to identify where you are along the timeline.

Here goes nothing...

Thank You Letter to Friends

June 11, 2010

Dear Friends,

Greetings from the reclusive world of the Matkin’s. Where to even begin? It’s been difficult to keep track of the days over the past few weeks. So much is happening in our house at any given moment, but nothing is really going on either. I’ll just say it’s a weird sensation--like a time warp, or a scene from a movie when you don’t know if the characters are in the present, past, or future. I guess it’s our new reality, at least for the next few months, and it’s been one hell-of-a ride so far I can tell you that much.

First and foremost, let me express to you all our most sincere appreciation and gratitude for staging the fundraiser on our behalf. It is incredibly overwhelming to think about the support we received. In fact, it’s made me cry on more than one occasion (but I blame that partly on hormonal overload from the chemo). What’s even more amazing is the fact that so many of the people we know are strapped financially these days, and somehow they still managed to help support us. That kind of friendship and compassion is truly humbling, and we are so blessed to have so many amazing friends. Saying thank you a thousand times does not even begin to express how grateful we are to each and every one of you.

I also thought I’d share a few updates since I don’t have much direct contact with the outside world. I’m nearing the end of my first cycle of chemo and feeling somewhat normal again. This may not be that interesting, but I’ll fill you in anyway since I can honestly say I had no idea what cancer treatment was really going to be like. My chemo is called BEP, and the letters represent the three kinds pollutants they pump into me to kill the cancer. I’m slated for three cycles, and because of the advanced stage of the cancer the regimen is pretty intense. It goes something like this:

~Week 1: I spend M-F at Huntsman in the infusion room hooked to an IV for five to eight hours. Side effects are nausea, fatigue, eventual baldness (which started this week) and some kind of truth serum that inspired me to profess my love of beer to my sister--the one who goes to church every Sunday. The days are long and I come home with olfactory overload. The smell of coffee makes me want to vomit--how messed up is that?

~Week 2: Blood tests and a 15-minute blast of morning chemo on Tuesday. Easier. Side effects are insane fever. Topped out at 102.6 last week.

~Week 3: Same as week two, but feeling pretty good. Although I now have to administer injections into my own belly to help get my white blood cell count back up before the cycle starts over. Makes me happy I’m not diabetic, because it’s not that cool to jam a needle into your own gut.

~Repeat.

Since I’m in the third week of treatment right now I feel pretty good, and although I dread the first week of the cycle again I wish it would come sooner so I could plow through this and get on with life. Even though the cancer I have is in an advanced stage, this chemo is proven to work for testicular cancer, and we are nothing but optimistic about the end result.

On a more cheery note, Harlow Grace Matkin is a beautiful, beautiful girl. I might be a little biased, but I know an ugly baby when I see one, and she is not an ugly baby. I keep telling Shanon what a great job she did making such a beauty. The first week we were back from the hospital I was too sick to really enjoy time with my girls, and everything I smelled or put in my mouth was making me sick. Luckily Shanon’s mom is an angel and spent a lot of time helping us with baby duties while I kept busy trying hard to not to vomit. I never thought I’d appreciate a live-in mother-in-law, but it’s just another example of the selfless acts people have been offering. I get sent to bed and the mother hen’s do their thing. Plus I love Shanon’s mom like my own, so it really hasn’t been that weird.

Now that I feel better I can say without trepidation that being a first time parent is a trip, as many of you know already. The living schedule goes something like this.

Wake, eat, poop, sleep. Repeat.

That’s it. And it’s amazing how time consuming those four things can be. I’ll be honest, there is senseless screaming and tearless crying that rattles my nerves, and poop blow-outs so massive that one can only marvel at how something so small can make such a huge, disgusting mess. But in those serene moments when Harlow is calm, or alert to the world around her, the feeling of love that hits is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. That’s my mushy dad story and I’m sticking to it. It’s true there is nothing in the world that can prepare a person for being a first-time parent, but somehow you seem to make it work, no matter the circumstances.

The events that transpired during the month of May have been the life changing variety for us. And although I can’t say I’ll be a different person when this is all over, I do feel an emotional transformation occurring. Whether it’s a new appreciation for simple pleasures, or a new perspective on the big picture, I don’t think I’ll know for sure until I’m not a chemo patient anymore, and all signs of my cancer have vanished. For now, we’re just taking things one day at a time and dealing with new challenges as they arrive.

If you feel so inclined, please don’t be afraid to call or text me anytime 801-661-1259. If it’s easier you can email me, too. bjmatkin@gmail.com. For as jaded as I was with the general public before all this began, it’s funny how much I miss socialization with the outside world, and we love to have company.

I miss you all and hope everything is good. Thanks again for your friendship and support.

All of Our Love,

Jared, Shanon, Harlow and Emmett

An Announcement to Our Friends

May 19, 2010

Dear Friends,

Where to begin. First of all, let me say I feel conflicted about sharing this news via email. However, I think this will be the easiest way for me to do it. Due to the graphic nature of the content, parental discretion is advised.

Last Tuesday morning I had a minor surgery, affectionately referred to as a Left Radical Orchiectomy. As I type those words it seems to read like a relatively bad-ass procedure. Sadly, it is far from bad-ass. A more appropriate description would be Lame-Ass. I'll let you Google the procedure itself so I don't have to go into detail, but think Lance Armstrong circa 1996.

To be more direct, lets just say my left testicle defected on me. This traitor testicle and his band of renegade cells rallied together to form a mass which caused me great pain. Great pain! So, based on the recommendation of several doctors, the traitor was relieved from his duties via the procedure mentioned above.

It took a week for my testicle to travel to sunny Phoenix, Arizona, where its gruesome fate was dissection on the biopsy table. Yesterday we finally got some answers. So here it is:

*Embrynal Carcinoma, aka, Stage III A Testicular Cancer*

Before you fret, let me note the recipe for this form of cancer pT2N1M1AS1 (whatever all that stands for) concludes that what we face is GOOD RISK. In other words, the cure rate for this bit of nastiness is 90%, and this unfortunate turn of events is VERY treatable. I am very optimistic. Our oncologist is very optimistic. Shanon is very optimistic, and also very pregnant. How the stress of the past 10 days hasn't put her into labor I'll never know, but it's amazing it hasn't.

What we face now are decisions about how to move forward. It's possible I'll start chemo as early as next week, but we're trying to decide how to schedule my treatment so that Baby M enters the world at a time when Papa isn't occupied getting infusions. Sounds ominous, but we'll figure it out. Although Shanon's official due date is June 5th, this may mean that we have to induce baby sometime in the next few weeks so we know exactly when she's coming.

This isn't exactly the way we planned on starting our career as parents. The lame part is that we'll probably have to put a large bubble around our house for a few months while I'm going through treatment, since I'll be a weak, weak Papa with no immune system. The good news is that Shanon and Baby M will be healthy and out and about in the world, available for dates at the coffee shop, rendezvous on the back deck (which I should be able to attend), or walks through the park.

Make no mistake, we intend to kick this "C" business in the ass, and get on with life. This is not a tragedy, but a challenge. A really poorly timed challenge. :)

As you've probably determined by the way I write about all this, I'm feeling pretty open about it. Given the number of strangers who have seen me naked or probed me in some uncomfortable way, I find if relatively easy to talk about. I know this is heavy news, but I find the whole situation to be surreal right now and I intend to keep the mood light. So one-nut jokes and clever nick-names are encouraged--don't be shy. I just hope that I look as good with a bald head as Kevin and Jeff.

Thanks for being great friends.

Onward!

Love,

Jared, Shanon, Baby M and Emmet

My American Think Tank #1

I spent a lot of time listening to and reading the news yesterday. When it’s a slow news day the headlines are always predictable--healthcare, foreign policy, suicide bomber, sputtering economy, unemployment, etc., etc. It was one of those slow kinds of days that had ongoing analysis of these issues, the kind that will generally frustrate me in my job search or make me yawn and pick up a crossword. But sometimes I just can’t help but getting sucked in.

In the midst of the usual rhetoric were a few stories that caught my attention though, if not just for a brief moment.

First was the highly publicized book tour of Sarah Palin, who is doing a travelling road show in a bus with her face painted on the side. All vanity aside, I find it laughable how this person seems to be making a ‘connection’ with working class Americans. I also found it amusing that Fox News has been called out twice in the last week as they’ve reported massive turnout for the Palin book signing in Michigan cities. While praising the estranged GOP wonder woman they were playing old B-Roll footage of crowds from a McCain/Palin presidential campaign rally that took place in 2008. In reality, there were not thousands of people assembling all over Michigan, waiting to have the ‘Rogue’ ex-governor sign the inside cover of her new book.

The second story that caught my ear was about the unprecedented announcement by Oprah Winfrey that 2011 will be the last year she plans on taping her syndicated talk show. I wondered how it is that a talk how host can garner so much clout over the course of her career, whereas she possesses the ability to sway public opinion, convince people what they should read, and inspire others to loose weight. Or put it back on, depending on the year. How is it that an entertainer garners that much authority? It’s pretty mind-blowing. I had a hard time shedding a tear over the announcement though because I can’t believe this is really the end.

Last but not least was an interview on Radio West with British actor and comedian Stephen Fry, who talked about his tour of all 50 states in America and what he learned about the country while on the road. I was compelled to listen and learn what a British elitist had to say about our controversial land. In short, he loved America, from its capitalist greed to its southern hospitality. But what really struck me about the interview were his comments on this nation’s leaders, and how winning the presidency is inexplicably tied to deep-rooted religious beliefs. A characteristic that he observed was almost exclusively American. He even went so far as to say he believed there would most certainly be an African-American, lesbian president in this country before there would ever be an Atheist president. A distinction that I would have never thought of, but one that certainly holds merit in a country founded, in part, on Christian beliefs.

At the end of the news filled day I started drawing some conclusions based on all the fodder I’d absorbed.

Even if I don’t believe Sarah Palin is worthy of political recognition I felt slightly worried about her future prospects. Although it appears most mainstream media outlets don’t take her too seriously she continues to capture press attention and draw a crowd (albeit smaller than Fox News will report) of hard-line supporters--consisting primarily of huntin, fishin, hockey moms. To think that history repeats itself in this case is a bit frightening to me, and my thoughts wandered back 30 years to Hollywood celebrity and tobacco connoisseur, Ronald Reagan. When he first announced his interest in politics no one took him seriously, but in the end, he became an icon of the GOP, and as it turns out, a fine president. Just ask Arnold Schwarzenegger. Another clear indication that anything is possible on the American political landscape. Lucky for us people who aren’t of original American origin cannot make a bid for the White House. In other words, the political forecast for Sarah Palin is unclear, but she might, just might, possess the proper combination of folksy charm and political prowess to become the new poster child for the Republican Party in 2012. In which case, there is no doubt I will have to join a grass roots campaign and work relentlessly to help spoil her chances of ever running this country. A worrisome possibility.

Someone as powerful as Oprah Winfrey does not go away, or work exclusively behind the scenes. As I thought about the announcement that she would be leaving network TV I remembered Stephen Fry’s comments about presidential contenders in this country. Granted, Oprah is not gay, but is there likelihood that her announcement can be interpreted as a future political move? Yes. The answer could be yes.

How are these for indicators: 1. She may be the most popular woman in America (sorry Hillary), 2. She already has the loyalty of hundreds of millions of people, 3. She’s not a politician, which seems to be a major selling point right now, 4. No one dares cross her, because if they do their reputation comes under fire.

Sounds to me like she’s a natural fit in our current political climate. Personally, I will be shocked if she doesn’t make a bid for public office of some kind, because she’s Oprah, and she doesn’t loose. Ever. All she needs to do is jump on the Jesus bandwagon and collect her golden ticket.

I don't find all news days so inspiring, but I determined it’s time well spent trying to read between the lines. And it’s fun. After all, there are plenty of morons who make lucrative careers for themselves by making wild, large-scale assumptions about the state of things. The irony is that in doing so media consumers start to believe these assumptions are based on analytical truth, when in fact, it’s nothing more than a person’s qualified or unqualified opinion. In the end, tricking someone and changing their perception is not the same thing. And either I’m right on the money with my predictions, or I’m not.

Man With a Sign #1

It doesn't matter if its hot or cold, sunny or cloud, snowing or raining. Get in your car and drive around a bit and you will find someone with a sign. A proclamation of their current state of affairs. I'm cold and hungry. I'm broke and depressed. I'm a stranded traveler. 

It's the latter that prompted me to roll down my window one day and ask a dirty looking vagabond holding his sign where he was coming from and where he intended to go. The question obviously caught him off guard and he gave me a blank stare while slowly moving toward my unrolled window. Realizing he had no idea what I was talking about I refreshed his memory by pointing to the chunk of inside out Bud Light box he had transformed into a plea of assistance. He looked down at the scratchy handwriting and then turned the sign around so that he could see it head on. Upon looking at it he reacted immediately, as though someone had just prompted him to remember his line. 

"Yeah, I gotta get outta here. I'm stuck. I'm a stranded man."

Aren't we all, I thought.

"All I need is a bus ticket. Yeah, a bus ticket to get outta here. I just need a few more bucks."

After I questioned him a bit more for my own selfish and demented reasons it was obvious that this man had no intentions of going anywhere. At one point he professed he just wanted to get across town. To another corner. Another freeway exit. Another sidewalk just outside a shopping center. I almost expected him to ask me for a ride, but he didn't. 

I looked ahead at the traffic light. It was turning out to be the longest light I'd ever stopped at. 

Now I could smell my new friend and I turned my attention back out the window where he met my glance with a blank expression. He blinked long and hard and shuffled his feet. 

Oh, God I thought to myself. Why do I always have to question people? Why, if I think they are obvious liars, do I have to be the person who calls them out? I'm no better for doing it and a guy like this probably doesn't even care that I've questioned his intentions. I popped open my ash tray where I usually have a few spare dollars and some loose change, feeling obligated to give him something just because I had to validate my suspicion and perhaps make a point.

I glanced forward again. 10 cars ahead of me the traffic light turned green. I pulled a few notes out and turned back to the window, about to instill one more bit of wisdom on this lowly 'traveler'. As I turned my head and opened my mouth to speak I noticed a vacancy. Confused, I turned over my left shoulder and saw his skinny frame hurrying away. I looked in the side mirror for a better view and saw an arm extended from the car behind me. In between the fingers at the end of the arm was a green bill with Abe Lincoln's face on it.

Taking my foot off the brake I started to roll away, laughing to myself. Giving one more glance in the mirror I noticed the traveler was holding nothing in his hands now but his new found wealth. Just outside my window where he had been standing a moment before, pleading his case and his dire need to get away, I noticed the sign laying in the dirt and weeds, tossed aside as though it had served its purpose. 

An honest acceptance. No explanation required.

 

Doing My Part

My defiant stand against the powers of OPEC is a simple one. I try to buy gas that comes from South America. Not that I support many of the distasteful practices of large energy companies like Petro-Ecuador, but a man's got to have fuel in the tank.

Last night when I noticed the guage hovering slightly above 'E', I went out of my way a few blocks, knowing there was a Sinclair in the neighborhood. "Praise to Allah," I joked to myself as I pulled in and saw the sign advertising Regular Unleaded for $.08 cheaper than any of the other stations I'd passed. "It pays to stick it to OPEC." 

I hopped out of my car and into the frigid night just in time to see a small truck run into a sedan at the traffic light adjacent to the pump. The little Toyota pickup looked like the kind you might see on the evening news. The kind that prowls the unpaved roads of a North African or Middle Eastern country, and totes around machine gun wielding militants with their heads covered, and bands of ammunition draped across their chests. I laughed out loud at the mental image I'd painted in my head and the ironic nature of my thoughts. 

Moving quick to pump the gas I swiped my card and started to fill the tank. It was then I noticed a sign next to the card reader declaring Credit and Debit card transactions would be charged an additional $.10 per gallon, and that the advertised price on the glowing Sinclair board was for cash paying customers only. Feeling deceived, I stopped the pump at $10 instead of filling the tank. I hadn't stuck it to anyone; instead, someone had stuck it to me.

I took my slightly bruised ego and wandered inside the store to grab a six-pack for the football game I was headed to watch. As I swung the door open I was hit by a harsh odor that I can only describe as old incense and toxic cleaner, and a stocky man with thinning hair and a wily comb-over greeted me from behind the counter. By the accent of his voice and his brown skin I knew right away he was from the Middle-East. I gave a wave with my right hand as I made my way towards the cold drinks, again thinking about the rationale that brought me here and the subsequent events that had followed. 

'No Beer or Tobacco Sales,' the hand written sign proclaimed. A single sheet of lined paper hung in the window of every case in the store. Even the one that contained energy drinks, Snapple and old gallons of 2% milk. It was as though they thought one unmarked door might lead someone to believe that you could, in fact, buy beer. If only I could reach beyond the stocked inventory and into the cold storage where cases of beer were neatly stacked. Then it might be allowed, I thought. I decided it wasn't worth a try.

"So what's the deal," I asked the clerk, who had intently watched my every move. 

"We're not selling beer or tobacco," he said flatly, as if I hadn't seen or understood his posted announcements. 

"Yes, I see that. Is there a holiday I don't know about?" I was ready to do something dramatic, something you might see in a movie, like knock over a display stand or smash a bag of chips with my shoe. Of course I knew I would never do it.

"Changing ownership," he replied, finally shedding light on the mystery and sparing me the task of wondering any longer. "We're not licensed to sell those things yet."

"Too bad. I was about to buy out your entire supply of Pabst," I mocked. "Are you licensed for false advertising your gas prices?"

His face twisted slightly in confusion and his comb-over shifted back on his scalp. I knew he didn't understand the nature of my comment, but it didn't matter. I felt better after I said it. With the wave my hand, the left one this time, I walked out.

Contemplating the chain of events that had just taken place I wondered if it was really worth my effort to try and make small differences--like being selective where I buy gas. Is it worth it to drive out of my way, wasting time and more fuel to get there. Yes, I concluded, it is. It's worth it to me. 

With my position firmly established I drove down the street to a Tesoro, finished filling the tank with OPEC fuel, and bought a six-pack of Mexican beer.

The Veritable Reality of Now

Hard to believe that a year ago we were about half way through our trip around the world. It's even harder to believe we've been home for nearly six months. And, it's confusing to know that I have still not settled into a normal routine since being back. Here's my latest diagnostics on why. 

After being gone (in that I mean gone from home, family, friends, responsibility, commitment, etc.) for almost a year I find myself in a position of unprecedented opportunity and freedom. It's a position that some people never have once they are out of their twenties. I have an open door that hasn't always been open to me, and it won't stay open for long. Some people know what they want, some people figure out later in life when they can reflect on all the things they've experienced. I guess I don't have the luxury of either. All I have is that open door, and no real purpose to walk through it. 

If someone had asked me two years ago what I would do if I had a chance to take my life in any direction I wanted, I might have had an answer. Now that I'm faced with that question I find myself looking backwards. Looking for something familiar to use as a crutch. That might sound simpleminded, but it's the truth. 

As a result I find myself struggling for direction and thinking about a flurry of half-loaded thoughts and ideas. Here's a list, staggered at best of the things that may be running through my mind on any given weekday while Shanon is at work and I am not at work.

-I think I'd like to write a book. At least some stories.

-I'd like to help people in dire situations and who live in extreme poverty. Whether abroad or at home.

-Shanon and I want to save abandoned dogs and give them good lives.

-I want to make people understand why it's important to recycle, or not to shower two times a day (or every day for that matter, even though it feels good.)

-I wish politicians would be open minded to the broad scope of issues so that we could solve problems instead of drag them out. 

-I need clean air in SLC and wish there was a way to install big fans on both ends of the valley to blow out the inversion. Most of all I wish people would do small things every day that could help our air quality.

-I wish I could travel more. Anytime I want to.  

-I hate the fact that it's not what you know, but who you know. I really hate that. But then again, what do I know.

-I understand that people will always do selfish things that serve their own interests, but do I really wish I were more like that? If nothing else, just to get ahead for once?

-How on God's green planet can I move out to the sticks somewhere, live a simple life and earn a living?

-I'd like to create a business plan for a club/desert bar. I think it would be a gold-mine in SLC.

-I want to be able to build things. Out of wood, metal, paper machete, whatever. 

-I think I'll finish writing a song, and then I'll sing it out loud. Even if it's just to myself.

-I want to be a part of something meaningful. To leave my footprint on my life. It's something people regret when they get older, and I don't want that. 

-I want to have kids, but I'm too worried about my own well-being right now.

-Maybe I should help a friend see a big idea through. If they need help, I have time to help them.

-I wish I could focus on any one of the things on the above list just long enough to make one of them happen.

That's a random list. A sample really. A glimpse into the difficulty of time without reason. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that's what it is.