Whether we see it or not, it seems we are being tested all the time. Like so many others, my life has been full of tests.

Tests, Tests and More Tests

Most tests I recognized at the time of testing. I have sat through hundreds of tests and exams through school, most of which I knew about ahead of time. Yet there was one time in grade 13 biology when I arrived in class, took my normal seat and watched the girl beside me fumble through some notes. Finally, she closed her books, put them in her desk and said “If I don’t know it now, I never will”. That was my first hint that I was just minutes away from writing a major genetics test with no preparation. That was exciting. It was also the exception.

Some tests have been more subtle, almost invisibly wrapped up in other qualities such as trust. This is aptly demonstrated whenever we are barreling down a two lane, undivided highway at 80 Kph, and we pass someone going the opposite direction at the same speed, with only a few feet between us. We are constantly testing our faith that they will remain on their side of the road and this is neatly disguised as a blind trust that they will stay in their own lane. They also have that same trust in us.

The cancer journey has been filled with new tests as well. Many medical tests, of course, but there have been a number of other tests.

Getting Tired

When I started the treatments I was told that I would start to get tired and eventually fatigue would settle in. I couldn’t imagine that. How is possible to sleep more than usual and still be tired all the time? That has only happened in short periods of time when I have been sick in the past, but not often enough to even remember all that well. Within the first week or two of the treatments I was feeling a bit tired, but it was not an issue. I thought to myself “I got this”. It turns out that I didn’t.

I was still working during the 5th week of treatments, but I was also going to bed by 8:00 at night and sleeping much more than normal. It took an extra boost of energy just to stand up. I started to feel a constant mental fog that made me feel increasingly uncomfortable to even drive. Between the 5th and 6th week, I decided to throw in the towel. I told work that I needed to stay home to recover properly, which they supported whole-heartedly. I hung up my car keys and became a passenger for many weeks.

And I slept a lot.

Pass the Syringe, Please

For the past few years, I have had a goal to weigh 250 lbs by my birthday. I have not even come close to that goal. I have not been that weight for over 20 years, since before I met Sue. A week before the treatments started I weighed 285 lbs. Just over five weeks later, I hit my 250 lb goal, but not in a way I imagined.

Regarding eating, the cancer treatments had hit me from a number of directions. The radiation was doing a great job annihilating my taste buds, ensuring everything  had no taste at all, or if it did, that it tasted like it was flavoured with powdered dog crap. The radiation was also taking a toll on my throat, making it difficult to even swallow sips of water. I simply couldn’t eat. Sue was trying to get me to eat or drink anything. I know I was frustrating her, but it would take me 30-40 minutes to eventually drink one can of Ensure. It was not going well.

I had lost a lot of weight and the staff at the cancer clinic were rightfully concerned. I knew I needed the energy more than ever, but traditional eating with a fork, spoon or even a sippy cup wasn’t the answer. We agreed that getting a g-tube to eat would help fend off this downward spiral.

My weight stabilized immediately once I started using the g-tube. I was still fatigued and sleeping a lot, but now the lack of nutrition was no longer a contributing factor.

I go through a psychological test frequently with the g-tube. Quite simply – what will I wear today, so that the tube is not too noticeable. For brief moments I wonder what will others think. Will they have unasked questions? Will they think I am somehow disabled? That train of thought quickly slips away when my better senses kick in to remind me that I don’t give a shit what they think. This g-tube is for my benefit and that benefit trumps whatever I might imagine what others think, if they do at all.

No Longer Intrigued

I was told about the possible side effects of cancer treatments before starting them: fatigue, ability to eat, dry mouth, painful throat, hearing loss, chemo fog and more. I found it a little intriguing. How would this be possible? Even within a couple of weeks I still found it intriguing. I was seeing early signs of side effects such as taste for a lot of foods changing, but it wasn’t too bothersome.

It didn’t take long for the intrigue to disappear.

I had chemo as well as radiation in the fourth week of treatments. I was getting more tired and I was starting to dread each of the radiation sessions. I wouldn’t feel noticeably more drained after each individual session, but I knew the accumulating effects were mounting up high.

Intrigue had been replaced by a disdain of the process, however necessary it was. This shift put pressure on my ability to keep a positive outlook near the end of treatments. I would put on a positive mask when I left the house, answering “good” or “just a bit tired” whenever anyone asked how I was. I am sure the mask I wore was so thin that many people could see right through it if they chose to.

It was a test to keep positive that I feebly passed in public, but failed frequently behind closed doors. Thankfully Sue was always there to help me with my cycling psyche.

The Ultimate Test

Even a day before finding out I had cancer, my health was a certain level. I wasn’t the same as I was when I was 25 years old, but in some ways, I may have been even healthier, 33 years later. Regardless, that level was my current baseline.

The day I found out I had cancer I also had major neck surgery which took its toll. I never fully recovered from neck surgery when the radiation and chemo therapies started, so I did not return to that pre-surgery baseline.

Then the radiation and chemo treatments started, which dragged me down physically even more. This necessary, but seemingly barbaric medical process was kicking the shit out of me. It was dragging me even further away from my health baseline.

By the time the treatments are done and for a couple of weeks after, I was feeling worse as each day wore on. The pain in my neck was there almost constantly, with intense flare-ups occasionally. Energy was a dream more than a reality.

But then I started seeing signs of recovery – more energy, less pain, slowly eating more. From all those in the know, it might be months before all of this completely clears up and it is only a memory.

So over a 6 month period, I have been beat up physically, just to return to the my health baseline the day before the surgery. No bonuses like an enhanced libido, just back to where I started.

This is the ultimate test through this journey. Enduring the intense impacts of the treatments and have these linger for months, with no obvious gains, but with the knowing that the procedure will enhance my life going forward, not having those particular cancer cells within me.

To me, this is the ultimate test of my faith in the system and people that work their magic in dealing with cancer.