Has your life, or the life of someone you know,
ever been touched by mental or physical illness?

Read some responses below:

A letter from Jonny Imerman

I am a testicular cancer survivor. I was born in Saginaw, Michigan, in 1975. When I was just a baby, my parents divorced, and we moved to a suburb of Detroit called Bloomfield Hills. I attended Cranbrook Kingswood School from kindergarten through high school. After graduation, I moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan, where I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the University of Michigan. After college, I returned to the Detroit area. I worked during the day while earning an MBA from Wayne State University at night.

Suddenly, one Thursday morning in October 2001, my busy world came to a standstill. At 26 years old, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. I couldn’t believe it, so I went to another doctor for a second opinion. He confirmed that I had cancer. The testicle was the epicenter of the disease. I went right into surgery. My left testicle was removed. Although the surgery went well, my visits to the doctor did not stop there. It soon became clear that the cancer had spread (“metastasized”) from the testicle. The disease was making its way up my body. The form of testicular cancer I had was a "non-seminoma." That means it was a mixture of many different types of cancer cells, as opposed to a "seminoma" tumor, which consists of only one type of cancer cell. Nonseminomas are much more aggressive and spread much faster than their counterpart.

I knew what was next. Chemotherapy. But I did not understand what that meant. What is chemotherapy? What color is it? How will it make me feel? I called my brother. I started sobbing. I could barely talk. My world was shattered. But, I was not going to give up. My oncologist told me that the treatments might make me sterile. So, I went to a cryogenics laboratory to bank sperm. After that, it was time to start chemotherapy. My chemotherapy recipe was known as BEP. My regimen included three cycles of chemotherapy. Each cycle lasted three weeks. The treatment weakened my body and wiped out most of my white blood cells. In fact, I was in such bad shape, the doctors were forced to delay my chemotherapy while my body recovered between cycles. In addition, the chemotherapy caused many side effects: throat sores, mouth sores, skin rashes, dry skin, cystic acne, extreme fatigue, hair loss, numbness in my fingers and toes, and partial hearing loss. But the most damaging side effect was a blood clot that developed in my left arm. The clot formed around my port, a medical implant that was an access point for my chemotherapy. The doctors had to remove my port, pull out most of the blood clot, and then pump me with blood thinners to break up the rest. With all the side effects and delays, the chemotherapy lasted for five months. At last, after all the treatment, I thought my fight was over. I slowly returned to the gym, started going out socially, and got back into life. Although I was happy to be alive, every day was a challenge. I did not have as much energy. I looked different. I struggled to find my postcancer identity. Just as I was getting comfortable with myself, I learned the fight was not over. Nearly one year after chemotherapy, a routine CT scan showed four tumors along my spine. This surgery lasted for four hours. It was successful.

Finally, I was freed from the disease and began my road to recovery. I made a vow to myself while I was on chemotherapy. I looked at others in the oncology clinic and realized that I was different. Each day, my room was filled with family members and close friends. With so much support, I did not have a chance to lose hope. However, in many of the other rooms, hope already seemed lost. As I walked down the hall with my chemotherapy IV-pole on the way to the bathroom, I saw other people fighting cancer alone. They were lying in bed, motionless, watching television or staring in space. Their only stimulation was a nurse checking in for a minute or two on the hour. I knew this was not right. It upset me. I felt guilty because I had so many good people and so much positive energy around me.

I made a silent promise that if I were given life after cancer, I would help these people. So, how could I help? I walked into the other rooms, one at a time, and introduced myself. “Hey, what’s up, I’m Jonny. What’s your name? I have testicular cancer. What type of cancer do you have?” Many were older than me. A few were younger. Although they were exhausted just like me, everyone was friendly and welcomed my conversation. We shared stories, emotions, and opinions about many things in life. We all had our own type of the same disease. Some fought for themselves, others for their children, and yet others for a spouse. But no matter the motivation, we were all fighting for life. And I wanted to help them get it back. I wondered: “What if every cancer fighter could talk to a cancer survivor, who not only had beaten the same type of cancer, but who also was the same age and gender as the fighter?” The cancer survivor would be an angel, walking, living proof that the fighter could win too. What an amazing connection. This is why I created Imerman Angels. I want to thank “each” of you for taking the time to learn about our mission. The number one way to help is to connect us with cancer fighters and survivors. They are the lifeblood of our service. No one should fight this disease alone.

I wish each of you well.
Sincerely,
Jonny Imerman
Executive Director, Imerman’s Angels

 

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Dealing with Serious Illness

The following letters were written by a young woman with breast cancer. It demonstrates her courage and humor in the face of serious illness.

Hi all,

I can tell by the number of 'checking in' emails I have been receiving that I am way behind in updating you all on my world and the fight against breast cancer, or as I like to call it, HairWatch '07. Sorry for the delay. I have been a bit mired in treatment and tired of side effects, (and just plain tired), but here is the latest.

I have finished 13 out of 16 total chemo treatments. Hard to believe that I am almost finished. I am getting some side effects, like neuropathy (where my hands and feet go numb and tingle) and the fatigue is really kicking in, but my head is covered in peach fuzz and I am sprouting lots of new eyelashes, so that's pretty cool. After chemo I will have my surgery to remove whatever is left (which feels like just about nothing at this point) and then 6-7 weeks of radiation. Hopefully by March I will be through with the bulk of the heavy treatment and will just have the leftover meds to prevent recurrence.

I know I usually tell a funny story about something weird that happened to me because of treatment or cancer or whatever, but given that it's so near that most American of holidays, I thought maybe I would share some other thoughts.

Now don't get me wrong, cancer and cancer treatment can be a pretty thankless experience at times. It hurts, it's scary, you feel like complete ass from chemo, etc. etc. But (and I know this doesn't sound like crazy, cynical me) I have tons of things to be thankful for right now - some directly related to cancer, and some, just fringe benefit style side effects. Here is a partial list.

I am thankful that my cancer was caught early. I am thankful that my tumor has all the markers so I can have medications like herceptin and tamoxifen to keep me healthy for a long time to come. I am thankful that I live whre I do and have access to the best cancer docs in the world, and that I have a job and health insurance so that I can afford the treatments that will save my life. I am thankful that I am a candidate for a lumpectomy and that my surgeon cares about leaving me a pretty pair - cause let's face it, they are spectacular.

I am thankful for those of you who have gone on this journey before me and are willing to share your experiences (and hats and scarves) with me. I am thankful that I live in the same city as my family, so that I can see them all the time, and I am thankful that I have young, energetic parents who welcomed me back into my old bedroom and took daily care of me for two months during the worst of my treatment, and continue to help me now that I am back on my feet. I am thankful for my sister who doesn't mind spending three hours in traffic just to spend 45 minutes with me. I am thankful for the fact that little kids are honest and open and not afraid of bald people.

And finally, I am mostly thankful for having the opportunity to truly know who my friends are, and how many of you there are. It's very easy to feel sorry for yourself when you are ill, and I admit to more of my share of self-pity than I should be allowed, but even on my worst days the little voice in my head won't let me forget how many of you are out there, wishing me well, praying for my health and willing to help me in whatever way I need. And that is the most comforting feeling in the world.

I hope that you all have just as many things to be thankful for.

* * * * * * * * * *

Holiday greetings from the front lines in the war against cancer. I am happy to report that our offensive appears to be paying off and the enemy is in full retreat.

Ok, enough war metaphors I think. I have many things to report since my last email, so let's get started, shall we?

#1 - Chemo is OVER!!!!!! After 20 treatments I feel positively pickled and at times I was sure that my doctors would kill me before the cancer did, but I survived and I am in the midst of my first chemo free week and feeling pretty good about it. My hair has started to grow back, and I am happy about that, even if I do look like I have male pattern baldness. I wore a pink wig and a tiara to my last treatment and for once enjoyed being stared at. (see attached picture - my apologies for the awful exam gown and lack of glass slippers.) In any case, the chemo has done it's duty because ...

#2 - I had a pre-surgery ultrasound and they couldn't find the tumor!!! It's GONE!!!! Well, probably not gone, but small enough now that it's hard to find on the ultrasound. They will need to use the clip they implanted during my biopsy to know where to do my lumpectomy. I couldn't ask for a better result from what were some of the worst months of my life.

#3 - My surgery is scheduled for next month. I was hoping to have it done before the holidays but there just isn't time. If all goes as planned I should be up and around in a few days and back to the office soon after. (Who would have thought I would look forward to going back to the office...)

#4 - I am now a temporary redhead (see attached). I include this part of the update for those of you who knew me in the 80's and remember how badly I wanted to be Molly Ringwald - thanks to Sondra and Gail for coiffing me! (And yes, my beautiful friends Vanessa and Sue are single...)

#5 - The latest recital by the WHQODJYS (We Haven't Quit Our Day Jobs Yet Singers) was a rousing success! I sang I Am Woman with a classmate who is a 20 year survivor of breast cancer, and it was a pretty powerful experience if I say so myself. Someday I will upload all my performances to a website and share them with all of you. My 3 1/2 year old niece was in the audience and has been putting on shows with her Fisher Price Karaoke set ever since. I guess some kids inherit things from their aunts after all.

So I think that's all for now. I will be back with an update after surgery. Until then, I plan to enjoy the holidays and let 2007 slip quietly away. It hasn't been all bad, but I am ready to let it go. Bring on '08!!

I wish you and yours a happy and HEALTHY new year.

* * * * * * * * * *

Update - Looks like you are all stuck with me!

Well, I have received my final path report from last Thursday's surgery and I am now officially cancer free! My nodes are clear and the infiltrating part of my tumor measured only .9 cm, which means I am Stage 1. Of course, since I had chemo before surgery, my Stage at diagnosis might have been 2, but the fact that my nodes are all clear means that the cancer never 'left the building' so to speak, so my recent backaches can be attributed both to stress and lack of fitness. (Guess my dad is right sometimes...) In any case, the family has finally shed tears for the right reasons, and we have all enjoyed our best night's sleep since this whole crazy ordeal began.

Surgery itself was a strange experience. I had to have general anesthesia due to my crazy acid reflux cough, and I remember nothing after receiving an IV sedative in the prep room. Probably a good thing since I am told I was singing as they wheeled me down the hall to the operating room. My dad said he couldn't tell exactly what I was singing, but it sounded like a happy song. Oh well, at least I didn't flirt with the doctor like I did under the twilight anesthesia at my endoscopy...(don't laugh, I know some of the things you all have said under sedation...)

Needless to say I feel so much lighter now that I might actually be hovering a few inches off the ground. I am a little sore from surgery, but I am so happy to have made it this far with such a good result, that I don't much mind.

Thanks again to everyone for their prayers and positive thoughts and energy. It clearly worked, and I am lucky to have you all on my side!

I will be in touch again with updates from the radiation front lines. Until then, be well and happy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hi everyone,

(This is a long one, but please read it through cause I have a question for you at the end…)

I know it’s been ages since I have written, but no news is good news. I am almost finished with my radiation treatment and I have been busy with work, singing, and living, so I haven’t had tons of time to write.

Radiation has actually been better than I expected. I haven’t had too much fatigue and I didn’t really burn too badly until this week. The burn is just as uncomfortable as a bad sunburn, although it’s in a stranger place than you might be used to. The good news is that I will be finished with it next Friday, and then the healing can begin. Yay! After that I will continue with herceptin treatments every three weeks through September and then take Tamoxifen for 5 years. I have heard some pretty bad side effects stories about Tamoxifen, but I am hoping that it will be like radiation for me, much easier than expected.

The biggest news is…I HAVE HAIR!!!! Yay! And it turns out, I look pretty damn hot with a buzz cut! I had my first haircut last Friday (see pic, please excuse horrible nose…) I do feel the need to wear a lot more makeup than I did when my hair was long, but I think I look pretty good. Everyone is astounded by how fast my hair is growing, but I know it’s the one thing I always did well. I go without wigs or scarves all the time now, and I am loving it! (It’s a good thing my hair has grown in, because I got into a bad habit of taking my wig off and handing it to anyone who complimented me on my hairstyle. The guy in Sephora got really freaked out when I did that.) My nieces tell me my hair feels soft like a kitty cat, and the youngest likes to ‘pet my head’. It’s very cute.

So, the final piece of big news. I am planning my “I kicked cancer’s ass!!” celebration, to be called from now on – Hope’s Hard Ten! (Craps players will get the name – those of you who don’t, ask a craps player.) I am planning to have it in Las Vegas. My awesome friend Vanessa is helping me with the plans – we are going to try to score some good room rates at one of the nice casinos, and there will be some sort of party on Saturday, time and activity TBD, depending on how many people can come and what we can negotiate with the hotel. I just need to get a preliminary headcount, so let me know if you think you can make it. I know it’s a long way to travel, but I would love to celebrate my victory with each and every one of you – I wouldn’t have made it without you!