CAT Scans, Fart Yoga, and the Art of SUV Maintenance

Thumbs up and a smile, but my eyes betray me in this photo.

Today is an anniversary for me. It's not a great one, but one I am happy to be able to celebrate. Today is the anniversary of my first visit to the hospital, the start of my cancer journey. This is always a somewhat difficult time of year for me, as even little things like the smell of a warm rain can trigger unwanted memories and feelings. In a way, the beginning was the most difficult part: unknown futures are scary. 

Eight years ago, I was finishing up some work on our car. It needed a new rack and pinion, as well as a steering pump. Not wanting to spend the $2,400 to have it fixed, I decided to take on the task myself. Being a driveway mechanic at best, this was a monumental undertaking. I borrowed a friend's garage, since he had a kerosene heater, and got to work. It was hard, physical work on a cold concrete floor, often late into the night to finish. I was tired, sore, and even feeling a bit sick with chills. Little did I know what was to come of those symptoms...

A 30-rack of PBR and PB Blaster, always a good time.

I finished the car, and was laid up in bed, figuring I wore myself out and got sick. However, that wasn't to be the case. My condition worsened, adding belly pain to the mix. At the time, I remember being pretty unconcerned. I'd suffered from IBS in the past, so the "clogged" feeling in my guts wasn't completely unfamiliar. Ash had me doing "fart yoga", which seemed to release some of the pressure, but the symptoms continued to worsen. After about a week, the feverish symptoms continued, along with intensifying pain in my abdomen. 

Actually found a pic of the Fitbit I had!

Sitting miserably, trying to distract myself with a movie, I felt my heart racing. I checked my Fitbit (shout-out! that little watch might have saved my life) and discovered that my average resting heart rate was in the mid-90s! This was disturbing, as I'm usually around 55 BPM. We called the doc and were told to go to the emergency room promptly. Pro tip: Don't ever go to a city hospital ER unless you are sure you'll be admitted. The waits are outrageous, and the waiting room can be like something out of a horror movie. We drove to the ER, with me hunched over in pain, trying to stay composed in the passenger seat. After a cursory inspection, rubber glove included, the ER doc sent me straight to radiology for a CAT scan. 

A CAT Scan machine with some bougie lighting.

A CAT scan is an X-Ray machine that spins around, giving a "3D" image. It's especially valuable in situations like the one I was in, as it can "look behind" organs and give a clearer picture of what is happening. It wasn't long after the scan that the doctor returned to give us the results, and the look on his face let me know things weren't great before he even started speaking. 

There was so much inflammation in my abdomen that the radiologist wasn't able to accurately determine what was wrong. The inflammation in my abdomen was severe enough that the doctor stuck me in an ambulance and sent me to Akron General Hospital to be admitted. No bueno bro.

The kids were amazing and came to hang
out with me. 

Honestly, at the time, I figured I'd be there for a night or two, get some antibiotics or pain killers, and be home by the weekend. Once I was settled into my room, watching mid shows on the Discovery Channel (it's the only thing to watch at odd hours in a hospital, I got into Street Racers and Bering Sea Gold Hunters), a resident arrived to give me the plan: Hitting me with some monster IV antibiotics, hoping to reduce the inflammation, and then a colonoscopy/CAT. I'd be there at least a few days for observation. The meds did help, but not enough to do the tests, so I was sent home after a few days to wait for the infection to subside. 

All smiles on the outside.

At this point, I was quite scared. The antibiotics I was on were nuclear-level, and even after three days of massive doses via an IV, I still felt terrible. The plan was to wait two weeks, take the meds, and then do another scan to reevaluate. 

Leaving the hospital to go home. At this point, 
I figured the meds would work, and we
were good to go. 

At this point, I had one of the hardest experiences to cope with during the entire journey: I took Maddie (my daughter) skiing for the first time. She was five years old. I wasn't sure what my own future held, and I wanted her to have a memory of me teaching her to ski. I could barely walk up and down the stairs, but we hiked the bottom of Summit at Boston Mills, doing "pizza" and "french fries". She did well enough that we did a few runs on from the top. It was a beautiful, sunny day. My friends and family were drinking beers on the bar deck (I couldn't stomach one). I remember longing to be one of the "normal" people, just enjoying a wonderful ski day. The pain in my belly and my waning energy reminded me that I was not one of them...

First turns with my Baby Doll.

Maddie's drip is fire. I could barely crouch down
for this photo.

Needless to say, I didn't make the two-week deadline for the next scan. After about a week, my pain level intensified to intolerable levels. Back to the ER we went. I was admitted instantly. Blood tests revealed my body was fighting a massive infection (the inflammation from said infection made scans unreliable for diagnoses), so the team of docs decided we needed to do surgery. 

The kiddos blew of some steam in the mud when we got 
home from the hospital. I sat on the deck, lost in my thoughts, but 
needing their smiles.

We can stop here for now. I don't think I have it in me to go further. The memory of skiing with Maddie brought me to tears, and I think of it every time I see her ripping down black diamonds as a teenager. In a way, I'm the luckiest man on the planet to have the chance to experience these moments. That, right there, is why we must conquer. 

Fortitudine Vincimus,

Ryan