Go Big or Go Home - Stage 4

As of today I've been on this planet for 47 years. For 46 years and 343 days, I figured I was indestructible...

It's been thirteen days since I had The Colonoscopy and my life got flipped, turned upside down. This post is to update everyone and try to convey the mix of fear, joy, gratitude and love that I'm feeling.
I'll post the timeline after the mushy stuff. Feel feee to jump ahead, it might get maudlin.

The rollercoaster I've been on since the diagnosis is indescribable. Obviously the health concerns are immense. But they were frequently dwarfed by financial and logistical concerns. Just when I thought everything was planned and arranged, there'd be a new scan with a new finding and the cycle would start all over. I wanted to let everyone know what was happening but I was having trouble keeping up myself.

While there was a barrage of bad news, there was also an overwhelming torrent of support.

When I speak, I frequently get the words wrong. I'm offensive when I mean to be funny and I'm unintelligible when trying to communicate a simple concept.
 Also, I'm a jerk. This isn't some depressive, woe-is-me, low self-esteem nonsense, it's a fact. I can line up witnesses for miles to corroborate. Hell, a significant percentage of you are reading this and nodding your heads thinking "Yeah, he totally is". If you're still not convinced, let's talk about something we disagree on. You'll change your mind in a minute or two.

However, "overwhelming torrent" is the exactly correct description for the support I've received. The gracious extension by Hahnemann University Hospital that simplified the logistics and finances of my treatment. The people from every corner of my wide-ranging life who have reached out to me. Every gesture has been an emotional boost and I am grateful for every kind word and hug and handshake and attaboy.

And then there's the GoFundMe. I'll be honest, I haven't looked in a few days because I can't see the names and the FB shares and the generosity without breaking down and sobbing like a grown man with Stage 4 Rectal Cancer.

What I'm trying to say is: Thank You. I'm blessed to be surrounded by the quantity and quality of people who understand and support me. Who can see the good intentions behind my bad jokes. Who can feel the love behind my snark. It's been returned to me a hundred fold and I will do everything I can to pay it forward.

Now the fun stuff:
This morning, the girls will be designing my super hero shirts. I'm hoping for lightning bolts and skulls but we all know it's gonna be rainbows, pink hearts and unicorns. Think Lucky Charms on LSD as a superhero and you've got the idea.

I'll be honest, a part of me is relieved that it's stage 4. Stage 3 felt like a cop out. 75% of a catastrophe is not my style. Go big.

Also, things literally cannot get any worse.* There is no Stage 5.
* Note to universe: not a challenge.

My plan to be (more) insufferable is well underway. I've lost track of the number of times I've claimed cancer as an excuse. Expect things to get much worse once I actually start treatment.

"Only the good die young. You're gonna be fine."
John Brown

"Keep your sense of humor. It's the only thing keeping you safe once the white cells go away"
Gary Okum

The Timeline
2/28 : Colonoscopy shows cancer.
2/28 : CT Scan shows rectal cancer and lymph node involvement.
3/2 : MRI of Pelvis confirms Stage 3.
3/8 : MRI of Liver shows suspicious mass.
3/10 : PET scan confirms (one) liver metastasis and Stage 4 diagnosis.
3/13 : Meeting with oncology and chemotherapy begins.
Everything afterwards is dependent on the effects of the previous steps. When I know, I'll let you know.

PS - I was looking at the timeline and I saw nothing but bad news. That's not a rollercoaster, it's free fall. Then I remembered that the 'ups' weren't from scans or diagnoses, but from personal interactions. There are far too many to post. Those gestures have been the 'ups' and they've raised me much higher than any of the bad news or diagnoses.

Thank You