Diagnosis
My childhood was relatively normal. I was good at sports, spoiled rotten and had plenty of friends. My entrance into adulthood was interesting! It wasn’t until 2009-10 when things started getting extraordinary in an emotionally taxing way; I lost my best friend in a car accident then experienced a rough breakup with my high school sweetheart. As a peculiarly intense young man, these two events combined with the stresses of adapting to college academics, life, and baseball as a freshman cultivated a hostile terrain through which physical pain emerged to match the mental and spiritual pain I was experiencing.
In early August 2010, I went to the family doctor to have a lump in my right jaw checked out. My PCP showed a lot of concern and said it may be an infected saliva gland, but if not, he was worried over the possibility of a mass of some sort, so he took a culture to test the former hypothesis. I returned to the doctor’s office from work a few days later and saw that both my parents were there waiting for me; since my parents got divorced, they rarely go places together. The doctor said the saliva gland hypothesis was not the case, so he sends me to UPMC Presbyterian Hospital immediately to get this lump checked out. I went down and they did a biopsy. Hours later, we were in a room awaiting the oncologist anxiously—imagining all the possibilities, in silence with Mom and Dad. The oncologist comes in and tells me I have cancer. Those words shocked me; I just stared at my lap for a while, unable to react. Eventually I realized Mom was weeping and Dad was in a similar state as me, so I went over and comforted Mom, telling her everything would be OK. So, with that, I was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma in my right jawbone, changing my life forever.
Before cancer, I lived a life full of anxiety over romance, physical appearance, my baseball career, and money. As I was occupied by those kinds of things that most worry about more than they’d like, I was on a constant search for that missing piece to fill my emptiness. I lacked any genuine confidence, but rather tried to force what I thought I wanted to happen, happen. It seems like all of that changed at the moment of diagnosis. When the oncologist told my parents and me that the lump was indeed malignant tumor, I had no reaction. I was in a state of shock, just staring in silence while Mom cried. I was angry, thoughts of all that would be ruined, especially baseball. I remember Mom asking, “What’s the prognosis?” This question really put things in perspective for me because percentages meant nothing to me. Nor should they, I was going to fight to the end no matter what and I by no means could let the disease kill me. It seemed like the diagnosis brought on clarity in life that I had never felt before. I didn’t climb into a cave to cry, nor did I go sky diving. I went golfing that day with my cousin-who-is-like-a-brother Michael, and we just let the news marinate in the sun—I think he was having as much if not more trouble processing it than me. My happiest days when I was most clear of mind was between diagnosis and surgery along with the time shortly after I finished chemo.
My diagnosis affected the direction of my life, passions, and education; as it became very obvious the finitude and preciousness of life. I then began to live with intention; that intention being to create the best life possible. This of course led to a higher intellectual engagement with the world, ultimately resulting in my desire to study philosophy. The ancillary effects are amazing. For example, it led me to start playing the guitar after a music therapist from Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh gave me an introduction to the beautiful instrument and today I find peace when in the flow of musical rhythm. In addition, cancer led me to Relay for Life, which has proved to be an amazing experience, starting the inaugural event in 2013. Another indirect effect is my passion to gain insight into the intricacies of the health care system with the intention of influencing innovative solutions to problems therein.
That illness experience has dramatically affected my approach. Now as I go through life, even if my body hurts, cold winds batter my face, and my luck is poor, it will still be far more enjoyable. The pains of today never compare to the pains during my battle. Each storm will seem like a mere breeze, and any misfortune is met with a shrug, maybes smile. It’s just irrational to me not to enjoy life. As I discovered my inner courage through spirit while squaring off against cancer, I continue that sureness as I encounter rigorous academic challenges, tough athletic hurdles, or any other frustrating dilemmas; I have love on my side, and a powerful experience of the strength to be found in faith. It’s a wonderful daily adventure, discriminating among options to find the path best glorifying the gift of life and exemplifying the anti-cancer way of life to the best of my abilities.
It’s interesting to look back on the chain of events that helped construct my faith. It all started with an unexpected visit from Scott Walters a few days before my tumor-removal surgery. As Mr. Walters left, he handed me Tony Dungy’s powerful book, Quiet Strength. Dungy’s messages gave me a real understanding on how to have faith in all the uncontrollable happenings in my life. As one could imagine, this principle was crucial in my days against cancer. Whenever things got incredibly wicked, I went back to the words from Psalm 23: “Even though I walk Through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, For you are with me.”
I am fascinated by free will and the ways humanity utilizes it. A life full of positive mental forces and smiles will play a huge part in a “successful” life for me. My idea of a successful life was shaped by Toni Dungy in his book that Mr. Walter gave me, Quiet Strength, and let me tell you, financial and material possession and any level of fame have nothing to do with it. As Dungy puts it, success is “centered on a relationship with Jesus and a love for God that allows me to serve others. Taking the gifts, abilities, and passions God gave me and using those qualities to impact the world for better…It’s about significance. That significance shows up in the hearts and lives of those we’ve come across who are in some way better because of the way we lived.” For me, I’ve found that something I can do on a regular basis and smile and treat others how I’d like to be treated. From there, things often figure themselves out through the application of reason and logic. The disease has crafted and then reaffirmed this type of positive and enriching perspective on life.
Now, I’d love to say I was the epitome of optimism and attitude throughout, but honestly, there were plenty of instances where I was a harsh, bitter human being. That’s why Jimmy Valvano’s courage and strength is so impressive to me in his Arthur Ash award acceptance speech was so impressive to me: “cannot touch my mind, cannot touch my heart, cannot touch my soul.” Surely there were times when chemo left me spiritually and emotionally wounded, with an unsound mind, living with impatience and without a desire to be around others. Of course, you can’t put all the blame on cancer, figuring it could have been my own personal issues getting me down too, but however you cut it up, I was awfully depleted deep into the winter. Then something happened in the hospital I’ll never forget. On this day, I was moping around the halls, being especially miserable; Thiel College baseball was on their way to Fort Meyers FL while I was in the freezing weather getting pounded with poisons so I hope you can understand why I was sour. While walking, I met this little boy named Zane who appeared as having downs syndrome, getting chemo, and smiling while playing with his dragon. This experience made crystal clear a lesson which we all tend to forget sometimes; we get so into our daily affairs and sometimes our circumstances seem so daunting and hopeless that despair seems to be the only possible result. But by reasonably integrating situations and events into our meaning narrative, people may be enabled to observe what makes sense to them on different issues; they will be free to think about problem in cancer treatment in a rational way. I hope to advocate for this type of rationality in the cancer field.
Cancer brings about some cruel scenarios. There were times for me when the symptoms would really pile up and have me battered on a total level, and just when pain seems like it couldn’t get worse, something worse settles in. When the body was overcome by these levels of anguish, my spirit was shaded; finding it difficult to smile when both speaking and walking cause excruciating pain. I’ve heard many people say something along the lines of, “I couldn’t imagine going through that (cancer), I could never.” The thing is, they could if they really had to. We aren’t aware of what we are capable of until we have no other choice. When backed into a corner, instincts encouraged hanging on and enduring.
The mental aspect of this illness is fascinating, especially the interpersonal aspects. People have such a dramatically different conception of your identity, not knowing how to behave with a person who looks as sickly and monstrous as I did while I was sick, so I never took shape-shifting personally. Many went from viewing me as Ryan, the baseball player, to Ryan, the kid with cancer. Instead of getting questions about my upcoming athletic, academic, or social ordeals, I got, “How are you feeling?” It’s all good, all love; I’m just noting the interesting different reactions to my condition. I did get a bit annoyed when people pitied me, like I was a walking package of sadness that brought a dark cloud over any room I entered. While I understand that they think I’m particularly close to death, a projection not without underlying cultural influences. Actually, no one knows when their time will come. The cancer patient just might live another fifty years while the finely tuned athlete could die from a freak accident tomorrow. No one knows!
