Omens From the Depths

This story-cluster involves a vacation to Ft. Lauderdale. Due to Michael’s swimming prowess, I had the opportunity to go with his family to Florida for his national competition during and off week of my chemo stage. Staying back while the Thiel ballteam went to Ft. Meyers only made our trip to Ft. Lauderdale that much more special. This trip was a perfect vacation; the timing was impeccable as, at this point, I literally felt like I couldn’t take any more. I had a week between my last round of chemo and my departure for vacation to recovery, so I was in a decent condition to enjoy the trip. That was the most rejuvenating vacation of my entire life. It started as just an idea looking ahead to Michaels nationals. As that April approached, I decided there was no reason why not to go as I procured permission from my oncologist to push my treatment back a week and take a vacation.

As I was right at my tipping level, my metaport broke. To me, this was a sign that I had enough poison pumped through me, and that was all. I made the decision to get a temporary pickline to last me until I head to Florida, and then I would ride off into the sunlight and never look back; I was going to quit chemo early. When I woke up from the anesthesia for the temporary pickline placement, I looked at my arms to check out the new accessory, but nothing was there! Apparently, there was some complication in the procedure, so they were not able to place the temporary piece. This really threw a fork into my plans. I would have to wait until I returned from Florida to get a new port put in the other side of my chest. With that, it ended up making the most sense just to finish the entirety of my treatment.

Eventually, I had some wonderfully relaxing days at the beach while Michael was off doing his thing swimming, and I gain a lot of weigh back since Grandma Lois or Aunt Tracey would fix me up food if I’d ask. All that replenishment and sunshine was just so uplifting. Sam, Glenda and I had a memorable day at a private beach of Sam’s boyfriend at that time. Samantha and I went snorkeling, and I absolutely loved it. There was one spot, where we were surrounded by a school of yellow fish, and the way the sun beamed through the water at us; it was truly sublime.

Michael and I shared so many laughs together, mostly at the expense of the goofballs around us. We messed with his little cousins Dominic and Max a lot, listening to their outrageous conversations and convincing them they may dual as long as they kept an open first. Anyone who knows us might see us sitting there cracking each other up watching them have an uncoordinated slap-war or listening to them argue who would eat who if they were dinosaurs.

Teagan was an infant on that trip, and we spent a lot of time together, taking it easy with Gram back at the house. Michael and I established that of all the cousin’s he will be the enlightened one, coining the phrase—Buddha baby—a title I supported by rubbing my bald head on his in the sunshine.

As I mentioned, this trip was a perfectly timed recharging span at the ¾ point of my chemo stretch. My health improved so much that I was able to go on a sunrise mile long run on the beach with Aunt Tracey. Returning home with that much strength left me little choice but to finish out my treatments

I had the blessing of many wonderful people giving me spiritual support throughout my sickness, and it’s amazing the variety of ways this happened. One particular instance that will stay with me forever involves my great friend Ryan Malachina. Ryan and I played baseball together in high school and became real close. We were constantly hanging out and getting into mischief together; he always had my back.

At the end of Thanksgiving break during Freshman year in college, I was in the car riding home when I received a call from his mother telling me Ryan died in a car accident the night before. The world lost a kind soul that night and many endured much devastation, myself included. Also, many will never be the same because he lived, myself included.

One night in the hospital during chemo—a couple years after—I stumbled upon a picture of him on his sister’s Facebook. In this photo, it stuck out to me that he was wearing a Livestrong bracelet, which was odd because I had no recollection of noticing Ryan wearing one—he was always one to turn away from fads. Seeing that at that moment sent chills up and down my spine. It was as if I was meant to see that picture at that time, as it invoked a thought that hadn’t occurred to me until then: Ryan would have been a huge help through my disease, but in spirit, he was with me through it all. Ryan’s heart was so kind, and with him not tied up at college, I know he would’ve dedicated himself to taking care of me. That’s how he was. Ryan would always buy for me when I was broke, or he would do the deed that I for whatever reason hesitated to take care of. That’s why that bracelet seemed bizarre: that’s what the Livestrong campaign is all about, Ryan would have exemplified Livestrong. A lot like the driving around Pittsburgh to find me some weird food that I thought might actually sound appetizing during chemo that my aunt had on occasion done, against my will. Whatever it takes, regardless the inefficiency and irrationality. This pictures impact on me was wondrous manifestation of the connectedness we have with loved ones, even after their time here on earth.

Another cluster serendipity involves a vacation to Ft. Lauderdale. Due to Michael’s swimming prowess, I had the opportunity to go with his family to Florida for his national competition during and off week of my chemo stage. Staying back while the Thiel ballteam went to Ft. Meyers only made our trip to Ft. Lauderdale that much more special. This trip was a perfect vacation; the timing was impeccable as, at this point, I literally felt like I couldn’t take any more. I had a week between my last round of chemo and my departure for vacation to recovery, so I was in a decent condition to enjoy the trip. That was the most rejuvenating vacation of my entire life. It started as just an idea looking ahead to Michaels nationals. As that April approached, I decided there was no reason why not to go as I procured permission from my oncologist to push my treatment back a week and take a vacation.

I’ve always been a Pittsburgh sports fan, but during my eight months at Children’s I really developed a strong bond with the city. Watching games for a franchise kind of changes when you spent the few nights before the game gazing at the same skyline. The soul of the city is one of courage and compassion, with a rich history and energy.

The football season during treatments, 2010-2011, was a very special year as the Steelers came one game away from winning a seventh Super Bowl, losing to the Green Bay Packers. The Steelers game on Sunday was a consistent bright spot in my week, and as they kept winning, it gave me something to smile with. The ferocity, toughness, and passion they played with that year really did inspire me to approach my treatment the same way.

Children’s Hospital especially will always hold a tender spot for me. They really do everything in their power to make the pediatric patients as comfortable as possible. The city rallies around that hospital so much. Mario Lemieux had been highly involved in the hospital along with other figures and athletes who come through the oncology unit to visit patients.

One day when I was playing Madden in the hospital, Troy Polumalu randomly walked into my room. I saw him with a glance then looked back to my game as I figured it was another annoying specialist I didn’t want to talk to, but with a double-take I realized who it was. I was surprised and a bit star-struck at first. We had a great conversation as he told me about his days playing baseball at USC until Coach Carroll strong-armed him into dedicating all his focus on football.

Apparently, he was being scouted by the Dodgers and was at a tryout where they were hitting with wood bats; all the prospects had about the same range of power with the wood bats until Joe Mauer got up there, and he said Joe hit like a man among boys, just crushing home runs easily with the lumber. He also told me about great Brazilian quisine he loved at the Super Bowl and nights out later than the usual with teammates and being welcomed by his patient but disapproving wife. He was such a kind and genuine man; there were no cameras, no cover stories. He did it out of the kindness of his heart. Then he returned another time and gave me an autographed game ball from the Bills game. The fact that such an idol of mine cared about me enough to come back with that ball was incredible.

Here are a few verses I wrote one night sitting up late in the hospital: