The Path to Normalcy

Hello again,

It's been an incredibly hectic few months. Which leads me to something I feel is important to discuss that I'm sure isn't all too foreign, at least on some level, to many:

I tend to get overwhelmed somewhat easily, especially with the more mundane aspects of life—work, school, bills, insurance, socializing, what have you—and especially when they're all happening simultaneously. For years, I felt ill-equipped, like a failure, for not being able to deal with the realities of independent living. This was a near-constant thought I repeated like the world's worst mantra.

Yet, when it comes to traumatic events in my life—surgery, car accidents, cancer scares, joint collapses, etc.—I cope far better than most. After ten years of dealing with grim prognoses and continual setbacks, what most people would consider horrific experiences are my normal. The reason? I was diagnosed with  leukemia a little over ten years ago, just as I was about to graduate high school, and so instead of learning and adjusting with my peers to adulthood, I struggled just to stay alive and, once I'd come out the other side, to recover. The natural path of leaving the nest and learning to navigate the real world wasn't mine to walk. Instead, I found myself on a more winding path to a reasonably normal life, slowly picking up the skills necessary to do so.

While I added to my repertoire of life skills, I contended with numerous surgeries and other setbacks that served as an ever-growing ball and chain that slowed my progress to a crawl. And the depression and anxiety and PTSD from my battle with cancer and the cure were as broken glass along that path, pain and suffering that reinforced the belief it was far easier to stay put than continue on to endure further cuts, slowly bleeding my resolve. Each additional mundanity increased the incline of the path—growing ever steeper, ever more daunting.

The combination of these factors is sometimes enough for me to shed some of my less urgent tasks to pour my effort into those that are necessary—to ease the angle of the path and thus the energy required for forward progression. Over the last couple years I've become better at juggling multiple responsibilities, but it has not been easy, and I've had to do it almost entirely on my own.

I know I'm not alone in this predicament. Many young adult cancer survivors have similar issues, as do people with depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses. That's why it's so important to find ways of tailoring support to those who struggle, because as it sits today, the resources can be improved. It begins with our attitude toward how we offer support and what we think adequate to get these people back on their feet. Unfortunately, the problem doesn't just go away when someone is "cured," there are lingering after-effects that can be just as damaging and difficult to overcome as the original diagnosis.

The issue is a pervasive one, and only when we work to find the best treatments not just for those currently suffering their maladies, but for those recovering as well, can we ease their path back to normalcy.

~Andrew

The Takeaway Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up

The Takeaway: Part Three

My memoir about the challenges of
life after cancer

Last week I went to Warwick's in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience. And now I want to share some of that talk with you.

In this three-part series called The Takeaway, I will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.

In Part One: Support Matters, I addressed the need for cancer survivors to continue to receive support even after they enter remission. While battling cancer, many patients have a great deal of support from their community and medical team, but that support decreases drastically once someone is no longer battling cancer, and yet they continue to face complications as the result of their disease or treatment. It's imperative survivors continue to receive support so they can have the best lives possible.

In Part Two: Mentality and Humor, I discussed the importance of keeping a positive attitude throughout even the toughest times. How you view and deal with life's problems is entirely up to you. Life doesn't dictate how it affects you, you dictate how life affects you.

In this final section, I will reveal that there is only one way to fail: when you stop trying.

You Only Fail When You Give Up

We're so hard on ourselves that whenever we don't meet our expectations, realistic or otherwise, we consider ourselves failures. But is it really?

There were a lot of days I wanted to give up when I was dealing with cancer and all the after-effects of my treatment—especially shortly after I found out I was going to live after being given two weeks to live. Sure, I'd survived, but what kind of life did I have? I was dealing with drug addiction, bone pain, surgeries, lung damage and needing to be on supplemental oxygen, depression, anxiety, weight gain, diabetes, and collapsing joints. It was a miserable existence I wanted nothing to do with. So I'd pop a couple dozen pills and let my thoughts stop working for a few hours to escape.

It was so much easier to zone out on narcotics and barbiturates and tranquilizers than to experience reality. And if that was the rest of my life—floating up in the ionosphere, high on anything I could get my hands on—that was perfectly fine with me. In fact, that was preferable. I stopped caring if I recovered, stopped caring about the handful of people who remained as support, stopped caring if I overdosed and died. I gave up, plain and simple.

Hips, Knees, and Ankles Replacements

But after a year of this, I realized I was healing—losing weight, dealing with less pain, not needing as much oxygen. For the first time in a year and a half, it felt like things were finally starting to head in the right direction. A doped-up existence on the couch wasn't enough for me anymore—I wanted to live. It was hard to admit to myself I was a drug addict, harder still to admit it to anyone else. I felt like a failure for letting myself disappear into that black void of drug-induced semi-consciousness.

Once I was sober, I started to rebuild my life. Things went well—until they didn't. Setbacks are the one constant since I was diagnosed with leukemia ten years ago. I can always count on something to go wrong whenever life begins to improve. Try to go to UC Riverside? Ankle collapses. Try to go to UC San Diego? Knee replacement. Try to move out? Drug relapse. Anything else? Joint replacement surgeries—ten of them since 2010, almost always interrupting some progress I've made.

Those setbacks hit hard, they felt like failures. But they really weren't. Why? Because each time I got back up, dusted myself off, and kept pushing toward a better life. Sometimes it took longer to bounce back than others, but I always got back on my feet. Despite complications and detours, I refused to give up.

As long as you're still trying, you haven't failed. Failure only comes when you throw in the towel and let your problems win—whether it's cancer or side-effects or bullies or even ourselves. The only person who can defeat you is yourself. You choose when you give up, no one else gets to decide that for you. And as long as you keep fighting, you will never fail.

***

Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.

Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.

Thank you,
Andrew Bundy

The Takeaway Part Two: Mentality and Humor

The Takeaway: Part Two

My memoir about the challenges of
life after cancer

Last week I went to Warwick's in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience, and now I want to share some of that talk with you.

In this three-part series called The Takeaway, I will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.

In Part One: Support Matters, I addressed the need for cancer survivors to continue to receive support even after they enter remission. While battling cancer, many patients have a great deal of support from their community and medical team, but that support decreases drastically once someone is no longer battling cancer, and yet they continue to face complications as the result of their disease or treatment. It's imperative survivors continue to receive support so they can have the best lives possible.

In this section, I will address the importance of mentality in dealing with the challenges of life. Whether it be cancer, physical and mental side effects, or other difficult or traumatic events, the key to getting through the toughest times is how you decide to look at it.

Silver Linings and Funny Bones

There's a famous quote (one of my favorites) by the late great Yogi Berra, "Baseball is 90% mental, the other half is physical." Math aside, he's not wrong. And really, all of life is like that. Sure, it feels as if a lot of our existence if physical, a lot of our problems are physical, but really it's almost entirely about your mentality.

Crappy things will happen to you. It's as certain as certain can get, with few exceptions. Maybe you'll be one of the few lucky ones who goes through life and everything is rainbows and puppies and all that BS, and the worst thing to happen to you is you only win a ninety million dollars from the lottery instead of a hundred million. But if you're like most people, there will be difficulties, traumas, pain, loss. And when that happens, what are your options? That's the conundrum I faced when I was diagnosed with leukemia ten years ago. 

I saw only two possibilities: Let it crush me, or push forward. I could cry and sob and complain about how life wasn't fair—I think I'd more than earned that right—but what good would that do me? I'd just be miserable, lying in a hospital bed for months. That didn't exactly sound what I'd call "fun," so I chose the other option: Do my best to enjoy myself. Whether it was through silver linings or humor, I worked to ensure I kept away the dark specter of despair. 

It's hard to imagine finding silver linings with such devastating traumas such as cancer, but I did what I could to find or invent as many as I could. Little things like discovering Skittles taste about the same going down as they do coming up, reading get-well cards, and not having to take finals (getting cancer isn't the best way to go about getting out of finals, in case you were wondering). It's amazing how many things we can be grateful for when you really start to look for them.

But perhaps even more important than that was humor. I made a special effort to laugh out loud, or at least chuckle, as much as possible throughout my treatments. During the day, I watched old sitcoms with a nearly religious zeal—M*A*S*H, Frasier, Cheers, I've seen every episode at least twice, maybe even three or four times. I  read books I enjoyed and could make me laugh—primarily works by Sir Terry Pratchett (seriously, check him out). I played jokes on the nurses, like pretending my mom gouged my eye out with a spoon while feeding me Jell-o. Laughter kept the darkness at bay—the black moods, the depression. It's not easy finding humor during such trying times, but the effort plays a huge part in how you deal with life's hardest moments—it helps you survive.

The key to surviving and overcoming challenges is mentality. The thing to remember is that life doesn't dictate how it affects you, YOU dictate how life affects you. The only person with control over how you feel is yourself, and that's crucial in every aspect of life—good and bad. That's not to say it's easy, far from it, but ultimately it is your choice. And that gives you the power to decide whether challenges beat you down...or you rise above it.

***

Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.

Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.

Thank you,
Andrew Bundy


Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up
Life can be difficult, and often we feel as though we've failed. However, there is only one way you can truly fail: when you stop trying.

The Takeaway Part One: Support Matters

The Takeaway: Part One

Last week I went to Warwick's in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience.

I wanted to share that talk with you, so the next few blog posts will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book in this three-part series called The Takeaway. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.

Cancer is Only the Beginning: Support Matters

Me with my friend Nick Hollon

This is essentially the main message of my book. Many people know cancer to some extent, they've known people who have gone through treatment or maybe even went through treatment themselves. But what most people don't understand is that cancer is just the first step in a lifelong journey. After someone survives cancer, they are done forced to deal with the side-effects of the treatment and the trauma they endured. These range from the physical (such as chronic pain, exhaustion, weakened immune system) to the mental and emotional (like anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression). And while most cancer patients have plenty of support while going through chemotherapy or radiation and other treatments, once they enter remission, that support tends to evaporate faster than spit on the sun. Yet, they are still experiencing complications—in some cases the challenges of life after cancer are more difficult than when they were dealing with cancer. This was certainly true for me—though I acknowledge this is not the case for all survivors. So it is exceedingly important to continue to offer survivors support even after they enter remission.

Support can come in many forms. Each person's journey into life after cancer is different. Some might need help getting groceries from the store or cooking a meal. Others might need a shoulder to cry on. And many just want to be able to hang out with people they care about and not worry about being judged or thought of as "fragile" or different than the person they used to be. So if you know someone who has survived cancer, ask how you can help. Maybe they don't need help at all, but just offering can sometimes be the show of support they're looking for. And for survivors, don't be afraid to ask for help—it's not a sign of weakness if you feel like you could use assistance, it's just how it is. There is no shame in it. Everyone needs help at some time or another, and when they do, the best thing to do is ask for it.

***

Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.

Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.

Thank you,
Andrew Bundy


Part Two: Mentality and Humor
It is important to keep a positive attitude throughout even the toughest times. How you view and deal with life's problems is entirely up to you. Life doesn't dictate how it affects you, you dictate how life affects you.
Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up
Life can be difficult, and often we feel as though we've failed. However, there is only one way you can truly fail: when you stop trying.

Ten-Year Diagnosversary

It's hard to fathom, but it's been a decade since my life flipped on its head, to put it mildly. It feels longer, it feels a lot shorter. But this, what I have now, it's all I remember. Here's how it started, and what happened since. If you want to get a really in-depth look at the journey, my book is available on Amazon. Shameless plug out of the way, here's the start of the new me.

Ten years ago today, I woke in the hospital in a state of uncertainty. I'd been admitted to the hospital a week before with a 104.5°F fever and touching tonsils. Days of tests and negative results later, one doctor came in and said he'd found a few free-floating blast cells. "We're not sure, but it might be leukemia."

That was the day before. That morning, I was pretty sure it would come out negative just like all the others. And yet, there was that part of me, the part that's always been there, that told me this was real. So when the doctor came in and asked to speak with my mom outside, I wasn't surprised, just tired. I hadn't really slept the night before, too annoyed at constant nurses' interruptions and a 6am jackhammer to actually approach sleep in any real form. My mom came in, and there was utter devastation on her face. She'd held out hope even when I hadn't. And then she told me. "It's leukemia."

I thought I'd be upset, but I wasn't. Just numb. I thought emotions would pop up, but they didn't. I just sat there, absorbing my new life, and then faded out. I guess I imploded, just stopped existing—it seemed a far better option than being me at that moment.

The rest of the day was spent going over the treatment and a bunch of other stuff, but I couldn't hold onto a thought to save my life—besides, keeping me alive was the doctor's job, gave me plenty of time to tangent my brains out. Everything from wondering how the hospital masks made the air taste like the texture of cardboard to what I'd done in a previous life to deserve this to wondering what it must be like to walk down the hall to one's execution to how white the walls were in every single room.

But I never, ever, ever, ever would have guessed in a septillion years what lay in store for me over the next ten years of my life. Cancer, eh, wasn't too bad. I mean, lots of puking, sure that sucked, and so did the pain, and the hair loss and the emotional trauma of, you know, cancer and stuff—but had I known what was coming, I would have wished I could stay like that for the rest of my life.

See, everyone told me stories about all these other survivors who got cancer, fought the good fight, and then recovered and went on to do great things and their lives were fine. So when I entered remission, I was stoked—no more hospital!

At least, until the treatment that had saved my life turned on me and tried to shut my lungs down. Until I had to be put into a coma. Until I was given two weeks to live. Until I miraculously managed to survive and found myself a hundred pounds heavier, with joints that were starting to deteriorate, with a drug addiction to the opiates used to keep me comfortable when I was supposed to be in my last few days of life, with flashbacks and memories I wanted to shut away and forget but never could.

That's how I found out the truth—cancer was only the beginning. There are side effects of getting to life, and I thought I was alone in that for a long time, that I was some aberrant statistic and every other cancer survivor had a great life. But then I learned I wasn't the only one. In fact, far from it. Really, survivors have a whole slew of physical, mental, and emotional side effects from their treatments.

So I decided to make something of my experience. I spent years writing a book between numerous joint replacement surgeries, telling the story of how life after cancer can be just as difficult as cancer itself, how the battle isn't really ever over, how we need to continue to support survivors long after their cancer is gone. And, finally, I published it.

Two fake hips, one fake knee, one donor knee,
two donor ankles with screws, shoulders not in view

In these last ten years, I've had ten joint replacements, with more to come. I've dealt with drug addiction, chronic pain, trauma, depression, anxiety, a body covered in scars, the realization my super-awesome-beautiful hair was never coming back, a nervous breakdown, and lots of "little" things that would take up pages and pages to list.

Yet, here I am. Alive. Trying my best to make something of all this. Laughing through it as best I can, fighting the pain in my bones and in my head, struggling to create a life I can truly enjoy. So, no, life after cancer isn't all puppies and rainbows and you'll be perfectly fine, but it's not unlivable. Despite it all, there have been things I've enjoyed, and I found a purpose. That's how you survive, that's how you take all this crap and do something with it, you find meaning in it. And how did I find that purpose?

I made my own.

Surgery Update and a Chance to Get a Free Book

Hey all,

Sorry, I lost track of a lot of things over the last few weeks, and so I totally forgot to let you know how the surgery went. There's a lot, so I'll try to summarize it.

Doctor said the surgery went perfectly. For those who don't know, I had my right knee totally replaced, which is joint replacement number ten. I'm now only three away from obtaining the world record. I was surprised at how easy walking was, and was out of bed not long after I woke up from surgery. What sucks are the exercises. Bending was not easy, and for over a month I was struggling with simple range of motion, but with the swelling mostly gone and after a lot of work, I've whittled away a lot of the stiffness. Currently, I'm able to bend the knee to 117°. The other goes to about 130°, so I'm pretty close to returning to a normal range of motion. When I saw the doctor last week, he was pleased with my progress and said everything is coming along well so far. I get to drive again!

I'm happy to say my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard, had a great weekend in book sales. Last weekend, (May 12-14), several hundred copies were downloaded on Amazon. Since the book came out, I've been working hard on all the marketing and publicity myself, and have had some good results so far. There is still a lot to do, but that's pretty much always true when it comes to marketing. I'm also glad to hear so many people have enjoyed the book and the writing, as well as the message of the reality of life after cancer.

Saturday, I went to the San Diego Writing Workshop. It was really informative and helpful, and the speaker, Brian Klems, was hilarious. It was especially helpful with regards to publishing and getting an agent. I'm currently querying agents to find someone to help promote my book and garner more publicity for it. Fingers crossed.

Haven't read the book yet? Then maybe you want to participate in the...

Book Giveaway

Want to receive a free copy of my memoir? I'm currently running a Goodreads giveaway. There are 25 print copies available, all you have to do is click and you're entered to win one of these books!

I'd also like to ask anyone who has already purchased the book to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I'm always curious to see what people think of my writing.

Thanks to everyone who has supported me since my diagnosis, and to all those who have helped me with the book and getting it out there, it has all meant a great deal to me.

Until next time (which isn't going to be nearly as long),
Ciao

Another Joint Closer

Well, tomorrow's #10. Ten joint replacements. I guess I'm a deca-replacer (that's a horrible name, I'll work on it). I'm getting my right knee replaced, again. The first time was a partial replacement that did well for a few years, but pain has cropped up in other parts of the knee, so, time to hack it out. I still have a few surgeries after that, but it's a good step toward being able to live a better life. And also to being a robot. That's the ultimate goal. And getting the world record for most joints replaced. I guess there's a lot of goals.

The other goal is my book. Over the last few weeks I've been putting out a lot of feelers with regards to my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard, and it's paying off. I've gotten interest from a couple national cancer magazines about my story and work to educate people about the challenges survivors face after cancer. I'm crossing my fingers about getting it published, so we'll see where it goes.

And, do you want to win free copies of my book and other prizes? I'm running a referral contest on Surviving the Cure's IndieGoGo campaign. You can either donate, yourself, or you can share the campaign and get free prizes based on how much your friends and family donate. All you have to do is go to the campaign page, find the share tools to the right of the "Back It" button, and use that so your referrals can be tracked and rewarded! The money is going to helping me raise awareness for the challenges cancer survivors face in order to improve their support and quality of care, and also to let them know they aren't alone in having to deal with problems.

I'll update you guys after surgery, when I'm coherent enough to update you, anyway.
Well...coherent-ish.

Ciao

PS: If you buy the hard copy of my book and bring it to me, I'll sign it. Even if I'm not that coherent, which might make it really interesting.

Surviving the Cure: Now in Print

Well, it's finally here! Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard is now in both print and ebook on Amazon. It has taken four years to see this book through, but the time has finally come where I can say, "It is finished." Except for the marketing. And publicity. And everything else. But besides that, it is finished!

Speaking of finished, the official Surviving the Cure website is now up and running, too! You can go there to learn more about the memoir, the author, see endorsements from doctors and survivors, and see pictures that relate to the book and the ongoing saga that is my life.

You can also read about the book in the latest issue of 92064 Magazine: Local Resident Publishes Memoir About Life After Cancer.

I would like to say thank you to everyone who has been following this blog, and a very big thank you to everyone who helped with the book, I couldn't have done it without you guys.

Surviving the Cure ebook Now Available!

I am proud to announce that Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard is now available to purchase on Amazon as an ebook! It's been a long four years to get my memoir published, but it's finally out there, folks. Click here to buy the book!

This is a major step in my efforts to raise awareness for the difficulties that face cancer survivors after  they enter remission. While most people think once you "beat" cancer, that's the end of the story, the truth is: cancer is only the beginning, and life after cancer ain't no walk in the park. If you want to learn more about the many potential challenges that crop up for survivors, read my book and learn the truth about the least discussed, and one of the most important, aspects of cancer.

If you want to help my advocacy for cancer survivors, please check out my crowdfunding campaign and watch the video. The donations not only go toward the book, but also to help increase my efforts to increase awareness for survivorship and let others survivors know they are not the only ones battling the issues they face. You can also receive perks for donating, including signed copies of the book or inclusion on a special thank you page in the next edition.

Here is what doctors and survivors are saying about 

Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard

"Andrew Bundy's captivating memoir has an unexpected focus seldom explored in the story of cancer: survivorship. [He] invites us into the intimate, deeply private struggle of coming to terms with life after cancer. With humor and candor, Andrew sends a powerful message about the significant medical and emotional issues that shape life after treatment and illuminates the critical need for programs that support young cancer survivors."

Anna Pawlowska, MD

Director, Pediatric Hematopoietic Stem Cell Transplant Program
City of Hope Medical Center 

"Holy $%*!, your story is almost EXACTLY my own. And your thoughts and feelings. Gave me chills…It is incredible to know there is someone out there that COMPLETELY understands."

Rebecca 
Acute Myeloid Leukemia Survivor—17 years in remission

***

For all those who buy the book

The print copy of the book will soon be available. It is still in review, but should be ready within the next 24 hours if everything goes well.

And I would encourage anyone who purchases the book to please leave a review on Amazon. It goes a long way to helping boost visibility of my message about the challenges of survivorship.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

PS: For those unfamiliar with my story or the memoir, please direct your attention to the top of the page to read the About Me page and the Memoir page.

Surviving the Cure Excerpt: Humor Me

Hey everyone! I'm going to be putting out excerpts for my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard, for the next few days.
(*relatively speaking)

Today scene comes from early May 2008, when my oxygen levels were so low it was causing neurological issues, and unbeknownst to me, my doctors had given me two weeks to live. But I had enough lucidity to know I needed to find a way to stay sane and keep me spirits up. Turns out, that way was humor.

Humor Me

I pranked people during my many stays in and out of the hospitals. But by far one of my favorites was the “fake injury” gag.

One of my favorite snacks in the hospital was Jell-O. It was an all-purpose food that required absolutely no energy to eat, which was good, because I wasn’t well enough to even lift the spoon up to my mouth sometimes. Most days Mom would have to feed me. My favorite was cherry. The red mush sometimes reminded me of gore, something I was now far too familiar with, but it gave me an idea.

“Can ya call the nurse in?”

“How come?” Mom asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Jus’ call’er in.”

“And tell her what?”

“Jus’ that I need help with sumpin’. Cummon, it’ll be funny,” I giggled.

Suspicious, but with a smile at my rare laughter, she called the nurses’ station and managed to convince them to send over a nurse. “So what is it that will be so funny?” she asked.

I told her my plan. We’d make it look like I had sneezed while my mom was bringing the spoon up to my mouth and stabbed me in the eye. I would have my hand over my eye with bits of cherry Jell-O leaking out from between my fingers. I summoned up what remained of my acting prowess to sell the fake injury. Mom managed to stop laughing right before the nurse arrived.

When the nurse came in, I was groaning and holding my eye. The nurse’s face immediately drained of color and she shakily asked what was going on. “She got muh eye while she’s feedin’ me,” I moaned.

The nurse spun on her heels and muttered something about getting the doctor. She was almost out of the room by the time my frantic calls stopped her. “No, i’s okay! I’s jus’ Jell-O!”

Looking less than amused, the nurse came back. I pulled my hand away to reveal a perfectly intact eye, surrounded by a red stain, and an impish grin. “That wasn’t funny,” she puffed, but smiled with relief. Then she chuckled softly and shook her head. “You’re an odd one.”

Yes I was, and proud of it.

Sometimes the humor came from outside, such as a card I received from a class of kids taught by one of our neighbors. “I hope you get out of the hospital and Hell soon.” I laughed hard enough for it to hurt, but it was worth it. The amusement came with joy and made everything seem all right. Get out of Hell indeed. I now had a “Get Out of Hell Free” card. I know she meant “heal,” but beneath the laughter, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her card might be more accurate than she intended.

That's all for now. Stay tuned for more excerpts and updates on my memoir!

I'd appreciate it if you shared this with your friends. I'm publishing my book to share the rarely told story about what life after cancer is really like. With more awareness, more eyes (or eye, depending on if someone stabbed you with a spoon of Jell-O), on this issue, we can educate people about the difficulties facing survivors in a life after cancer, and be able to give them the support and quality of care they need to live rich, fulfilling lives.

Thank you for reading, and especially for sharing,
~Andrew Bundy

The Big Reveal: Excerpt, Donations, and Watch Me Get Slapped

So, as most of you know, I'm getting ready to publish my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard (*relatively speaking). And now, I've set a release date: February 28, 2017. That's right, in one week, this, all of this, will be DONE and ready for YOUR consumption! My relief is indescribable. Four years of sweat, tears, and blood (mostly from paper cuts) have gone into writing this thing, plus nearly a full decade of cancer-ness, side effect-ness, and existence-ness that is the foundation of the book, and now it's about to be thrust into the world to make a difference.

If you want to learn more about my memoir and see advanced praise from doctors and survivors alike, click here for more information.

But that's not all I've been working on. I've also just opened an IndieGoGo Crowdfunding Campaign to help raise money to spread the message about the truth of life after cancer and to help with my future survivorship advocacy efforts. All donations are welcome, and there are some awesome perks for donating! Including Social Media Shout Outs and Signed Copies of Surviving the Cure! And they're even signed by ME! Le gasp!

Please share our Crowdfunding Campaign, and also our YouTube video! Want to see me get slapped? Then you'll love this video!

And because you guys are so awesome, I'm also including a sneak peek at my memoir!

Until we meet again. Well, not meet. Until you visit again? Something like that.
Ciao

Bump

In a way, it was a soothing motion—the gentle rocking back and forth as the uneven wheels rolled across the linoleum floor, surrounded by neutral white walls. 

“Watch out for the bump,” the orderly said. 

In another time, another place, to another person, it would have been hilarious. 

“Watch out!” As if I had some control over whether we would be going over the bump or not. As if anything I did could affect the oncoming obstacle. Some part of me must have laughed, but it didn’t bother sharing the joke with the rest of my numbed body. 

In terms of humor, it’s hard to beat a hefty dose of irony doing its best impersonation of a cream pie. Wham! Unavoidable, literally in your face—shocking, instantaneous. Today, that cream pie was this orderly, wheeling me to a fate I could never have even begun to imagine, warning me about this little bump when not thirty minutes earlier I’d had the mother of all bombshells dropped on my head. When my life and future vaporized so quickly and completely that all that remained were faint shadows where once they stood.

In the rare moments of lucidity during the slow walk—I guess more of a roll—I marveled at how quickly a life could come apart. How fragile and on the verge of collapse we are that the tiniest thing can be enough to topple our body. It’s like you’re a house of cards that believes it’s constructed from steel and concrete and mortar so tough that nothing short of the destruction of the Earth would topple it. That’s why it’s so shocking when you learn the truth—that under the thin veneer of confidence and surety is a wobbly framework ready to implode at the drop of a hat. 

A week. That’s all it took for my house of cards to come crashing down. From young adult on the cusp of spreading his wings and embarking on his first flight of independence to a mess of malfunctioning cells. From a bright life ahead to an imminent dark death. And all it had taken was one word. 

Leukemia.

“Watch out for the bump.” I had as much control over that bump as I did the next few months. Maybe more. I could have gotten out of the chair and stepped over this obstacle. I didn’t, but at least it was an option. My future offered no real options. Chemical warfare or certain death, take your pick. “A wise choice, sir. We have an excellent selection of noxious chemicals for you today, only the very best vintage for you, young sir!” 

For both the bump and my new life, all I could do was hold on tight and pray for the best…and hope that would be enough.

Bump-bump went the wheels. 

Bump-bump went my heart. 

Bump-bump went my life.

No Surgeries? We Can Fix That

First, I want to thank those who participated in the poll to pick my cover. I have selected and finalized the design. So, without further ado...

I am very pleased with how it turned out. I feel it does an excellent job embodying my story and the truth of what life after cancer is really like.

My next post will talk more about the book, including its release date and an excerpt. Information regarding my book can be found here, or at the top of the page in the Memoir: Surviving the Cure section. 

Now, I want to share what has been going on the past few weeks with me.

A few weeks ago, I realized something astonishing. I didn't have a single surgery all of last year! That's right, 2016 is the first year I've gone without surgery since...well, I was diagnosed actually. That didn't sit well with me, so I'm having two surgeries—and possibly up to four—to make up for it. For sure, I know I have to replace my right knee (I did a partial replacement in 2012, but the damage in the original part of the bone causes a lot of pain). Also, I have a screw loose—but let's get back to surgery. I'll be having an arthroscopy on my right ankle to clear out arthritis and remove the screws from my 2010 ankle allograft (replacement). I also have to get my left knee replaced (same situation as right knee), and might have the rest of the screws removed from my left ankle (I had one removed in November 2015), but whether those take place this year or the next is still up in the air. But having both knees replaced will bring me up to 11 joints replaced—one off tying the world record! 

No, not THAT World Record!

Yesterday, I had my hips checked out. They've been hurting for the last few months. However, the doctor said they looked fine. I was glad to hear that, but then a little part of me whispered, "Yeah, but now you have to wait to replace them and get the record!" So...bummer? Somewhat conflicted, but definitely leaning toward being happy not to have to hack off my body parts.

On a different track, I've been engaging more in the cancer community, in particular the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's online forum. Mostly, I give advice to people and discuss what life after cancer is really like, not what most people think. It's messy, there's usually numerous complications and problems (see world record attempt), and the amount of support is drastically reduced compared to when someone is actually going through cancer treatments. But that's why I'm writing my story, to educate the public on the reality of survivors. My goal is to help advocate for survivors to help get them the best quality of life possible. Fingers crossed. 

Until next time,

~Andrew

Memoir Cover Design Poll

Howdy,

That's my country-talk quota for the year.

I'm getting ready to publish my memoir Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard (*relatively speaking), and I've been working all week on cover designs with a number of different graphic artists. Now, the field has been whittled down to only a handful of designs.

I would love your help in choosing which cover to use for my memoir, and welcome any feedback you might have regarding any of the designs. I'll provide you with a link to the poll being conducted on the website I've been using for the covers, and thank you for your assistance, it's a great help to me!

Click here to vote! —> Surviving the Cure Cover Poll

That's all I have for today. I'll be sure to keep you updated on the progress of my book and announce the winning cover design shortly!

~Andrew Bundy