National Cancer Survivors Day - What Can You Do?

Today is National Cancer Survivors Day.

So, let's talk about the ugly truth: surviving cancer is just the beginning.

This is a topic for which I raise awareness whenever I can. I've given talks to schools about the realities of life after cancer, and it was the main drive behind me publishing my memoir about my battle with cancer and also the effects of the treatment.

For most people, they receive an almost overwhelming deluge of support when they're first diagnosed. In my case, my hospital room felt like a daily revolving door, with dozens of visitors throughout the day, and sometimes with groups of 10+ showing up to check in on me. But over time, the support turns from deluge to a downpour, then to a rainstorm, then a drizzle, then a spritz, until it becomes mist so fine it's difficult to see sometimes. Toward the end of my treatment, I would go days without having a visitor—though there were still a handful of friends who would come to see me or text me and things of those nature.

This effect becomes more pronounced once you enter remission. A lot of people tell you, "Good job! You beat cancer, so you're all better and don't need us anymore. Peace, dude." Okay, maybe they don't say it like that—certainly not so overtly—but that's the gist of it: You're all better, you don't need us. Except you do.

Just because someone is in remission doesn't mean they're cured or even better. There's the fear of the cancer returning; depression and anxiety and PTSD common among a large portion of survivors; drug addiction from all the narcotics, which affects roughly a third of all survivors; and a whole menagerie of other side effects that vary from cancer to cancer, treatment to treatment, person to person—too numerous to even begin listing.

It's this fact, that there is still a lot of recovery for most survivors, that seems to get swept under the rug. Personally, I believe this is due to a couple factors:

1. People just want to be happy for you. Everything is good and you can return to your life. That optimism, while good-natured, tends to gloss over the side effects from having chemicals pumped into your body that are so toxic the nurses have to wear gloves when handling it, or being dosed with radiation, or having bits of you cut out. So, instead of: "You beat cancer, hip hip hooray!" the reality is more like: "You subdued cancer for an indeterminate amount of time, hip hip replacement!" 
2. The majority of the focus—the research, the attention, the money, the drug studies, the support—goes to cancer. It makes sense, cancer is a single big bad monster that is easy to vilify and rally against. What's not so easy to gather an army of support for is the million problems that come after. There are an insane number of different side effects, but the bigs ones for me were: Graft vs. Host Disease (which did a better job at almost killing me than cancer), Avascular Necrosis (a degenerative bone disease that came about from treating the GVHD and so far has led to 10 joint replacement surgeries), depression, anxiety, PTSD, arthritis, osteoporosis, drug addiction, 100 pounds of weight gain, and quite a few other smaller issues that cropped up as the result of treating both the cancer and the side effects of the cure.

So what can we do to better care for our millions and millions of survivors? People in the medical field can work to create more and better Wellness Clinics and Survivorship Programs. There aren't a ton out there at the moment, and hardly any when I was first going through my early post-remission days. Having resources like these available, places where your care can be centralized so you don't have a small army of doctors and specialists who don't communicate taking care of your variety of problems, is key to ensuring the survivor has the best quality of care possible.

For everyday folk, friends, family, the best you can do is continue to be supportive. I know it's exhausting work and painful for those close to the survivor, believe me, I do, but the best way for someone to get through all the challenges is to have a good attitude.

Now, that doesn't necessarily mean they should always be positive, because there will be sucky days where they feel like a cold turd warmed over, but it means being there for them and assisting them with whatever possible. Distractions are good, doing stuff they used to do to give them a semblance of normalcy, even if for an afternoon.

If you're not sure how you can do that, then ask them. I think there's a fear of bringing up health issues with cancer survivors and patients in case such topics depress or upset them, so it's best not to remind them. However, that is hardly the case. In fact, talking about such topics may actually be better than sweeping them under the rug, where nary shall they be seen again—it stops survivors from feeling like everyone is walking on eggshells around them, like their experience, horrific though it may have been, never happened. News flash: it did. And discussing it allows you to learn what the survivor most needs to be in the best frame of mind.

So, the best thing you can do is be open and honest with survivors. Remember, survivors are not delicate panes of glass, but people, as vibrant and diverse in experience and need as anyone else.

If you know someone who is a survivor, or if you know people who are friends with survivors, please pass along this information. It is vitally important that we spread awareness about life after cancer so survivors can receive the same quality of care and support that cancer patients.

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

A Finished Memoir and Double Digits

Eight months. It feels longer, shorter. My focus hasn't been on time, it's been on productivity. On staying sane. Staying on task. And there's been a lot going on. But really, the big, most important news, is this: After six drafts, four major surgeries, three and a half years, one nervous breakdown, much consternation, (and a partridge in a pear tree)... I finished my memoir!
Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard.

*relatively speaking

That's right. I have done about as much as I can with this thing. It has been written, edited, and formatted to the point continuing to work on it is nitpicking the minutia—borderline OCD. All that remains is to work on the cover, publishing, and marketing, and then that's that. I'll have a book, published (seriously), and one of the most daunting, stressful, hated, agonizing, rewarding projects in my entire life will be no more.

What then?

Well, the marketing will be a continuous process. I'm working with Nick on these things, seeing as he has a better grasp on what to do than me. But I've been researching a lot lately and have found some strategies that might help, so we shall see how that goes.

Of course, this blog wouldn't be about me if something wasn't wrong with my body. So, without further ado, I present...my tenth joint replacement!

That's right, I will soon be into the double digits with replaced joints! That's only two away from tying the world record (which is kinda BS, because although the winners had twelve joints replaced, several were knuckles. I mean, seriously?). My right knee has been harrying me for a while now, and so a retaliatory strike is required in the form of a total knee replacement sometime in the next few months. The left knee will probably also need fixing soon, and replaced joints don't last forever, so I'm highly confident the world record will be mine at some point! I probably shouldn't be too pleased to get it, but if I have to deal with this crap anyway, why not get something out of it?

Before I sign off, I did have a couple quick closing comments.

• I am currently cover-less. If anyone knows, or is, somebody who does graphic design and might be interested in designing a cover for a memoir, I would love to hear from you or the person you know to discuss pricing and ideas.
• Since this is a self-published book (for now), if you or anyone you know might have connections to people/companies/non-profits who would be interested in a book about the difficulties survivors face in life after cancer, or interested in helping to spotlight the rarely discussed aspect of survivorship, I would be pleased to accept any help in this area. 
• I believe my book has the potential to help bring this very important issue into the public eye so cancer patients and survivors can receive help not just in preventative care, cancer treatments, and diagnostic tools, but in the battle to pick up the pieces once their cancer is in remission.

And with that, I bid thee farewell, until the next post. (Which hopefully isn't months and months from now. I'm working on that.)

Ciao
~Andrew

In a Sea of Chaos, Find the Lighthouse

I never would have guessed the title of this post would be so appropriate when it floated up from the depths of my brain to present itself, but we'll get to that later. (For clarification's sake, this was written after the rest of the post.)

I guess we'll start with the biggest piece of news. I'm almost at the end of the fourth draft of my memoir. Only things left after that is a read through to try to catch spelling and grammar mistakes and selecting sections for eradication to get the work count down further. If it goes according to plan, the fifth draft should be the last one. (For more updates on this and other projects, keep your eyes out for new posts on my writing blog: Make a Write Here) I thought I would be more excited, and maybe I will once draft four is done and dusted. But at the moment it's more of an anxiety trigger, probably because next I'll be moving from the thing I know, writing, to the things I dread, marketing and networking (both of which involve interacting with humans...egad!). I've marked out several avenues of approach, but that hasn't taken care of the Titanic in my stomach. I'm hoping that, as with other things that make me apprehensive, once I get to it I'll be fine. Now I just have to convince my brain that will be the case. Good luck, me.

Maybe that's not the biggest piece of news. Maybe having joint specialists tell me that the increased pain in my knees and ankles over the last couple months isn't going anywhere is bigger. Maybe seeing one of the top AVN (avascular necrosis, which is the bone disease I have that has caused many of my joints to collapse) specialists and having him tell me that there isn't really anything I can do to try to fix my crumbling bones other than replace them is bigger. Those are what dominate my thoughts as of late. That the only real solution is more joint replacements down the line when the pain becomes intolerable. The singular light in this pall of darkness is that the pain is manageable for the time being. But how much longer does that last? A year? Five years? Ten years? Ten months? Five weeks? Tomorrow? It's literally anyone's guess. It'll happen when it happens. I've started doing low-impact exercises to strengthen the joints and my body in the hopes it staves off surgery a bit longer. If not that, then at least the exercises should grant me a bit more muscular strength and support to draw from during the recovery process, which might make recovery progress more quickly. So that's good, right?

In my last post I talked about pushing harder to be social and how it was getting easier. In this post, we talk about backsliding. I've become increasingly reclusive over the last few weeks, and am only now starting to fight it again. It's another case of sticking to what I'm used to, even if what I'm used to isn't really all that great, like, say, surgery. There's comfort in familiarity, simplicity in what's already been established. It's such a constant theme in my life that I should probably think about shoving it into a book title or write essays about it. "The Siren Song of Familiarity." "Comfort in Stagnation." "Doctored Bundy, or How I Learned to Love Surgery." But moving away from that and back to listing off reasons for craving reclusivity (which sounds a lot less clunky than "reclusiveness," and I love words that whisper like liquid silk into my brain), I know my reluctance to engage in human contact is in part to do with the conditions of my joints, which has been become an increasing stressor lately as pain ratchets up and options diminish. I don't want to talk about it, because then I have to think about it, and when I think about it all it does is remind me of where I am and what sort of future appears imminent. I dunno, maybe I'm just trying to find excuses, reasons to explain and justify my lack of effort.

I think I just realized why I haven't written a blog in a while: because there doesn't seem to be much to write about other than more bumps in the Unmerry-Go-Round called My Life. Because I'm feeling particularly morbid and exhausted with looking for what's good when all I can find is more dismal news. I really have no idea what to talk about. Do I try to paint a cheery picture over the bleak canvas? Or do I leave it bare, the naked truth for all to see? I want people to see the truth, but I don't want to discourage people and make them pity me. My life isn't miserable, but when I try to look for  events worth writing about, I can't seem to find anything positive. It's in those little moments, getting into a pun match with my family, watching funny TV with a friend, inventing a word or phrase that tickles me, listening to music in the car and not caring who watches me sing and play air instruments, reading about space and Pluto, those are the moments with seemingly little importance to life's progress, and yet give life the color and pleasantness that keeps me going when all I want to do is implode and hide. Finding pleasure in the small things is what keeps the crushing weight of the Colossus of Bad News from squashing every bit of life out of me. It's what kept me (relatively) sane in the hospital when all I had to look forward to was toxic sludge and vomiting and oxygen masks. It's a revelation every time I remember this obvious, simple, yet transformative bit of insight.

Pluto

I started off this post with a title, which I quickly removed because I had no idea why I wrote it. "In a Sea of Chaos, Find the Lighthouse." It just came up, completely without context or reason. Maybe it's a lot more appropriate a title than I gave it credit for initially.  It's certainly a hell of a lot more fitting than I could have known when my subconscious floated it up. Freud might have been onto something.

~Andrew

The Good, the Bad, and Pluto

Over the last few weeks I've been thrust into the battle between my desire to move forward and my trauma trying to hold me back in a familiar place, rather than go out into the world and risk more hurt and difficulty. Even if I want to side with moving forward, it's hard to overstate the power of the trauma-induced fear in paralyzing me. It's one of those ugly truths about the whole experience of cancer, that cancer doesn't end with a pat on the back and an "Atta boy" when you get the beautiful news of remission. It stays with you, sometimes for the rest of your life. Whether it's an amputation or the scars of surgery or needing assistance or waking up screaming or crying when a memory is triggered, the experience tends to stick with you like a needy koala toddler to its mother. The last year has been especially rough, with the paralysis nearly choking the rest of my will to move forward to death. But, with a lot of work and both the desire and the need to push through the anxiety, I'm finally beginning to make headway in a couple areas. I'm hesitant about being overly optimistic, but I'm starting to think this might be the first few steps in the direction I have been wanting to go in for years now, it's just been that life is content to throw a googolplex detours my way.

Perhaps the most important thing, to me at least, has been the work I've been doing on my book. I mentioned before that I was waiting for my editor to get my memoir back to me, and only a few days later, she did. Her report and her notes on the manuscript itself were absolutely astonishing and very touching and meaningful for me in so many different ways. Personally, I believe that her kind words and belief in my story and my ability (the terror of wondering if her notes would come back as a mighty hand to swat down the pathetic insect that laughingly thought it could write kept me from opening her notes right away, but even before the end of the first paragraph I felt relief in a way that I don't think I've felt since...probably 2012, when I was the closest I've ever been to reaching that semi-normal life I've been craving) have been key in lighting a fire under me not just in working on the fourth and newest draft of my book, but also in other areas of my life. Getting a bit of confidence in one area seems to have been contagious, and it might be the first contagious thing I've been happy to catch. There's still a lot of work to be done. I'm a third of the way through her edits (plus edits of my own that I'm making after hearing her general thoughts on the book and what areas to focus on more or reduce) and hoping to finish within the next few weeks. After that, assuming the length is more reasonable than it is now (Currently I'm 20,000 words over the maximum "limit" for a memoir. Although there obviously isn't a real limit, the usual length for one ranges between 60,000 and 120,000 words), it's onto the marketing and networking. I've got a lot of trepidation about that, but the more success I have with the book and in life, the better I think I'll be at tackling these sort of problems. I believe victories in life help to give me confidence, especially when they've been so rare and tainted with bitter irony or followed up with crippling defeat. For now, that's not going to be much on my mind, I choose to focus on getting the edits done first. One thing at a time.

The other big thing I've been working on and have begun to find some success in is being more social. When I get overwhelmed I tend to shut down and shut away to decrease the amount of stimulation and unknown variables that my brain says will only make things worse. Even if I don't want to, the anxiety of having to face other living entities becomes a daunting challenge that my mind refuses to attempt. I've been wrestling with the comforts of reclusiveness for the last few months. It's comfortable for me, in much the same way I actually preferred being in the hospital after my ordeals with Graft vs. Host and the side effects of the bone marrow transplant. I hated the hospital, much as I hated reclusiveness, but there was a kind of serenity and comfort in them, they were predictable, and so there wasn't anything to be worried about. No real surprises, just maintaining a basic existence was about all I wanted to deal with. Simple things, things I could enjoy or that would pull me from reality and plop me into my head where the world couldn't get to me, that's what I wanted, even as I protested against it. It's been hard to drag my unwilling brain back into some sort of social mode, but I'm doing my best to force myself to contact people and hang out with them. I know that once I am spending time with friends, I enjoy myself tremendously, but in the days and hours and minutes leading up to that encounter, I feel the panic and the desire to call it off get stronger and stronger. Grappling with that is exhausting, but it's worth it when I finally get to see friends and I can forget about it for a time. The more I socialize, the less my brain protests, so it's been getting a bit easier lately, but I'm still wary and making sure I stay on top of the reclusive me so it can't surprise me and shut me back away again. I really do want to be part of the world, especially since the world has space and gravitational waves and Pluto.

Hope your year has started of well so far,
Ciao

PS: I'm starting a new writing blog, Make a Write Here (I know, I know, deal with it. I'll feature pieces and excerpts from various stories and non-fiction, discussions regarding aspects of writing, and updates on current writing projects. It's online at the moment, but I have yet to post any content besides the first generic "Hi, this is my blog" post. It's also not full formatted, but I'll probably get around to it before the universe ends (maybe).

Guess not...