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.

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

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

Another Milestone Down, Another Surgery Up

G'day errybody!

It has been an extremely hectic month, to say the least. I've been busy trying to sort out all the stuff from the last post and then some! Mostly I've been focused on the memoir and my physical health, although I have also started back up school. I've been able to get enough strength around my knee at physical therapy to avoid knee replacement surgery (yay). However, as I mentioned before, I do have a couple bone spurs in my ankles (boo). I'm going to have an appointment with an ankle specialist (my old one moved to Seattle shortly after I had the double ankle allograft) in a couple weeks to see what the best option is, but I'll likely have surgery to get the bone spurs removed. It's not as bad as it sounds actually. It's relatively minor, so much so that I could probably just do myself by this point. I might as well have the surgeon cut me open, point me in the right direction, and I'll chip the spurs away myself. Otherwise, my health has been rather quiet and uneventful. And you know what? I'll take uneventful with little change, it sure as hell beats the alternative that seems so dreadfully
common with me.

This is kinda how surviving feels

Onto writing news. I have finished the third draft of my memoir (yay)! It's kind of intimidating that I'm getting so close to having my book published. However, I have been getting some very positive feedback from a couple college professors that read the manuscript. I've been reassured that my book is an important part of helping to get awareness up about the many issues that face a cancer survivor. Both acute and chronic, from mental to physical to emotional, there are a great many pitfalls that await those freshly gifted with remission when there doesn't need to be. Lack of information and attention to what can be the most difficult part about cancer has constantly made my attempts to rebuild my life extremely difficult. So I am hoping that with this book and speaking events and the like I can do my part to make survivorship (the part of a cancer patient's tribulation that comes after the cancer is beaten back) just a little bit easier for the millions and millions of survivors and patients out there (which is the reason for starting the Surviving the Cure Facebook page that I'm hoping will gather momentum and help a bit with that awareness. If you feel so inclined, please like it and share it with your friends). Being reminded of my goal and told that this book has great potential to achieve it, well, that's a good vaccine against the anxiety and nerves surrounding the publication. At the moment, Nick and I are reading each other's books and helping to guide the other in the right direction and polish both our manuscripts up. And slim them down so we can cut down on costs when we send our stuff out to the editor.

Of course, even with the books finished we still have the networking and marketing aspect to take care of as well. Luckily, one of Nick's friends is a photographer (a very high-caliber one at that) who took some head shots of us for when we start the marketing campaigns. They turned out really well. I might actually use some for a more personal use. If I ever need eHarmony of something, I'll definitely be putting one of Keshav's pictures up there.

Nick and I | Credit: Keshav Dahiya

In addition to all of that, I've been working on a couple short stories. Plus a whole bunch of ideas that came rushing out of nowhere in a massive creativity dump over the last few days. Not that I'm complaining, I love creativity dumps. I just wish, you know, that they wouldn't be so distracting and alluring. To me, they're like sirens trying to call me away from the memoir and all the other things that need taking care of. I hear them whispering: "Bundy, Bundy, come write us. Write us good!" To which I usually reply: "You mean 'well'! It's 'well', not 'good'!" Then people ask if I'm okay and give me that look reserved for strangers that you can't quite be sure aren't totally insane. I mean maybe I am, but that's more fun than being normal in my mind. Normalcy is uber overrated.

So those short stories. One of them I'm planning to shop around to see if any magazines or something will want to publish it. It's a short mostly non-fiction piece about my dad's summiting of Mount Aconcagua in the Andes (highest peak outside the Himalayas). The other is a more standard short story for me, which I recently posted on my author page on Facebook. I'll start you out with the beginning at the end of this post and if you want to read on, go ahead and check out the rest of it on the Facebook page. While you're there, feel free to like it! I'll be posting excerpts from my memoir and other pieces of writing there from time to time.

Many thanks to you all, have a splendid day/night/dawn/dusk/what-have-you.

Catfishing

Sitting outside, Myles realized that his plan to flush out the potential catfish was severely flawed. Sure, it probably wasn’t an old guy, but just because some girl sounded hot didn’t necessarily mean she was. “Dammit! Please, God, let her be hot. I’d give anything for her to be the hot, funny, wonderful girl she claims to be.” Maybe it was God, or maybe it was his subconscious, a little cocaine-snorting Freud sitting next to an empty couch who spoke, but the answer came to him either way: Only one way to find out.

The house was small, boring, unassuming. It didn’t fit into his picture of where such a stunning and special person like her would live. Though he couldn’t exactly figure out what that picture was, he at least knew this wasn’t it. Myles heard his friend Zachary’s voice whispering “Catfish” in the back of his mind. Try as he might to shoo it away, he could not quite rid himself of that treasonous doubt. With a sigh and a stomach full of writhing creatures, Myles stepped out of the car and closed the door, absently locking his car as he frowned at the driveway. It looked no different from any other driveway in America. What was he expecting? A driveway made of red carpet? “Go Myles,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t. Instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the possibility that Zachary was right, that he’d been duped. But he’d seen her picture, heard her voice, how could she be anyone but who she claimed to be?

To see if Myles gets the girl or if Zachary is right and he gets the hook, read on at: https://www.facebook.com/andrewbundybooks

Gathering Momentum

Hello faithful readers!

I am happy to say that it has been an incredibly busy few weeks, and not in a bad way (mostly)! I've made a lot of progress along many different fronts and am trying to keep that momentum going and going and going. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I KNOW I can! Shall we begin?

First and foremost, I am beyond ecstatic to announce the end of the second draft of my memoir! I managed to take out a rather large chunk of useless tangents (put in the rough draft mostly to take the edge off the agonizing task of remembering the things I spent years trying to forget) and am that much closer to being finished with this whole project. In the near future, I'll be able to submit the work to an editor that Nick and I have settled on and from that point on I think it'll be a bit more work and then we can safely put this whole memoir thing behind us. Quite frankly, as important as I think my book is (I can't afford modesty at this point), the allure of fiction is always the siren song trying to pull me off track. I'll admit, I have done some work on some side projects, but the goal is to publish the memoir before I ramp up my efforts for the next major project (which I've already decided on and I giddy as all get out to plow straight into). I do find the fiction to be a nice release, especially from the more challenging parts of the memoir, but it's a constant battle to keep myself from sliding so easily back into my preferred genre. On a side note: I wrote a short story that I really liked. It's nice, I haven't finished a short story in quite some time, so you can imagine how satisfying that is to work on something so fun and familiar.

To learn more about the memoirs Nick and I are working on, you can read the article in the Poway magazine 92064 called Memoirs Recount Challenges Faced by Two Poway High School Graduates

The other major mark of progress is my work at physical therapy. As mentioned in my last post, I've been strengthening the muscles in my legs to compensate for what could be further degeneration in the bones or some other issue that has yet to be fully diagnosed. I know that the ankle pain in my left ankle is caused by a bone spur (see right) that I'll probably have to do something about soon. But over the last few months the pain has been getting progressively worse. However, because of all the work at PT, I've been able to slow down a lot of the pain's progression and even prevent it from getting worse at all in some instances. I'm definitely a lot stronger than I have been in years, with the full compliment of joints replaced and feeling somewhat like I did before this journey of mine began more than eight years ago. It's amazing to me how long it's been. I can no longer remember what it's like to be a healthy person, what having hair is like, dealing with the issues that once seemed all-consuming in high school and now seem infinitely petty after the long Odyssey.

I've also been doing my best to prevent myself from pulling away again. Although I have not updated the blog in a while, I've been on other social media outlets for short bursts of time and have been trying to get out to see friends and get out of the house on occasion. I finally put up the Facebook page as my "official" author page (whatever it's called), which I will post a brand new short story (see above) if I manage to get 50 likes by the end of August. I will also be pulling my collection of short stories On The Fringes of Awareness by the end of the year as I switch from Amazon to another company that will allow me more control over my works.

In addition, and more importantly, I've started the Surviving the Cure page on Facebook as well. Its goal is something I've talked about semi-regularly on this blog, and indirectly focused on for the entirety of it, to spotlight post-cancer issues that cancer survivors must face after they are in remission and trying to rebuild their lives (the life lived after diagnosis and beyond is called survivorship). Anybody who has read at least a couple posts on here knows that surviving cancer is way more than just surviving cancer. It's trying to put your life back together after so many trials and tribulations and finding that the journey is only just beginning. It varies from person to person, and undoubtedly I'm an extreme case, but perhaps that's why I'm able to speak from experience about the multitude of challenges that survivors have to face after they escape cancer's grasp. If you go to the Facebook page for Surviving the Cure, there's a detailed mission statement and, similar to the author page, if 50 people like the page, I'll be putting an excerpt from my memoir up as a thank you for helping get the word out there about the difficulties involved with surviving and rebuilding a life left in tatters from the scorched Earth war against cancer.

What I'm trying to do is get the message out there, so if you would be so inclined to share not only the Facebook page, but also this blog, with your friends and the like, it would be a good first step toward helping spread awareness about how difficult life can be when you're cancer-free. (Damn that's catchy, if somewhat dark). It's a subject rarely discussed, even with oncologists treating you for your cancer, and as a result there is substantially less support in place for survivors. Many are forced to tread water and figure out how to cope and fix the side effects from the treatments, on top of the after-effects of the cancer itself, used to save their life. Whether those side effects be physical, mental, or emotional, there needs to be a better system of support in place to ease survivors' transition back into society and a semi-normal life. My hope is that the farther this message gets spread and the more people learn about just how painful and difficult picking up the pieces can be, in some instances its even harder than the cancer itself, we can be that ray of knowledge that pierces the dark clouds of ignorance about one of the hardest challenges any survivor will ever have to face. (I'll admit, I just added that last part to justify putting the picture in. I needed to compensate for the lack of cute little animals that I normally put in because that's what people like to see. Here, tell you what...

You're welcome)

Thank you in advance for sharing,
Andrew

Nick Hollon: Tracking Success

Hi blog,

You may have noticed a couple changes in your look, I may have done a slight makeover and then had your name changed. Originally, you were named after my book, but that seems like a bit too much like shameless self-promotion, so after some brainstorming with Nick (details to follow shortly), I came up with your NEW title! "Surviving the Cure." Since this is a blog from a cancer survivor who has dealt with numerous issues stemming from his treatments that saved his life, it seemed very appropriate to come up with a title that related to that in some way. Several bad ideas later, I came up with this name and Nick immediately latched onto the idea. So this is your new name (until I think of something better, if I ever do), I hope you like it! Because there isn't a damn thing you can do to change it!

Okay, now I said "details to follow" earlier, so I'll get into that. Nick and I met yesterday for our weekly book-related meeting. I had tasked him with rewriting some of his rough draft and giving me ten pages of his best ever work for me to edit, and I would give him ten pages of my more recent stuff for him to edit. Both of us handed the other our ten pages (Nick gave me fifteen pages, but I only got through about ten of them for the sake of time) and I busted out my Red Pen of Death (people who have suffered my editing know to fear the RPD) and got to work. He finished in about twenty minutes, both of us very quiet as we marked and remarked and scribbled out and circled things on the other's paper. Although he had finished, I was only about halfway through his section, being the horrifically meticulous editor that I am, so he spent the remaining time of my editing working on his book some more. 

He started with my work, pointing out some issues I had using a passive voice at times and correcting me on a few facts when it came to writing about him. The section I had given him consisted of a gruesome story about my neck and then another section talking about Nick's 100-mile run around the high school track to raise money for cancer research. Once he finished, I went and pointed out the single most confusing metaphor I have ever come across in my entire life. I was so confused that I went and showed it to my dad, thinking that I perhaps didn't understand it for one reason or another and that was a personal failing on my part rather than a rambling monstrosity that Nick put in. After a couple minutes, my dad looked to us and said, "Is this supposed to be a metaphor for something?" I busted out laughing, feeling vindicated. Nick had a hard time explaining it himself, so I told him to get rid of it. 

The last thing we did was talk about blog management (hence the name change). We went over some ideas for putting stuff up on our blogs, which I shall begin instituting next week, so stay tuned to find some amusing and possibly interesting facts and posts. The session ended with my idea of posting up part of our memoirs that we've been working on so you get a sense of what we've been doing. I'll be putting up my section about Nick doing his 100-mile run around the track. Here's an article written about Nick's monster run: Nick Hollon piles up miles to buoy leukemia-stricken pal

Nick is at the front of the pack, my dad center frame

Enjoy this little blurb from the book! Your (mostly) benevolent overlord, Andrew

Excerpt from Life Has No Title (working title):

Nick and I were both running our own races. I was fighting for my life, and he was running to live his. Our starting lines were separated by time and distance, but at some point our routes merged and led us to the same path. We ran together, sometimes one of us a little ahead of the other, sometimes a little farther behind, but we were on the same track, always ready to rejoin with the other when they needed it. And while time is the great separator and destroyer of connections, and while there were many different routes for either of us to take that would split us asunder, we never ventured onto them. When you find someone like Nick, the last thing you want to do is diverge from their path, you want to run with them as long as your legs can carry you. A guy like Nick is one in fifty million, nay, fifty billion. In all of human history there may have been only one other like him, and I think I know who: the Greek soldier who ran from Athens to Sparta before the Battle of Marathon to ask for the help of the Spartans. The man ran 140 miles straight and arrived the day after he set off. That man's name? Nickademus Hollon the Elder. And it would be two and a half thousand years before Nickademus Hollon the Younger would walk this Earth, only to outdo his valiant predecessor in spectacular fashion.

I mentioned early on in this book that at our school we have a thing called the Senior Project, which involves a bunch of work that causes a great deal of resentment amongst the senior class, since we’re really the only school in the area that does it. For mine, I wrote a play. Nick decided he had to do one better than me, because he’s a competitive son of a bitch if nothing else.

When I was first diagnosed, Nick hadn’t yet decided on a project. He racked his brain, thinking, thinking, but nothing happened. After he came to visit me he felt like he needed to do something more. Like me, he sought purpose. It took him a little while before an idea planted itself in his mind and took hold like a beautiful weed, tenacious but wonderful, striking but stubborn. His love of running had been growing over the last few years, and the advice given to everyone on what to do for their Senior Projects was always: “Pick something you love.” Well, Nick loved running, so why not do something with that?

From there, it took him no time at all to work through the ideas. A 10k? For him, that was just an appetizer, a snack on the way to a larger goal. It wasn’t in his DNA to do something so insubstantial. We both liked acting, he thought about my own senior project and wondered if he could do a student written play and raise money that way. But his heart was leaving drama and shifting more and more into this primal desire to run and push himself. He had to do something with that.

What distance to do though? His original thought was 5000 miles, but breaking that up into a ten month period gave him an average of eighteen miles a day. He just had too much going on to do something so insane. After a bit of brainstorming with his mom, he came upon the magic number 3000. Nick liked that, he even came up with a name for himself. “Mr. 3000.” Catchy, clever, it might just work. With his running goal set, he now needed a monetary goal to aspire to. $10,000. Yes, that would do.

So while I was going through treatment and fighting to stay awake while bobbing along on the gentle waves of hardcore narcotics, Nick was pushing his body every day while riding a wave of endorphins, his own version of a high. Personally, I like his better. However, both of them are addicting in their own way. I tried to keep apprised of his situation, find out how he was doing, but I had become absorbed in my own issues and lost tabs on just about everyone around me, including the kid putting his body through hellish extremes on my account. He still came to visit, and I would ask him how the running was going and he would smile awkwardly and say it was fine. But as he left I always noticed that little limp, a stiff walk, a wince, something to belie the true pain he was enduring.

As great a kid as he was, as mature as he was, he was still a kid. Like just about everyone else who came to visit, he was uncomfortable with my situation. Who could blame him? It’s such an expected thing to be struck down out of nowhere, even worse when it’s somebody you know. I’d dealt with it a couple times in my short life already and it’s never easy. Yet despite his obvious discomfort, he would stay for hours at a time and talk and laugh and I could forget for a while just how shitty life truly was. Nick wasn’t ever one for letting people down, never has been, never will be.

I didn’t find out until the day of the event, May 17^th, what Nick had planned to do. I had been a bet preoccupied with my own situation, the outside world didn’t exist too much except where it affected me. I had given up trying to make an effort to think about others, I just didn’t have the strength anymore. Hell, I barely had the strength to think about myself at that point. But Nick…man, I talk about him like he’s a saint, and in some ways he is. It may look like I’m playing up his good qualities, but in truth there’s no way to quantify someone like him, he’s above words, descriptions, metaphors, all of it. All you need to know about Nick is that he’s a runner second and a good person first.

It turned out that Nick had been struggling with his fundraising goal. It was hard for him to balance out everything and also talk to a hundred different people to get small donations that would take him a thousand years and change to hit his goal. He would need to do something big and brash, something to really grip everyone’s attention and draw them in to raise more money. A big run would do it. How big though? A marathon’s worth? Naw, not Nick. Twice that? Nope. A nice, even number to really blow people’s minds. A hundred miles around the school’s track would do it. It would be easy to watch, people could run with him, and the news would eat it up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I had no idea what Nick would be doing that, day, I was just going about my life as usual, being miserable and trying not to think about it, being drugged up, not breathing very well, all those fun things I’d come to completely despise with a hateful passion in the hospital. Then, that afternoon, my mom asked me if I wanted to talk to Nick. I was confused, why would I want to talk to Nick? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him, but my mom had never really asked me if I wanted to talk to someone before, normally either that person called or I did. She explained to me what Nick was doing, a hundred mile run around the Poway High track. I was stunned, that seemed freakishly long, almost the distance from Poway to City of Hope. In my mind, I imagined Nick running all the way here to visit me, and a little smile played upon my lips.

“Sure. I’d love to talk to him.” I figured that she would hand me my phone, but instead she grabbed my computer and opened up a video call to Nick. My dad was holding up his computer and running beside Nick when he answered.

“Hey man,” Nick said breathlessly, his eyes only occasionally darting toward the screen. He was in the zone, breaking his concentration just long enough to come up with a response. “How ya doin?”

“Oh you know,” I said vaguely. I had swapped out my full face mask for a nasal cannula, which consists of a thin hose and two hollow prongs that sit in your nostrils to deliver oxygen in that way. It seemed better that way, I didn’t want Nick to see me with the full setup. I didn’t want to depress him at all, he had more important things to focus on. It was ironic to think that, because here he was, running to raise money for leukemia research, and I didn’t want him to see how bad it could truly get. We’re funny creatures. “I’m all right,” I lied. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” he said, a little exhale puffing out with each step. “It’s damn hot out though.”

“How hot is it?” I asked.

“Over 100. Hot.”

“Hell that’s pretty hot. You holding up all right?”

“Yea fine. I’m at mile…” He stopped talking for a minute until he passed some off-screen marker. “Just got to mile 80. Need to go. Gotta focus. Take care.” His last jumbled words to me faded away as my dad came to a stop and walked off the side of the track to catch his breath.

I waited for dad to hold up the screen again and he showed me what Nick was doing. I couldn’t actually make him out, there was a large group of people running with him. “Looks like he’s doing pretty well,” I mentioned.

My dad turned the computer back around and nodded. “Yep. He’s really kicking ass. I’m going to try and run some more with him. Love you buddy. Love you sweetie pie,” he said to my mom, and hung up.

“Well that was nice to get to see him run,” mom said.

I was tired just from watching Nick run, I had no idea how he could still be on two feet, or even alive. 100 degree weather? The kid was nuts, and he was only eighteen. There was someone going onto much bigger and better things, a flair for the dramatic, enraptured with the grandiose, never willing to give in and always willing to give something a try. “Yea it was.”

Nick ran through the day, well past nightfall before he finally completed his 100 miles. He could barely walk the next day, his legs were jelly, his body aching almost as bad as mine, but he felt an immense pride and self-satisfaction at completing his almost insurmountable goal. I was proud of him, he had fought his fight and won it. I still wasn’t through mine though, and my opponent still had one trick left up his nasty sleeve.