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.