Nooooo Doc!

Life's ironies are sometimes hard to digest, especially when they deal with your actual existence. My last blog entry was entitled, "Thanks Doc." It discussed how happy I was that a neuropsychologist prescribed me playing guitar to get my brain jump started. However, not all news that doctor's have to share with you is that uplifting.

A few days ago, my radiation oncologist, Dr. Sawyer, informed me that he and Dr. Little, my brain surgeon had determined that the best way to treat the tumor on my brain's stem was with radial surgery. This procedure involves a day's worth of massive blasts of radiation to my head. Blasts from six different angels would be used to eradicate the tumor. The bad part is the treatment will most likely take my vision; has a good chance of destroying my speech perception center; and could paralyze my face. These side effects are all possible, because with such massive doses of radiation, surrounding cells will be damaged.

Since the combination of side effects is a combination that I cannot see myself living with, I had to ask the doctor what would happen if I took no action? He informed me that the tumor will take over my brain and kill me, probably within 2 to 5 years.

Not that brain tumors can ever come at a good time, but in my particular situation, I just had to say "Nooooo Doc!" because mine just couldn't have come at a worse time. First of all, I had just lost over 50 lbs and had gotten in incredible shape. Biking from Boise to Bogus Basin was no longer a problem. On long mountain bike rides I was the one hanging up front with Chris rather than being the fatass everyone waited on. I had taken the LSAT and was poised to attend law school.

That's when life handed me the ultimate bitch slap. I found out I had two tumors in my head. Had a total of 5 brain surgeries and 26 sessions of radiation. At the end of all that struggle for life, I emerged as a reborn man. My guitar playing actually became something that people like to hear. I learned some web design and was poised to start graduate school in technical communications. Then freelance writing, editing, and fact checking opportunities popped up all over the place.

Then the doctor's words slapped me back to reality. I had to choose to live life as someone other than I've been. Someone who would most likely not be able to make a significant contribution to society. Or choose to take no medical action, which would mean that I was still me, the same old Superhero Named Tony that everyone's grown to love. But I'd only be around to enjoy my friends and family for a little while.

Tough choice, ain't it?

Perhaps the most ironic part of it all is that within 12 hours of hearing this news, I received a call from an executive editor at Harcourt Achieve. Basically, she wants to hire me as a supervising editor. The company's going to fly me to Austin for the final interview with HR, which is just a formality. Supervising editor, that's just one step below executive editor, the high rung on the totem pole. Don't that fucking irony kill ya?