New Hairdo

Me and my dad Fall of 1975.

Now back at home for the first time in a week, we began to settle in as a family and into a new routine with the addition of cancer.  Each person had to deal with the change and accept different responsibilities.

How Do You Die?

July 1973.  Two months old with my mom and her dad, Ed Regan.  As I add more and more of these old pictures the look of love my mom had on her face toward me, my brother, sister, dad, or any of her family, is always there.  

For the first seven plus years of my life, all I had really done is learn new things.  I had learned how to walk, talk, eat, dress, play sports, and whatever else a seven year old can master.  Getting cancer in the second grade is not something you expect to learn about.  Once I was told my problem stemmed from this disease, the question of "am I going to die," arose.  I knew people died from cancer, that was what made the word so scary, but they were old people.  I assumed in my mind they had learned how to die and knew what to do to make death happen.  I didn't know how to die.  

Discharged

St. Pius X Catholic Church, Billings, MT.  This is what the church looks like now, remodeled since I was there.

I was discharged from the hospital on Sunday, Jan. 19th.  After checking in at 2am on Tuesday, Jan. 13th, it was great to get out of the hospital and back home.  Before leaving I received my third dose of Chemo and began to feel sick.  The doses to complete my first round of chemo would take place at the Billings Clinic on Monday and Tuesday.  The six week schedule for my radiation treatment was established and set to begin the first week of March.  There is a lot to cover during those six weeks, blanket radiation treatment is miserable.

Getting Sick



Back row (L -R) My dad, mom, aunt Charlene, uncle Jack
Front (L-R) My mom's dad & mom, Ed and Peggy Regan, I'm on lap next to cousin Jolene and her mom's parents, Mary and Wally Stevens.  My mom is only 22.   I think it is a great picture of her. That smile describes her in a lot of ways.

 As a kid you know what it is like to be sick.  Getting a cold or the flu comes with a feeling and your body reacts to the illness making you feel bad.  With cancer I never felt sick, everything was fine, then all of a sudden I can't urinate. I spent a week in the hospital getting every area of my body scanned looking for more of this terrible disease, but never felt sick.  Chemotherapy makes you sick!

Chemotherapy Day 1

At my grandparents house in Miles City, MT.  I played sports all the time and would dress up in my uncles old baseball uniforms everytime we visited.  My playing days had come to a complete halt.
That was really the worst part of being sick. 

Saturday, January 17, 1981.  In my mom's journal she has that date underlined in red. 

The first day I had chemotherapy was one of the easiest from an administration standpoint, but one of the most difficult from an emotional one.  I had an IV in pretty much all week, so when Dr. Sauer came in that morning with three loaded up syringes, all he had to do was administer them through the IV. 

I remember talking a lot, as I have always done, but more out of nervousness and an attempt to be brave.  The Cytoxan was clear and came in the largest syringe, more than double the size of the others.  Cytoxan has a burning feeling when it is injected.  It also has a terrible metallic taste that you can't escape.  I remember scraping at my tongue trying to get rid of the awful taste.  The problem is there is nothing to scrape away, the taste comes from inside your tongue, it is a weird experience.

Stage IV

After checking into the hospital at 2am on Tuesday, Jan. 13th,
I returned home Monday, Jan. 19th and my mom took this picture.

The end of the work week arrived, but the work was really just beginning.  I was diagnosed with stage 4 Rhabdomyosarcoma originating in my prostate with metastases to both lungs.  Friday consisted of two more tests, an abdominal cat scan and a bone scan.  The next step was to determine the course of treatment and to inform me of what all the tests had revealed.

A long day

Me and my younger brother Tim. 
Oct. of '78 on the left (I'm 5, Tim 2) Two years later Tim in the tux. 

With only one test on Wednesday, Thursday arrived and brought a number of exams.  This would be one of the toughest days of the week for my mom.  Results were coming back and I had malignant cancer.  The prostate tumor biopsy was positive. 

Day 3



Christmas in Miles City, MT 1980. I'm holding the football.  My brother Tim is in front of me and my cousin Jolene is next to me.  On the floor  is my cousin Greg and the little one is Kristen (now an OBGYN).

 After the first day of testing was done the main problem was uncovered.  In my prostate was a mass the size of a softball.  During the cystoscopy a biopsy was done to determine what exactly the mass was.  It was obviously a large tumor, but was it benign or malignant?  Testing would continue, with  hopes that the problem was contained to my prostate and had not spread throughout my body.
 

Day 2



Blowing out the candles on my mom's 28th birthday.  June 3rd, 1979.  I had just turned six May 22nd.



Day two started early.  I was up crying in pain as the clock hit midnight.  Finally, my mom burst through bedroom door with a suitcase under one arm and we were in the car and off to the emergency room at St. Vincent Hospital.  We were sent back to a room and waited for the ER doc to arrive. 

January 12, 1981

At the end of each post I will include what my mom entered in her journal that day in blue.  If it's a day I don't remember, it will just be her journal entry.  Remember, my mom just kept a medical journal and not an emotional one, so almost every entry is just medical information.  By the time she completed her journal entry, She had usually used up all the emotion she had for one day.  Some of the days stick out in my mind more than others and will have a longer post....this was one of those days...................

why

I am writing my story, with the help of a daily journal my mom kept, of my time battling Cancer.  As a registered nurse, my mom wrote the journal from a medical perspective and not from an emotional one.  It was used by her daily to track my progress and to have a quick reference for success or failure of my treatment. 

My perspective is of course much different and from a seven to nine year old.  Before I begin to forget aspects of this battle we went through together, I better write it down now.  I hope it helps explain to my children how this shaped who I am and gives them a new appreciation for their grandma and the kind of mother she was to me.

Everything started in Billings, Montana on the morning of January 12, 1981...