“A traveler am I and a navigator, and every day I discover a new region within my soul.” Kahlil Gibran
It was January of 2022. I had decided this journey with cancer, as far as I was concerned, was done. I had regained most of my strength and felt I was becoming productive again. I didn’t want to be known as a cancer patient, I needed to move on. I wanted to suppress the existence of the journey I had just travelled: those experiences were documented, I was done. I wanted to live a normal life…whatever that meant. I wanted to walk away from the fear that had gripped me for the past few years. I celebrated the milestones, shared them through my essays, and then walked away.
Since that time, I watched my family grow in many ways. I have shared good times with great people, celebrated holidays and experienced the loss of friends and loved ones. I became a father-in-law. I was blessed with the opportunity to thank my doctor for helping me to survive, so that I can now see and hold my first grandchild. I felt I had pushed my disease to the bottom of the list and out of my mind as life moved on. The challenge: I am still in surveillance mode, so every few months, I am reminded that my risk is real as they regularly search to see if that menace dares to return. I compartmentalize those thoughts across the few days when I am tested: blood work, CT scans and vitals tracking. Then, we go through my results and that’s it…I move on until the next round.
But, I am under the influence of hope. I have decided to dive back into the fray and face my reality and this disease more openly, publicly. I am compelled to use my voice to help ensure that others know there is hope by changing the narrative. I want to help pancreatic cancer patients and their families change their assumptions. I want to give what I can so that they may feel hopeful in the face of this disease, instead of the hopelessness that usually comes with it…pancreatic cancer does not have to be a death sentence. There is hope! There are treatments, there is real investment to solve the issue and all the challenges that come with it. No more silence.
I have had the opportunity to share my journey with others who were and are going through this disease, introduced to me by people who thought my message could help…only one remains and while there is great hope, too many did not survive. I know there are others who need help, who need hope, who need to believe they are not doomed. I want to manifest the possibility of those afflicted with this disease, to tell their story. I want to pay it forward however I can. It starts now.
I have aligned myself with PanCan, an organization committed to raising awareness and breaking down any, and all barriers to hope, continuing research and survival of this dreaded disease. I commit to doing everything I can to bring a positive perspective to anyone going through what I went through. My goal is to bring Hope, because I believe it is a powerful and worthy weapon against fate. I ask for your help, in any way you can to help carry that forward. My first step is supporting PanCan’s ultimate fundraising event, PurpleStride on Saturday April 27th at the Salt River Fields in Phoenix Arizona.
Flashback to a different time.
June 30th 2020: I walked into the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix under the dark blue morning sky and underwent a significant surgery to remove a tumor on the head of my pancreas. Many hours passed under the deft hands of a highly skilled surgeon who would rearrange my insides forever. For many months prior to this, highly skilled doctors and nurses fed me chemo cocktails and carefully exposed me to radiation, to make that surgery possible. As I woke up from my chemical dreams, I smiled, ecstatic about the nurse in front of me as he reviewed the telemetry on the screens and ensured the network of tubes in and out of my body were properly transporting organic matter as required. It was July 1st.
I found a tube had made its way down my throat, extracting fluids, thick and green. Tubes protruding from just above my hips, inserted into my abdomen, secreted more fluid, pink and slushy. Thin plastic tubes, inserted into my chest and wrists injected healing and life sustaining fluids into my blood as well as carefully contrived medications designed to numb my pain. A deliberate arrangement of staples held the flesh together from my chest to my bellybutton, securing the access to my body. And …I awoke with a smile…because I woke up.
Another nine days would pass as I stayed in the comfort of that Mayo bed, healing and hitting all the milestones laid out in front of me…first we had to walk. So, with that myriad of tubes attached to my new stainless steel walking companion, I walked the halls, adding a few more steps each day. Eventually I would be freed of the tubes that anchored me as one by one they were removed. I was surrounded by those skilled humans that “fixed” me and nursed me back to health. As quietly as I entered the hospital nine days earlier, all the tubes had been removed and I left in the care of my wife who transported me to the comfort of my couch.
I am a survivor…I want to be part of a group that continues to grow. I believe it is possible for more to survive this cunning disease and it takes all of us to make that happen. I ask for your support as I open a new door to this journey. It won’t be easy but there are many paths to success…I hope to travel all of these paths. I hope to have your support to make it happen. Thank you for always being thee for me.
Help support research, kindness and continuing legislation to attack Pancreatic Cancer at every level. Hope is real and it should not be suppressed. Together we can make a difference and save lives! Join my team today.
You can sign up to be a team member here and donate to this important event.
Thank you.
robertpanacci.com 