Ben Fights Todd--It Begins

Cancer.

Yeah, cancer's pretty much like that.

Yep.

That's Todd. Todd's my cancer. And he's a total and utter dick. A dick who apparently likes milkshakes, because since I've been diagnosed, I crave them incessantly. Random? Yes. Unhealthy? Supremely. Dick-like? So much yes. Especially since I secretly believe that Todd's lactose intolerant.

Seriously. He is SUCH a dick.

I suppose I should back up a bit.

For about the last seven months, I've been dealing with back pain. Earlier last year (2018), I was in training for a film I would be shooting in the summer (oh, I'm an actor, by the way... hello there, I'm always looking for my next project and marketing and branding and blah blah blah this isn't the time for that) and tweaked my middle back doing some ridiculous exercise at the gym involving a Smith machine, a bench and my feet in the air. It was magnificent. I'm pretty sure no one at the gym noticed. If you were there and saw, please don't pop my bubble. Anyhoo. I was careful after that, and the pain subsided after a while.

Around September or October of 2018, I got sick. Typical flu symptoms--nausea, fever, body aches. No biggie, right? But the body aches never went away, and they started getting more and more localized. Middle back. Weird, but whatevs. I'd had lower back pain before and figured this wouldn't be much worse. A few weeks of discomfort and I should be good to go.

So I go to the doctor.

I should mention that I have a little bit of a thing about doctors and medication and stuff. There seems to be some lingering toxic masculinity floating around inside of me that is directly related to illness. Don't love going to the doctor. Don't love taking medication. Willing to do it, but at times it can be like pulling teeth. My wife will vouch.

Therefore, I was proud of myself. Hey, I'm taking care. You know. Self love and stuff. No, not that kind. This isn't that kind of blog. I'll start that one later. If you're nice. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean, know what I mean?

Doctor confirms what I thought--this'll go away in a week or four. No biggie. Here's some muscle relaxants and Aleve. Go nuts.

Second trip to doctor. "Hey, I still hurt." Okay, here's some more meds. Also, a referral to a physiatrist (I didn't even know those existed) and a physical therapist.

Cool.

I'm now doing weird stretches and getting my back cracked and downing lots of Ibuprofen (Aleve does absolutely nothing for me, which is a real kick in the pants as far as I'm concerned) and other sundry drugs, which are growing progressively stronger, which makes me progressively more nervous. Did I mention I don't love taking medication?

Each of the therapies seems to work for a while, but then I start to feel worse. I'm having trouble functioning during the day from the pain, and sleeping at night is growing tenuous. I'm starting to contemplate more drastic measures... where is the nearest place I can legally buy weed? Does CBD actually work (not for me, dammit)? Who can I make my dealer? This, after realizing that the drugs I'm being prescribed are highly addictive, have nasty side effects, and mostly likely won't work long-term.

My students have noticed (oh, I'm a professor, too... hey, there... blah blah blah...). They're worried about me. I'm starting to read weird books on Amazon. "Hey, dude! Your back pain is all in your head! You can cure yourself by saying that in the mirror fifteen times a day! Make sure you mean it or it won't work! Fix your back using this one weird trick!"

I do find one that works. Kinda. Fact is, it's a minor miracle, but as you can see from the first word of this blog, this whole story isn't one of homeopathic curing through the power of the mind and odd exercises.

As a side note, the book is Pain Free by Pete Egoscue, and I can't recommend it enough. It was so effective that I almost didn't go in for an MRI. More on that in a moment. But seriously. It got rid of so much of my pain that rather than go to the pain management clinic (my last ditch effort to figure out my pain), I nearly decided to go to an Egoscue Method practitioner up in Park City.

During this whole time, I had gotten a couple of x-rays which showed very little. Well, they showed that I'm a missing link. Apparently, my sacral bones aren't fused (it happens in like 2% of the population), and one of those extra vertebrae has some compression. But it wasn't anywhere close to where I was experiencing pain, so it ended up being a wasted effort, as far as I was concerned.

Oh, also during this time we went to Disneyland and California Adventure. One of my most favoritest places in the world. I was doing what I could to be pretty careful but I love going on rides. So, I tested myself with Indiana Jones, which I thought would possibly be too much. No problem. Then Big Thunder Mountain. Perfect. Matterhorn? No problem.

But the next day. Oh, the next day. We were at California Adventure and I decided to go on the IncrediCoaster. As soon as we rocketed up that first incline, I knew I had made a mistake. The entire ride can be illustrated in the picture taken of me by Disney, Inc.

That's me at the bottom right. The face of pure agony. Or something.

Spoiler alert. That's when my back broke.

The x-rays from before the trip show nothing wrong in my middle back. The MRI taken afterward? T-11 is at least 50% collapsed. You know that sign they post everywhere that tells you not to go on the ride if you're pregnant or juicing or have back pain (I may not have read it too carefully)? Turns out, they're serious.

Anyway, I had the appointment with the pain management clinic set up, and they wanted to see an MRI--figure out what was happening in the soft tissue, see if there were some nerves being encroached upon or whatnot. They set the MRI up for a Tuesday. Thursday was the day I was to head up to Park City for the Egoscue Method appointment. Like I said, I almost skipped the MRI. But I had committed to figuring out the pain, because it was really impacting everyone around me. I had gone from being a somewhat decent and engaged partner in my marriage to a groaning, wincing, mincing sad-sack of a couch potato. It was not working.

This was Spring Break. An entire week off from teaching, y'all! Which, if you hate teaching, sounds awesome. I happen to love it, so it just meant a week away from my students whom I adore. Okay, okay... taking a break can be awesome, even if you love something, but still.

So, Wednesday, I get a call from the clinic. They want me to come in to talk to them. A little weird, but whatevs. I figured they'd just schedule me to inject some crap in my back, but maybe they're like super patient oriented. You know, above and beyond and all that. The personal touch.

It was definitely personal.

There was nothing fair about this. A doctor at the pain management clinic ended up having to be the one to tell me the news. He was clearly not prepared for that, in any way, shape, or form. I'm pretty sure he started crying, which I found touching and disturbing all at once. Doctors cry? Who knew?

The MRI, which they took of my lumbar and thoracic spine, showed a large mass in my kidney and another one around my spine, stretching from T-10 to T-12, with the collapse of T-11 that I mentioned earlier. They might or might not be linked, but it definitely looks like cancer.

And just like that, my life's story took a decided twist.

***

In the next installment, we examine just how fecking bizarre cancer is, as well as the many, many possibilities that exist for milkshake perfection. Thanks, TODD.

Next post.