Chicago Cubs: From cancer to a new baby, then back to the Cubs

It took two trips from the ambulance to figure out the severity of what was going on. The first time I started to come around, was able to walk out to the rig, get some fluids. They assumed it could be dehydration, possibly caused by the blood pressure meds. I sold it well that I was “fine.” But when the ordeal happened less than 10 minutes later and the same team came back with a supervisor? I realized I wasn’t fooling anyone. Something was wrong.

The supervisor told my wife Sanekia, “He doesn’t have a choice, he’s getting airlifted somewhere.” A storm was rolling in, and it was between Atlanta and Chattanooga. Chattanooga was closer, so they decided that was the plan. My wife and a few family members got in a car and started driving that way. It’s was about a two-hour trip. If the storm changed direction, they would reroute to Atlanta–and my wife would be in the opposite direction. This was one of the few “positives” of the night.

I was airlifted to Erlanger Hospital in Chattanooga. I didn’t know this at the time. I remembered the ride in the ambulance, and getting in the chopper. It’s a blur after that. I woke up at the hospital, not exactly sure where. My wife was there. The conversation is foggy at best. But the topic was not. It was a tumor, GBM. Specifically, a Glioblastoma Multiforme. By definition, it’s a Grade 4. One of the most aggressive brain cancers there are. At this time, I’m still just 38 years old, with our first baby due in December. What is happening??

I stuck around long enough to be told I was going into surgery ASAP. I wasn’t groggy from drugs. The pressure from the tumor was pushing so hard on my brain that I was essentially dying. Speech and motor skills were shot. I thought I was getting surgery on my hip. My hip? That’s one of the parts of my body that still work fine to this day. This was not a good spot to be in, but I didn’t have time even to ponder they were about to open up my skull. I was out not long after that.

After the surgery, they set me up a room in ICU. This was already the second day in the hospital, and I had already received more CT scans and MRI than I ever had in my life. Arms were littered with IV’s. The doctors told my wife and my brother Curtis to “be prepared for the worst.” After surgery on the brain, especially where mine was located, there could be speech issues, declined motor skills, things of that nature. So what did they walk into? Me, joking and making all the nurses laugh because, well, that’s who I am. And cancer wasn’t going to take that from me.

Fast forward a week, and I was finally discharged. I had to be back for follow-ups with my radiologist, my neurosurgeon, and my oncologist–on my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. So after getting home to rest for a while, we made that trip back up to Chattanooga. It was then that we decided that we’d have all my care moved to Levine Cancer Institute in Charlotte since that’s where I live.

My radiation treatments were literally five minutes up the road. We at one point were trying to figure how to make the drive work to Chattanooga–with a pregnant woman having to do all the driving as I was not allowed for at least six months. It didn’t take long to realize that was a brilliant decision. Because just handling all the appointments in my town was hard enough. Add prenatal appointments in? We spent June until now in hospitals. I started judging the soaps and paper towels that each office had. Seriously. So. Many.

My vision took a hit from the surgery, so watching TV had to be done with me sitting up close. This was the first game I got to watch. That series against the Reds that they played just terrible in. Maybe the best part was I couldn’t see that well. Made it more bearable, I guess. But being able to watch a game put me at a little bit of peace.

So then, my co-expert at the site Jacob Misener had a chance to attend Jon Lester’s #NVRQT event. He said he got a few minutes with him and used it to tell him my story. Could’ve talked about anything else, but chose to share my journey with Lester. A bit later, I got this:

Not too long after this, the Cubs Twitter page caught wind of my story. Without asking, the Cubs went out of their way to send me this care package:

At this point, we’re just about 10 days past my 39th birthday, and there’s still plenty of treatment to go. So as my wife carts me to and from my appointments, she’s carrying our first child. So while I need her to be there for me? I need to be there for her. Which is tough while battling brain cancer. But through it all, from the day of the surgery to the moment I’m writing this, positivity and faith have been my mantra. I believe in faith, but I also believe in science. They both have helped to heal me. I get another MRI on the last Saturday of January, and I hope to get continued good news, as I’ve had no side effects, nausea, or any other issues that many that have had radiation and chemo have experienced.

So as the months have passed, the updates I gave friends and family on Facebook became fewer and fewer. After the radiation, it’s a little more simple. Fewer pills. Fewer appointments. But the fight is far from over. And then, as the initial diagnosis and shock has started to wear off, Steve Greenberg of the Chicago Sun-Times gets wind of my story. I can never tell it as well as he did, so I leave the story for you to take a look at yourselves. It was a terrific piece that my family and I will always cherish.

As you can see, we’ve made it to our pride and joy, Adeline Noelle. This is the reason I continue to fight this beast every day. For her and my wife, who was by my side the entire way. For the Cubs, who have become more than just my favorite team, but almost part of my family in the way they treated us through these tough times. And finally, FanSided. For standing by me, supporting me, and allowing me to return to this spot when I was ready. That weekend is CubsCon. If I couldn’t be there, there’s no place I’d rather be than back here at Cubbies Crib.

#blazekstrong #NVRQT