*This blog is about how I feel about cancer. But some friends have requested I give the hard facts about what I am going through. When I have updates, that information will be available at the end of each post.
Eddie Olcyk is a much beloved Chicago hockey player. After all, he grew up in the Chicago area and was drafted by the Blackhawks in the first round. The city embraced him. I respected him.
But the first time I felt any emotion towards Eddie Olcyk was when his son knocked my son out flat on the ice.
They were 6 years old. As a new hockey mom, it was the first time my son had been knocked down and didn’t get up. One second passes, I am thinking he is unconscious. Two seconds pass and I wonder if he is breathing. Three seconds pass and I’m convinced he is paralyzed for life. Four seconds and I see some movement. “Who knocked him down?,” I ask my husband in an anxious, ready to rip into someone’s flesh, mother cub sort of way. “Eddie Olcyk’s son,” my husband replied with a smile on his face. He was actually proud of this fact. That the first time our son was splayed out motionless on the ice was by a Blackhawk player’s child. Like I said, Eddie was much beloved in this town.
Time passes and my son continues to play hockey and get knocked down occasionally. My husband goes on to coach some of the other Blackhawk’s children. More time passes and my son graduates from winning Junior Championships to the men’s league. He gives back by coaching a high school hockey team in his spare time. I am proud of this respectful and kind young man I raised.
That is the thing about hockey players. At least the ones I know, and have heard about. They are kind, respectful and most of them give back to the community. But they are holy-cow tough on the ice. I’m talking teeth-knocked-out-by-a-puck tough, or playing-with-a-broken-leg-in-the Stanley-Cup-finals tough. That brings me to the second time I felt emotion towards Eddie Olcyk.
My husband and I were celebrating. I had just found out that the colon cancer had not spread to my lungs and spine as originally feared. And bless my chardonnay infused liver. It has worked hard for me all these years and when it couldn’t defend against the cancer cells coming it’s way, it still fought back and formed tumors where they could be surgically removed. That is, if the chemo shrinks them enough. So we decided to celebrate my possible cure… with chardonnay, of course. Plus, my husband and friends had been telling me that chemo is better tolerated these days. Nothing to be afraid about.
That is when my husband’s eyes light up and he tells me that Eddie Olcyk had just beat the same cancer as I have. And he was currently back to broadcasting for the NHL. With happiness, my husband searches on his phone to prove it to me. He finds an article and hands it over without reading it.
The first line in the article, and I quote here.. “Eddie Olcyk was unhooked from the life-giving, body wracking, soul-crushing chemotherapy for the last time at …” It goes on to describe how his wife had to talk him down from the ledge several times. My husband sees the color drain from my face as I hand the phone back to him. I think to myself that surely the reporter was just adding drama for effect. I get on my phone and try to find other articles that don't describe his recovery in such a “soul-crushing” way. Nope. Just more articles around the same theme. Right now my hubby wishes he had never heard of Eddie Olcyk.
I’m thinking… crap, I mean golly gosh darn… this is a grown ass tough hockey player. What is going to happen to me?
Another week passes before my chemotherapy begins. I had gone back to Nashville to pack up and move back to Chicago to be near family, friends and the hospital treating me. I moved in January 3, started chemo the next day. I have a friend who moved the day before she had a mastectomy. After all, we are women. Just power through. I am finishing this blog post two days after my first chemo treatment. I am thinking to myself that hockey players are tough, but women just may be… possibly… tougher.
We still love you Eddie.
Paul and I with the real Stanley Cup at a private party. Unlike my husband, I declined to actually kiss it. This cup goes home with each championship player for a period of time. I had heard the infamous stories of where it’s been and what has been in it. Play hard, party hard, that’s all I will say. I am ribbed about this photo to this day.
*The boring facts …
Like mentioned above, I moved January 3 and started chemo January 4. 11 hours at the hospital preparing for chemo and waiting around. But the nurse had pumped me up with so many steroids to combat the nausea that I didn’t feel tired. The actual infusion took 5 hours with 4 different chemos. Then I was sent home with pump attached to a vein in my throat to infuse me with a fifth chemo over a period of 46 hours. Of course, the alarm goes off on my pump the minute I walk in the door. It’s after hours and with all the information I was given, it was hard to find the right number to call. I checked for obstruction like I was informed to do. But the alarm wouldn’t go off. After a panicky hour and a half, I got the issue resolved. Pump comes off today. Then tomorrow I have to give myself a shot which will cause my bones to ache for a while. This is because it will be rebuilding my white blood cells which come from bone marrow. At least, I think I got that information right. I am told this shot is one of my biggest blessings in this treatment. My worst side effect so far is neuropathy. That is a condition which causes extreme tingling pain in my nerve endings when I come into contact with anything below room temperature. I keep on forgetting to wear gloves to get things out of the frig, so that is where a lot of my pain comes from. That and not waiting for the water to get warm to wash my hands. Oops again. What scares me the most is that I will get this searing pain if I breathe in cold air. And here I am in Chicago in the middle of winter. So next time you see a lady with an entire blanket wrapped around her face, give her a hall pass. And stop backing up in fear. I own that part.