Member-only story
$@#* cancer!
I play in a racquetball league. I also have cancer. I had my routine treatment Monday — 71 and counting (which now consists of two infusions of immunotherapy — cetuximab and nivolumab). The next day was league day. A side effect of the treatment is fatigue. After game three I was toast, completely spent. I came off the court and proceeded to lay down prostrate near the benches. I did this for at least 10 minutes allowing myself to recover.
I am sure I was quite the spectacle. I am sure I didn’t look too good. I am sure folks were thinking, “what’s wrong with him”. I didn’t care. I felt good regardless (mentally at least). I knew physically I would recover. I was thinking the whole time, ‘wow that medicine really does impact me, maybe I overdid it?’
As I lay there in my glory (#&%! cancer). A much younger gentlemen, using a nearby weight machine, came over to me smiling, “you ok?” I said ‘sure, just need to take a few moments’. He then said, “give me a fist pump!” Which I did. Didn’t know me, didn’t look like me, differnet generation. He made me feel good; made me think that yep there is good out there. I told him, ‘thanks for checking on me.’
A few minutes later, as I still lay prostrate, an older gentlemen came nearby to use another weight machine that I was recovering next to. “You ok, need any help?” I reassured him with a thumbs…
