Male Mammogram (yes, they're real - but not so spectacular)

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I went to my mammogram appointment. I noticed quickly I was the only man in the room. Lots of women of different ages and ethnicities. There are more common types of who gets breast cancer, but as this room shows, particularly with my presence, there are outliers, too. I fill out the copious paperwork and jump up each time they call my name. It takes about three of these jumps before I get the call that tells me the machine is broken. No joke. The patient who is in the room just before me has it break during her appointment. I have to reschedule.

This is hard – not just on me, but on those who are waiting for the information. When I get home, my wife practically jumps me at the door. “What happened?” she demands. “The machine broke,” I explain with a shrug. We stare at each other dumbly for a moment, then it passes. No putting a lid on this today.

I’m still not scared, but after being in the office and that close to the machine that will give potentially life-changing results to me, I’m more anxious than ever to get this over with. The reschedule is set for eight days later. Life happens. Ups and downs. Some good laughs, some burning anger. I have an appointment with a cardiologist during this time regarding my varicose veins – I didn’t even know that was what was going on until a friend pointed them out in a facebook post beneath some family pictures from Maui. I felt weird about her comment at the time. Now I need to give her thanks: Thank you, Pavlina.

It was good to discuss my heart with this specialist, as I’ve never seen a cardiologist before. I’ve thought about my heart a lot – from a physical and emotional standpoint. I’ve had fears of it stopping outright. I’ve felt like it’s being shredded. I swear it’s been worn on my sleeve, dragged behind my and shattered into a million pieces. But all in all, it seems to be holding up well. I have long been curious about getting a stress test done on it, like they do for the elite athletes. The cardiologist checks me out and says he wants an ultrasound done on my leg to get a better idea of what’s going on. He says he’ll let me know about my treatment options once he sees that chart. Scheduling says that will take a month, then another month to get back in to see the doctor. So it goes.

In fact the rest of the week goes by. I’m conscious of the test on the day of, but not overly worried about it. I go back to the office. There’s one other guy there this time. That doesn’t make me feel any better, or any worse – I simply notice it and wish him (and all the “hers”) the best.

They call me back. My radiologist is very quiet and kind. She asks me to take off my shirt and go up to the machine. The machine. There it is. It has pink lettering, with the name “SHEILA” on it. I’m guessing that’s there to make the women more comfortable with it. As my radiologist positions what tissue I have for the slowly compacting plates that will soon hold my suspect right breast (I actually feel better calling this my “chest” if you don’t mind), she assures me that breast cancer in men is extremely rare. That’s what everyone says. I hope they’re right. I’ve also heard this process hurts from many people. I hope they’re wrong. My tissue is squished between the plates and I’m told to hold my breath. This caught me off guard so I barely have any to hold. I hope the little I have will last me. A few seconds later a beep and a “you can relax” releases me. We go through the same drill on the other side of my chest, then side views for both. She says I can sit as she goes and checks out the pictures. I was told by my General Practitioner that he would look at the results of the mammogram after the test and if there was nothing to be worried about, I wouldn’t hear back from him. The radiologist re-emerged just then and said three simple words: “It’s not cancer”. I didn’t realize how good that would sound until I heard her say it. I stood and smiled. I managed to say “oh”. She said it was likely a reaction to something else that I couldn’t quite discern. Maybe my ears were buzzing in excitement or her accent suddenly got heavier or I don’t know what. Whatever it is it’s not cancer. And, by all account, it's nothing to worry about. I’ll follow up with my General Practitioner to get his best guesstimate, but for now it seems I’ve dodged a large bullet.

I hugged the Radiologist before she or I knew quite what I was doing. She laughed and hugged me back. I barely held back tears. I didn’t expect to be so emotional. I didn’t expect to hear such definitive news so quickly. I am relieved. I am thankful. I know I’m okay today. I talked to my parents afterward and after celebrating the good news, my mom asked me what else I was working on – as I tend to be a bit of a work and certainly project-aholic. “Being happy”, I said without hesitation. Not even thinking about work right now. That’s a relief, too.  

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Breast Cancer, Male, 43 yrs

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I have a lot to live for. I have a beautiful wife and two incredible kids. I have dreams. I’ve laid a foundation of artistic work that continues to open doors toward those dreams. Though I’m sometimes disappointed in my current station, wondering why I’m not further along, I try to remember that the road is the journey and there is no one destination.

My parents were always bastions of health to me growing up. They often seemed to shine above others their age, to me, because of their zest for living and their tremendous generosity of home and meals. We had friends and family over regularly. There was always a lot of laughter and high praise for my parents cooking. Their food left people wanting more. The laughter healed hearts that I never knew needed healing. My parents exercised, ate well and had a wonderful group of friends in a thoughtful, progressive community. They were a large part of how I would have defined health.

In July of 2001, my parents were diagnosed with breast cancer (mom) and Parkinson’s Disease (dad) within two weeks of each other. Everything I thought I knew about health changed. If that could happen to my parents, were they no longer healthy? Had they done something wrong? Was it just bad luck? What did being healthy matter if this could happen to them, seemingly so randomly?

Over the course of the next several years I began to examine my own health – eating habits, exercise habits, social circles, relationships, environment, and spiritual connection. These were all categories to explore, measure and question. I’ve tried walking in the footsteps of many whom I’ve admired from sources as wide as Jack LaLanne to Mahatma Ghandi. I’ve picked up some things, left others behind. I’ve never felt bullet proof, but have had to fight the egotistical part of me that says well, I live this healthy lifestyle so I deserve x, y and z. It just ain’t so.

About six weeks ago I had a sharp pain beneath my right nipple. As cancer, including my mom’s breast cancer (of which she is a survivor still), has several occurrences in our family, I was scared. A common male response in our society is to bottle up at this point – tough it out.  I felt that urge. Not me, I thought. I do all the healthy things. I’m a guy people point to as an example. Yes, me.

My friend and health mentor Gary Earl’s voice rang out in my head: “It’s so important to have a relationship with your General Practitioner”. These words weren’t said directly to or for me, but at this moment they were boring into my skull. I am fortunate to have insurance through my wife’s work. But even with such, I had not formed a relationship with a General Practitioner. I called the doctor that my wife and her family often went to and set up an appointment. He examined me and my medical history, then set up a blood test, x-ray, cardiology appointment and ultrasound. At first, I was overwhelmed by all the information. And, frankly, I didn’t want to believe there was anything wrong with me. The appointments were difficult to schedule with life – kids, work, things that must get done… My wife and I talked and knew these tests were important, but we hadn’t yet prioritized them. I went back for my follow up two weeks later, only having taken care of the ultrasound. My doctor confirmed he found two lumps. They were still painful. And though I knew  through a bit of research that their being painful might, in fact, be a good sign that they were not cancerous, it didn’t make me feel any better. The next day I got my x-ray and blood work done.

The information was clearly weighing heavily upon my wife. I do what I often do in these moments, which is look over the cliff. I considered my death. I felt incredible sadness and loss – mostly for my kids. The thought of them growing up without a father began a dull pain throbbing inside of me. My wife has often told me she doesn’t know what she would do without me. I’ve just as often told her she doesn’t have to worry about it. I couldn’t let this happen – I couldn’t let a disease, condition, illness – whatever you want to call it – end my life now. But, at least to some degree, it was out of my hands. Now I was a bit scared.

I brought the news with me to our annual family reunion in Washington. It was very hard for me to share my news, mostly because of pride and not wanting anyone else to worry about me. At the same time, I knew I had to because my wife was sick by not being able to talk about it. When I shared my news with the family I felt detached, almost as if I was watching myself, from behind, say the words I was saying. They sounded hollow. My family did what they do: they loved us, hugged us and prayed for us.

I’m happy to say that the results from the x-ray and blood test came back negative. My doctor prides himself on being overcautious, something I’m thankful for. The only test that remains is the mammogram, which is scheduled for today - in about two hours as a matter of fact.

What is health?  Click here to see my new inspiring health documentary.

The movie is live!!!

It took over eight years to edit, but here it is: http://www.sharetheroaddoc.com.

Why it took this long? Not because I couldn't have done the work sooner, but I wasn't sure where the market was. I've taken plenty of projects into film festivals and a few beyond. I'm at a place now where I don't do work on a speculative basis anymore. In order to invest myself, there has to be a tangible return. With the new platform of Pivotshare, the preponderance of social media devices (and usage) and the follow-up journeyforhealthtour hitting the road tomorrow, I feel that audience is not only out there but reachable.

I look forward to your comments and will be adding information and thoughts as I get them here. I feel extremely blessed and excited to finally share this story with the world.

Enjoy the ride.


-- Robert

My First Triathlon - the stats

Okay -- so I "meh'd" this last night, but the numbers are in so now I care (go figure - ha ha).
SWIM: 20:02
Transition 1: 5:17
BIKE: 47:00
Average speed: 15.9
Transition 2: 3:22
RUN: 25:45
Average mile: 8:19
TOTAL: 1:41:24

Interesting -- I knew the swim time was bad (and it was). I didn't realize my first transition was that slow -- I didn't set anything up the way I needed to. I'll be better prepped for next time. My bike time was slower than I imagined; that might be because I'm just so comfortable on the bike to begin with as that's where my greatest experience lies. Also, I did 99% of my training on the stationary bike. I know next time to get out on the road some more. Finally the run -- I actually feel pretty good about those splits as I knew I was cruising by that point. I can go faster for sure.

And as faster relates to all these things, it gets back to the question: does it matter? I suppose so as I'd like to continue to see what I'm capable of. But I'm also interested in lengthening the distance. I'll have to think about which is next. It's great to have options.

Triathlon Virgin

I am proud. It was never an event I doubted I could or would do -- but the difference between that sentiment and the actual accomplishment of the goal is sometimes vast. After about four months of training, the event seemed to happen all at once starting with check-in last night. I've been finishing my master's degree during this time, so I really haven't given much thought to the triathlon itself beyond my training (which is just as much a sanity keeper as anything else -- I've had people say they don't know how I can get my workouts in five days+ a week with my schedule. I say I couldn't have the schedule I have without working out five days+ a week).

At the check-in, things got very "real" when they wrote my race number on my arms and hand as well as my age on the back of my left calf. It made me feel a bit like a cut of beef heading to the butcher. The woman shotgunning beers (Pabst Blue Ribbon no less -- well, you never shotgun the good stuff) in the semi-official looking tent right next to me didn't give me the greatest confidence in the event, but I was far too deep to pull out now.

I dropped my son off at Nonno and Nonna's (thank you so much!) at 5:45 a, then hit the road. The drive to the race (or any early morning event like this) is always exciting for me. I contemplate how far I've come and what today will be like. I usually engage in the last of my illusions de grandeur, too. In this case, I'd told myself I was going to be the surprise athlete from nowhere who, in his first triathlon finished in the top three (I'm a realist illusionist) and was now a "triathlete to watch". I've got the headlines down, baby.

Parking and getting set up was far from glamorous -- much more in the neighborhood of clusterf__k. I parked once, started getting my gear out, then a little old gimpy man cranked by barking "you're all gonna get towed! Move your ve-HIC-les!" Dude had authority. I moved.

I really was operating on blind faith and a flyer I received the night before with a lot of 8-point font text on two sides of a paper. I put my bike in corral (a narrow runway where all we wild stud horse-triathletes park our gear), laid out my gear in what I hoped would be a reasonable manner for my transitions the moments between events which everything I read seemed to agree would be horribly chaotic, then got on my wetsuit. The only nerves I really had at this point were about whether or not I was late for my start time. I left in what I thought was plenty of time. I didn't allow for the old crank, lack of signage and my general "make it up as I go" approach.

I got down to the water just in time to hear my group (40 and over - when did this become my group?) being announced. Good deal. The water was beautiful -- felt like low 60's. The air temp was mid 70's. It was 7:10 in the morning. I was stoked.

Another first time racer in the 30-39 group and I shared a few words of excitement about our first event, then they were off. Our path to the first buoy was lit by the morning sunlight on the water -- how perfect is that? Our group was up soon after. I did my typical clap-clap, here-we-go rah-rah bit, (which really isn't a bit at all but just who I am) and we got the horn blast. Dive face first! Go! Go!

OH...CRAP.

I had heard the open-water swim thing with a crowd was different. I played it off. I love the water -- I do. The pool, if anything, is kind of boring to me. I love the ocean most of all. Lakes are good, rivers better (they have more flow, dig it?). But this...this mass of humanity kicking, punching and crawling with their bug-eyed goggles and surreal-smooth capped heads was too much. I was a part of this? These bug-people were crawling on me and it was freaking me out. I put my face in the water but all I could see were bubble contrails from bug-people all around. My arms wouldn't stroke the way I had trained them these past few months. My wetsuit was too tight. My breath was going out fine but it wasn't coming in at all. My mind raced: Did I really train as much as I thought I did? Is the water colder than I'm allowing myself to believe? Am I getting hypothermia...in a wetsuit...in the late spring...in Vegas? I didn't train with a wetsuit -- that's what it is.

Whatever it was, the rope around my chest tightened. I literally couldn't breathe. No use putting my face back in the water lest I want to drown. I was panicking. I have never had a panic attack up until this moment and I've done some hairy things -- jumping off heights, racing over 50 mph on a bicycle, bodyboarding waves with faces in the double digits. But never before had I felt this freezing panic. I rolled to  my backside, reminded myself the wetsuit would help me float, then let the competition swim by. This was extremely difficult as the de grandeur illusion competition part of me went with them. Let them - my survival instincts scolded. And I did. I relaxed for a solid two-to-three minutes (I'm guessing), then felt the rope loosen. I started to swim with the few clydesdales in the back (that's literally what they call the "big boys" of our division). After about 50 yards, I found my stroke. The silt settled. It was awesome.

The rest of the swim was fantastic. The transition to the bike area went off without a hitch. I took to my bike like a fish to water -- which was good because I took to the water like an aardvark. I caught up to and passed several of my competitors (reading their calves for confirmation) and the illusions are reborn. Back for the run -- another smooth transition. I know I could run harder, but I'm quite peaceful at this point. I'm just really happy to have this opportunity. I put it in cruise control -- I'm not getting dusted by anybody and I'm still passing a few (including the clydesdales -- don't want those guys beating me no matter what).

I finish strong and very happy. The time and finish place was not what I deluded myself to/expected: one hour and 42 minutes and 16th out 26 in my division (beat those flippin' clydesdales, though -- yea boy). I understand I'll get more details on that later. Meh. My bottom line is I did it. And you know what else? I'm very thankful for the humbling experience of that panic attack. I'm a pretty confident guy, particularly when it comes to physical matters. This taught me a lot about myself and, overall, I'm very pleased with how I responded to the fear. I didn't quit.

I completed the goal. I can keep dreaming, too. There will be other races -- that much I know for sure.

Share the Road - Today

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Revisiting the blog that was our 2005 cross-country journey was very interesting to me. I've never attempted something as large or challenging as that. I know, at the time I accepted the offer from Gary, I wasn't scared at all. I don't feel like on the road I was scared (generally), either. Certainly there were specific moments (watching my tire buckle on an asphalt grade while riding the side of a relatively busy highway, for instance), but overall I had a very peaceful confidence that I was there to do a job and I would get it done. In that sense, I was wrong -- I didn't get it done, we did.

I was never an endurance athlete before this trip. Although I've always enjoyed being athletic, the type of training and games I've played have been more immediate and fast-paced: basketball, football, sprints and throws in track and field. One takes on a different mindset when participating in an endurance sport. It requires me to be calm, to release, to allow my body to do what it does (slowly as necessary, while learning the new skill) and keep focused with my mind at the same time. This is one of the reasons I'm glad I never got into wearing an ipod while cycling. I never felt that disconnect. By listening to my body (and the ever-changing environment around me) I believe I gave myself the best chance to succeed. 

The tours continued officially in 2006, 2007 and in a very small way (a single 100 mile ride for Gary's birthday) in 2008. I trained hard for 2006 & 2007 (though not as hard as I did for 2005 because neither '06 nor '07 were cross country trips). I enjoyed the process -- they were different but still very enjoyable trips. As I write this, I realize I haven't ridden in nearly three years. That's astounding to me because the bike is still so familiar to me. I look at it hanging on the wall in my garage and I feel like I could just pick it up and ride 100 miles. That's folly, of course. What the mind remembers, the body needs time to catch up on. I know I could get back in that kind of shape, but cycling takes time and different priorities (namely the beautiful kids we now have in our lives) have taken over.

That's not to say I'm not still training or that I'm not still involved in endurance sport -- it's just taken a different and, once again, completely unexpected turn. More on that tomorrow.

Share The Road - On the road - Day #36-38

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DAY 36
Ocean City Recovery

Everyone sleeps -- except me. I’m up at 5:45. I don’t need to wake anyone else this morning as I have for the past 35 days. In fact, doing so would more than likely get me a punch in the face.

I get up and go down to the beach, a mere block from the Earl’s rented beach house. There are not many people out this morning. I stretch, breathe, then wade into the water. It’s said to be 82 degrees but it feels cooler than that to me. I get knee deep, then waist deep, smiling at my slowness to submerge myself completely. In my mind I know all the truths I need to know about diving in and the way things open up for me when I do so. And yet I stand half in and half out of this water...1, 2, 3 dive into the small wave that rolls at me. I am in. I am committed. I am wet and no longer cold.

I body surf for about 15 minutes -- the waves are just barely ride-able, but that’s not important. I get out and stretch, do my morning pushups and some tai chi.

The boardwalk is beginning to wake up. I retreat to the Earl’s house. I’m still the only one up.

As the crew starts to rise, the chatter begins. Where’s my helmet? Did you get my supplements? Pass the butt butter -- no wait! Don’t. We’re done. We will ride no more forever...on this tour at least.

I get some bagels and muffins with Gary’s friend Ken, who congratulates me again and says how he really hopes he can do something like what we’ve done. I’ve been hearing that a lot -- a lot of people want this ‘once in a lifetime’ experience. I understand that...and I feel this will be far more than once in a lifetime for me. I think this is the beginning of adventures for a lifetime -- perhaps the definition of a lifetime. These adventures and all that goes into them are consistent with what I feel about the purpose of life: to explore, to consider, to grow, to discover, to be scared, to laugh and to share.

I have today to detox, tomorrow to help clean up last minute details of the journey (breaking down the bikes, cleaning the SAG and prepping for life back in L.A.) and I will fly out on Tuesday. My flight is a long one as I have a stop-over in Atlanta to go along with the five hours in the air. It will be even longer because I’ll be chomping at the bit to see Bella. I’ve been chomping for some time...

LATER...

We went to the boardwalk tonight -- quite a scene: packed with people, rides, miniature golf (I won with an impressive 36 over 18) and Kohr’s ice cream. We came home and watched ‘Boys of Summer’. It was nice to share that with everyone -- and it made me very sad, too. I miss my folks and seeing the changes Dad’s gone through in just a year’s time really made me think about the value of time with him - the value of time, period.
 

Day 37

Ocean City, NJ

Thoughts begin to blend one into the next. I got up early again this morning and Gary’s 10 year-old son, Tommy, joined me at the beach. He is a great kid. We did some body boarding together, then I did some yoga/tai chi and he did some cool sand design. We both had fun.

There was much work to be done today -- the biggest coming in the cleaning of the SAG and the packing of bikes and everyone’s goods. Stripping down and out the SAG was a very sad affair -- our mobile home suddenly became nothing more than an empty box. The logos were torn off, the insides gutted, the stallions (bikes) stabled (boxed). Gary has been nice enough to pick up the tab for SO many things, including paying for a bike mechanic to put the baby back together in L.A. -- I could do it, I know, but...I’d much prefer a pro do it well so the next time I take her out I’m not worried about the front wheel popping off. The next time I take her out...when will that be? It’s good that it take a little while, though. The chafing has not subsided -- not by a long shot. A few weeks off will do me well, even if I’m screaming inside (and the moans have begun).

The one thing that may keep me off even longer is the back rim -- it’s completely tweaked and I know it’ll cost about $200 to get me a new one. When I’ll have the money for that? Whoooooo...

Saying goodbye to Raul was the worst. He was such a heart and soul piece of our group. Having him leave was the final nail in the coffin -- our team is truly dead.

We hit the waves and water one more time. It was great as the swell had actually picked up a little bit and we were all getting slammed around. The ocean is truly a healing place for me.

Day 38
Ocean City, NJ

I fly out today. I hoped to get up this morning and go say goodbye to the ocean, but it just didn’t happen. I was tired and if I need the sleep, I’m going to respect that. There’s a piece of me that’s always Go! Go! Go! and this time I told it no. I have the ocean on the west side -- even if it is colder -- it’s there and waiting for me. The ability to sleep -- or the allowance of sleep -- is a premium.

I got up at seven and had to do Chris’ last interview in a bit of a hurried fashion as he was off on another adventure -- deep sea fishing. Good for him. The kid continues to run. Pat (Gary’s wife) said with a sigh, ‘Ah to be 23 and just be able to drop everything and go at a moment’s notice...’.

I had a quick liquid breakfast, then it was off to Sally the SAG -- which is now just a big white box -- to ride up to Newark. The long drive gave me a great chance to interview Gary at length. He was the most important member to get, truth be told. This trip was his brainchild and he got it going. I’m very, very impressed with him and really feel I have made an amazing friend.

He was very candid, as he was throughout the trip, and had many wonderful things to say about me. I was very humbled. I was also glad to feel closer to Pat. I don’t know her all that well, but felt like over these last couple of days I got to know her much better. The Earls are givers -- I am thankful and humbled to have made their acquaintance.

At the airport. Goodbye. It’s emotional, but not over the top. I’ve said goodbye in my heart long ago. Still, I will miss them.

The flight to Atlanta is first. I’m no fan of layovers, but this ticket was provided -- one of the many things provided by the Earls. I had a little snack in the cafe here (in ATL) and got to talk to Annamaria. That was nice. We have an opportunity to do some work in Vegas -- may be headed out there tomorrow -- swim goes my head. It would pay us a little money -- maybe that makes it worthwhile. What’s next? What’s next? What’s next? rings...:).