Thursday, September 5, 2013

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


please see my new documentary about health, cycling and hope: Share the Road

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.  

please see my new documentary about health, cycling and hope: Share the Road

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Breast Cancer, Male, 43 yrs


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

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

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