Kick mAss Thriver: Damian del Rio

In 1987, at age 15, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Five weeks of radiation therapy moved me into remission for 13 years. In 2001 my system relapsed for the 1st time. It was a huge surprise but after my treatment success in 1987 I was confident my system would quickly move into remission again. However, in 2003 I received bad news from my doctor when he called with news of the 2nd relapse. Given the seriousness of the situation I was treated with a toxic chemotherapy regimen and underwent a stem cell transplant. Although the process went smoothly my oncologist warned there was only about a 50% chance the treatment would work. I was frustrated with the prognosis but understood I needed to make some major decisions on how to spend my time given the uncertainty of my future. I left work in 2006 after the 3rd relapse and my oncologist was not optimistic about my prognosis. They searched for recent advancements in treatment, involved me in experimental trials and gave me more chemotherapy in 2008 to help with keeping tumors from growing too big during my 4th relapse.

As you might expect I was worried about my health but I was also exhausted from the process. I was in a violent battle with cancer but also dealing with divorce, relocation, the anxiety of falling behind in my career, adjusting to disability benefits and unfortunately having to sell my home. It was overwhelming. I wanted to keep busy but struggled with what to do as doctors were telling me my system was not responding to the treatment. Walking in circles, I’d ask myself where had I come from and how did I arrive here. Doctors told me to expect more treatment and not to return to work. I was stuck in neutral without responsibilities, commitments, goals or even a simple purpose. Stuck with nothing to do but wait caused confusion and aggravation I had never been exposed to.

In 2011 I reached out to the San Diego chapter of Stupid Cancer. It took me 10 years to ask for help but once I did I was quickly connected to a network of resources starting with the mAss Kickers Foundation. From there I met amazing people who were going through a similar experience and had so much to share. I learned of many organizations that were established to help people and their families being challenged by cancer. These groups include the LiveStrong Foundation, The Patient’s Advocacy Group, Imerman Angels and others. Within days I was connected to people who helped me emotionally, spiritually and practically. I found a healthcare counselor that assisted me in addressing medical billing and explained Medicare options. Imerman Angeles connected me with a peer mentor who had a similar story and some valuable advice.

I regret not having reached out for help earlier and now want to support Eric in his mission to help patient’s and their families fight stigma associated with cancer and change perceptions. mAss Kickers Foundation has done most of it’s work in the US but is branching out to places that don’t have a local chapter of Stupid Cancer. Susan G. Komen, Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, American Cancer Society and so many other groups don’t have a strong presence outside the United States. For many cultures the stigma associated with cancer hinders communities in establishing support groups and unfortunately the resources they provide. mAss Kickers Foundation wants to help in changing peoples attitudes. Eric and I want everyone to know that cancer is not always death sentence. 

Please Support my mAss Kickers page as we take post-treatment tumor/cancer "thrivership" GLOBAL!.

Here's to Not Moving On

Tumors have an incredible—maybe even ironic—sense of humor, timing. At least mine did. I’d had a six-month cough and who-knows-for-how-long lumps in my collarbone area before I finally saw a doctor. It was the same day that I rocked an interview for a new job and the day before I was headed to upstate New York for a month-long writing residency that I was awarded.

I thought I was in the clear when I told the Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist, “No, I haven’t had night sweats or fevers.” I thought that the lost weight, sleep, energy, and appetite were part of a post-lay-off depression. I thought the writing retreat would lift me up.

Not true.

I cancelled New York and turned down the job. I gave up writing. I did, however, get night sweats and low-grade fevers for the next twenty-two days. And just for fun, I got head-to-toe hives from a newly discovered allergy to amoxicillin the weekend before my surgery.

Well played, tumors.

I was officially diagnosed with Stage 2b Hodgkin’s in April 2010. I was 32, unemployed, uninsured, and poor, having cleaned out my savings just to get diagnosed. The irony? When I first noticed the symptoms, I had insurance and saw a PCP, but she wasn’t too concerned. More irony? I was denied emergency MediCal because my cancer wasn’t bad enough. (That’s a blog post in its own right.) After a financial freak out, I finally received emergency medical coverage, not insurance, through San Diego County. I had to swear that my net worth was zero.

But science is funny, too.

The original game plan was eight infusions of ABVD + high-dose radiation; then it was four infusions + low-dose radiation. Never mind that I was in remission after four. Stopping treatment then was unheard of for my case. In the end, I survived twelve chemo sessions but no radiation, give or take six months. I was hospitalized for pneumonia when I was almost finished, however—my ten-day Thanksgiving staycation at the ritzy Thornton in La Jolla delaying treatments for over a month.

While I make an effort to avoid speaking in hyperbole and sweeping—my god, the sweeping—generalizations, I must admit that hooking up with The Hodge was probably The Worst Day of My Humble Life. (See, I even inserted a “probably” to save myself the trouble of printing out this page and literally eating my own words.)

Forget heartbreaks and drama, discovering horrible secrets, house-shattering arguments with family, bad grades, ugly days, and the Boss from Hell. That April was exactly what T.S. Eliot described in The Wasteland as “the cruelest month,” kicking off a surreal and challenging year.

I think most survivors feel this way, having seen those dark places. Our initiation into this unknown territory feels lonely, even when our caregivers and friends stand by or carry us. I’ve discovered, though, the unparalleled support of fellow survivors and thrivers—a secret society of like-minded mAsskicking individuals who corroborate and collaborate, swap stories and show off scars. Instant bonding is known to happen, commiseration in masses (pun fully intended).

But it’s the “after” that’s difficult, when we need the most support and empathy. We must be patient with ourselves, remembering that healing is not about moving on. It’s about moving.

So I am. Slowly.

I’m writing, driving myself around town, applying for jobs, re-watching The Wire with good friends, brainstorming projects, enjoying food, learning drums on a beat-up kit in the middle of a cramped living room, meeting and conspiring with new people, traveling, reflecting, remembering, sometimes slipping, sometimes crying—out of guilt, relief, astonishment, but mostly a quiet gratitude.

Even in the act of moving, one can and is allowed to stumble.

Yes, the business of having cancer is individualized. Yes, each story is unique. Yes, it IS lonely. But we don’t have to be alone. My story could be your story. Your story is my story. All of these stories intersect and have traversed the same ground. These stories are on a continuum, forging and adding to a narrative much larger than we expected, one with deep histories and global trajectories.

Yes. This…is Our Story.

That Damn Freckle... PART I

It's hard for me to simplify the last 3 years of my life... so, if you're reading this I sincerely appreciate your willingness to hear PART I of my story. It was the Summer of 2008 & I had been happily living & working in San Diego for almost 2 years. Life was good...

That June, my mom noticed something on my left calf when my parents were visiting me in San Diego for the US Open. From across the room she saw that damn freckle & asked me how long it had been there... I told her I'd seen it when I was shaving my legs but hadn't really thought anything of it. I mean, I knew the danger signs & it didn't match up to any of them... it wasn't assymetrical, raised, large in diameter, bleeding, etc, etc. In fact, the only thing that made that damn freckle different from the hundreds of other freckles on my body was that it was black... all my other freckles were various shades of brown. But, for some reason that damn freckle gave my mom a bad feeling -- & my mom doesn't freak out about anything -- so I promised her I'd get it looked at as soon as I could.

So, on Friday, July 11, after a carefree, sun-filled vacation with my ex-boyfriend, I went to see my primary care physician for the first time. Lucky for me he was not only very cool but also very thorough... AND, I had great health insurance. I showed him that damn freckle & nervously laughed as I told him the story of my mom's worrisome discovery. Based on the lack of danger signs, he too thought it was nothing of concern. But -- & I'm thankful everyday for this but -- he said, "If it'll make your mom feel better, I can biopsy it." So, he shaved that damn freckle right off, put a band-aid on my leg & sent me on my way. I had a happy hour to go to after all... & that band-aid wasn't going to stop me!

A week & a half went by & still no word from the doctor... they always say "no news is good news" but something just didn't seem right. Finally, on Wednesday, 7/23, I got a call from the nurse on my way home from work... "The doctor would like you to come in ASAP so he can review your biopsy results with you." I knew that was a bad sign. I started to panic & begged her to tell me what was going on. Why did they need me to come in? Should I be worried? Why couldn't she just tell me everything was ok? After insisting she couldn't tell me over the phone, she put me on hold. I guess she got the doc's permission to tell me because when she came back on the line she said the 3 words that would haunt me til this day... "IT'S A MELANOMA."

The next week was a total blur... breaking the news to my family, lots of crying, scheduling my first oncologist appointment, shame, emotional phone calls with family & friends, internet research, anger, a likely stage I diagnosis, sleepless nights, denial & complete & utter confusion. How can I have cancer? What does this all mean? How bad is it? Does stage I mean I shouldn't be worried? Aren't I too young for this? Is it my fault? What's the oncologist going to say? Does cancer automatically mean chemo? Will I be allowed to be in the sun again? What if it spreads? Am I going to die? My imagination filled my mind & heart with fear that took me on an emotional rollercoaster I couldn't have prepared myself for no matter how hard I tried.

Friday, August 1 was my surgery... the oncologist cut a chunk out of my leg, both around & under where that damn freckle had once been, just to make sure the surrounding tissue was clear. Fortunately there was no pain... I would just be left with a dent in my leg & a lovely scar. After a very long week of waiting for results, we were given good news: CLEAR MARGINS. It was confirmed as stage I melanoma, the cancer cells hadn't spread internally & my lymph nodes were all healthy. I was physically "cancer free"... little did I know that emotionally the cancer would stick with me for the next 3 years...

Stay tuned for PART II...

Running is Living

Simple sentences sometimes tell complex stories. One such sentence says so much about the life I have lived for the past two years and the life I will most likely have to live for as long as I’m around. My story goes like this: I am living with cancer.

I was born with a genetic disorder called Multiple Endorcine Neoplasia 2A, but I wasn’t properly diagnosed until I was 28 years old. This disorder consists of tumors of the endocrine system, particularly on the thyroid and adrenal glands. On a cold February day I received results that would not only change my life completely, but would take the living breath out of my soul in that very moment. I tested positive for Medullary Thyroid Cancer, the main component of my genetic disorder. Two words from the oncologist’s mouth spun around in my head: cancer and incurable. With no medicinal cure to date we took advantage of my only option and I underwent a nine hour neck surgery to remove my thyroid and forty seven lymph nodes. The doctors removed as much of the cancer as they possibly could, but they were unable to remove all of it.

That was two years ago and today we play what is called the watch and wait game. I have been knowingly living with cancer since then. I was unknowingly living with cancer before then. I didn’t look sick five years ago, I certainly don’t look sick now and for the most part I’m really not that sick. Scientifically, though, I guess you could say I’m sick. Technically, I suppose. I try my best not to label myself as sick, but I am reminded of my disease with every scan, needle poke and doctor visit. This is my new life: Living with cancer.

Not all things that have stemmed from my cancer have been completely horrible. As a matter of fact, some things have turned out very well. I take my time more often, I watch the sun set every night, I think sunrises are amazing, I am more aware of life around me, I take better care of myself than I ever have before and I try to have fun, lots and lots of fun. I am involved in the cancer community, physically active, motivated and confident. I truly don’t “sweat the small stuff” and there isn’t a whole lot that gets me down. These are all wonderful things. They are simple things, like sand between my toes, but they are wonderful things.

The best thing that has happened to me is running. Yes. Running. It’s invigorating, empowering, meditative and so full of flaws that it’s perfect. There is nothing more revealing about yourself than a good run that leaves you with only your very own thoughts. Believe me: when I run, I sort out problems that I never knew I had. There is nothing more captivating than the very world that we live in as I explore it on my own two feet. It’s like watching life happen all around you, but it happens at your own pace.

There is nothing more satisfying to me than tearing out of the house at dusk and pushing myself beyond any limits I ever thought I had. Cancer does that. It can make you want to run around the world and see what you can do with yourself. And, in a way, running helps me put the sentence, “I am living with cancer” to work. To me, the words running and living are interchangeable. While the cancer may try to put some limits on my life, running helps to make some of those limits disappear. I plan to keep on running. After all, running is living and living is running.

I lost one of my best friends!

My name is Matt Ferstler and I am a Testicular
Cancer survivor and advocate. In January of 2008 I notice something different on my left testicle; for a year I kept pondering what it could be until one year later on January 23^rd 2009 I mustered up the strength to find the answers! I remember that day; the office was cold and lonely and I thought no one knew the fear I had. Two weeks prior I had done research on what was attacking my left testicle and much to my surprise I self-diagnosed myself as having the C word. I lost it! In my mind only people who are 70- or over are diagnosed with cancer, I was 22 and invincible. So, back to the doctor’s office; as I waited and waited my world was shaking beneath me. I knew that in only minutes all this cancer talk would become a reality. I got the verdict around 10:30am that morning and at about 10:39am I was a passionate fighter. I knew right away what my calling was in life.

The following Monday I had my scheduled left radical orchiectomy in which I lost one of my best friends. It was a sad moment for me but also a new beginning. I took on the nickname that January of “single jingles” meaning one testicle.

Over the next year in a half I created a non-profit to educate young men about the importance of self-exams. It is my goal to spread the word about Testicular Cancer all awhile helping men along the way. TC is the number one most common cancer among men in the US ages 15-35. Scary huh! Then let’s start talking about it!

Single Jingles has created shower cards and education materials all because TC is 98% survivable if it can be caught early and TC self-exams are the best way to check for signs monthly. I am now 2 years in remission and God willing I will be for a life time.

Everything was going well until ... it wasn't.

When I was growing up I used to get in trouble if I used any form of the word “suck.” Well mom, some things just suck. Tumors suck, cancer sucks ... suck, suck, suckity suck. Everybody knows it. Up until my own experience, cancer hadn’t touched my life personally. I had only seen it portrayed on tv or in movies. Nothing about my cancer journey was really what I expected. I thought in chemo I would be miserable, vomiting, frail and bed ridden. But thankfully I tolerated it really well. Unusually well, I thought. I thought I would be eager to be done and back in the real world. The latter has proven to be the most difficult part.

It all began with an itch. I wish it was the figurative itch like an itch to travel around the world but instead this is the literal itch. Nonetheless, it was the beginning of an adventure. I’ve been known to take a midday cat nap and one fateful day I woke up scratching my legs and feet like crazy. After the itchiness persisted for more than a week I went to my primary care doctor who kept asking me about a rash that did not exist, did blood work that came back normal and sent me on my way to a dermatologist. Dermatologist’s diagnosis: eczema. Antidote: shorter, cooler showers, less soap and vaseline (lots of vaseline). I felt dirty. I felt gross. And I felt worse.

I only saw that dermatologist and his voodoo medicine twice before I turned 23 and lost my health insurance. Off to fend for myself I began to uncontrollably cough (usually in your face) and once I started it was difficult to stop or catch my breath and each time I would nearly vomit or pass out. I dreaded anything funny because laughing got the coughing fits started too. It became difficult to breathe while laying down flat and I usually had to sleep nestled in the corner of our couch or steal pillows when everyone went to work to create a pillow “teepee” to perch myself upright. I remember sending a text one night that said “I’m afraid this is going to be something I can’t handle or afford.”

Shortly after that text I found myself in the ER, my heart and lungs were surrounded by immediately life threatening amounts of fluid, a huge tumor in my chest and lesions in my liver. I was finally diagnosed with stage IV Primary Mediastinal Large B Cell Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I started chemo immediately and all was going well until ... it wasn’t. I stopped responding to chemo. I was immediately put on salvage chemo (the first of which failed too) and shuffled off to have stem cell transplant. In conjunction with the stem cell transplant I participated in a clinical trial for Bexxar which made me radioactive (but not a superhero, I thought I should at least glow green or something). On 09/09/09 I finally heard the sweet word “remission.”

Since then I’ve been active in starting up the San Diego chapter of the I’m Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation for Young Adults, volunteer at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and active with other cancer non profits like Imerman Angels and First Descents. I’m really passionate about connecting with and advocating for young adult cancer survivors.

I thought being a cancer survivor and not a cancer patient would be the easy part. I thought life would continue as normal but now I would have a few extra battle scars and some cool stories. Being a survivor is really just the beginning.

The Beginning of a Long Road

Let's get it started, hah!
Let's get it started in here
Let's get it started, hah!

Black Eyed Peas, Let’s Get It Started, Elephunk 2003

I've been kicking mass for about 4 years now as a brain tumor patient and activist for young adults. I found the mAss Kickers Foundation while searching for pages on Facebook about brain tumors, hoping to find a group of people who understood what it was like to be out of the pediatric phase of their lives but not yet into the adult classification of the medical world.

In September of 2007, my life transformed from that of a “normal” teen to that of what I like to call a “frequent flyer” for hospitals. I had been experiencing chest pain accompanied by tingling, numbness, and an electric shock in my head on and off for about a year; the symptoms gradually accumulated after starting off with originally just the chest pain and occurred once every few months, then once a month, and finally multiple times a week to the point where I was worried about when the next attack would strike each day. The chest pain began waking me up from deep sleeps, and the electric shocks would zap out of nowhere, leaving me tired and confused with occasional headaches.

I went to see a cardiologist first because the chest pain was the most frequent symptom and easiest to link to a field of medicine, cardiology. The doctor had me wear a heart monitor and prick my finger for a month to check for heart problems and diabetes, both of which came back negative. The next test he ordered would change my life and eventually lead me to discovering mAss kickers: an MRI to check on the neurological nature of the tingling and numbness symptoms.

Two hours after I had my first MRI I received a phone call explaining that I had a brain tumor in my left frontal lobe that was about the size of a thumb (from the tip to the 1st knuckle) made of galglioglioma/astrocytoma cells. While I was happy to have a diagnosis, my family was freaking out! It wasn’t until a week later that we found out the tumor was benign, and this past year the specific cell type after a checkup MRI showed the tumor to be slightly more prominent than the previous screening.

Doctors couldn’t definitively link the tumor to my symptoms, now known as focal point seizures, and the location of the tumor was too close to speech and sight headquarters in my brain to do surgery and guarantee the successful elimination of the symptoms. Naturally, most surgeons don’t jump at the chance to operate on a benign tumor unless there is a dire need to, but I’ve always believed that the tumor plays a role in whatever produces my symptoms. After seeing several neurologists whose migraine/seizure medications knocked me on my ass for months at a time without reducing my symptoms, I found one in 2009 who took a personal interest in my case and vowed that her medicine would make a difference. Two years and 1,000mg of Keppra a day later there has been a huge decrease in my symptoms and I have a seizure once a month if that.

The mAss Kickers Foundation turned my perspective on tumors/cancer from embarrassment to pride! I didn’t want to let people know why I was missing school or always tired because my medical life just wasn’t “normal,” but since discovering the MKF I shout my diagnosis from the rooftops to spread awareness about statistics and treatment options. I love wearing my bright yellow TUMORS SUCK! t-shirt on casual days at school and handing out stickers to spread the mAss kickers message and attitude about putting up a fight to kick mAss. My mAss hogged my free time for over a dozen MRI scans, EEGs, weeks, and weekends in half a dozen hospitals - it doesn't get to take up any more time (unless it's for a checkup appointment haha)!

Being involved with and advocating for the MKF for me entails meeting amazing people, learning about other fantastic foundations/organizations, staying up to date with research, promoting events, and encouraging my community to get involved with us tough cookies who make up the mAss Kickers Foundation. Supporters of the mAss Kickers Foundation are funny, artsy, athletic, and knowledgeable patients/friends/family members who aren’t afraid to say that TUMORS SUCK!..so join us in the fight against tumors/cancers with a spunky attitude and take charge against mASSes of all types and sizes! This blog is the start (get the “Let’s Get It Started” intro now?) of me getting more involved and connecting with the tumor/cancer community out there in the world. Here we goooooooo!

My lovely lady lumps

I don't like attention. I'm not the propagating type. But a breast cancer diagnosis challenged my concept of life and offered me a kind of purpose- to reach out to others. I am writing this and doing all I can to make "kicking mASS" a positive and growing experience.
Last summer, at the age of 30 I found a tiny lump in my breast. I was motioned through all of the doctor visits, mammograms, ultrasounds and even an excisional biopsy. All the while every medical professional along the way reassuring me with the words, "It's nothing. You're too young and healthy." When the biopsy pathology report was available I went to see the surgeon with my two young boys in tow. I was sat down in his office, not an exam room, and still failed to recognize that I was about to be delivered a big blow.
"They found cancer." It was shocking news, especially when all the doctors anticipated the tumor to be benign. The first few hours after diagnosis were difficult. I didn't know anything about cancer. The very word was synonymous with terminal, death. But I wasn't devastated or even angry. I was instead very driven to learn all I could and particularly interested in breast cancer in young women. I may have been blind-sided with the diagnosis, but I was not about to fight cancer blindly.
In a matter of weeks I was wearing a hairnet and an equally unfashionable gown, giving thumbs up to my husband from a rolling bed. I had undergone a bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction and a sentinel node biopsy in the five hours prior.
I was staged at 1A. Although my cancer was invasive, it had not spread to my lymph nodes. I did not carry any known breast cancer gene mutations (BRCA 1, 2) and further testing done on the mass provided a detailed biology that determined that I would not benefit from chemo. I did not do radiation either. My only treatments were surgery and 5 years of tamoxifen.
In this past year, I have met many young women who have and still fight breast cancer. I am very active in our young survivor group, serving on the committee for the Pink Ribbon Cowgirls, a program of the Breast Cancer Resource Center of Texas. I volunteer my time with this local group to make sure that other women are afforded the same information, support and comfort I was given. My quest for the latest and greatest news on breast cancer is unending.
I am testimony to the importance of early detection. Be your own health advocate...it could save your life.

Life As I Knew It Stopped: My Cancer Story

My name is Patti Murillo-Casa and I am a Cervical Cancer Survivor and advocate. In October of 2008, after having several symptoms and feeling very fatigued, I finally went to visit my GYN after almost 4 years of not doing so. Why did I not go sooner? The same reasons that many women have - we are too busy, we feel fine, there is no "need" to. I had been with the same partner for over 10 years, what could possibly happen to me? Well I soon found out that a lot can happen. Life as I knew it STOPPED!!

Here I was, about to enjoy life to the fullest, my husband and I had made so many plans after we both retired from the New York City Police Department after 20+ years of service as Police Officers. All those plans were NOT happening after my doctor hit me with the shocking news that I had Stage IIB Cervical Cancer. I thought, I'm finally retired, and now I'm going to die from cervical cancer? I had so many questions-- Where did it come from? How did this happen? Have they just given me a death sentence? C'mon I carry a gun and I'm a pretty good shot-- Can I shoot this intruder dead? So many questions to be answered, and not all the answers made sense. My husband and I left the doctor's office numb. Due to my lack of education and misconceptions of this disease, I was ashamed that I had cervical cancer due to HPV (the Human Papilloma Virus - a sexually transmitted infection). We did a lot of crying and a lot of hugging and I kept asking myself what did I do wrong to deserve this? I was about to start the fight for my life....

Being my tumor was too big I was not a candidate for surgery, so my treatments consisted of chemotherapy, external and internal radiation. I was going to get radiation five days a week for seven weeks, chemotherapy once a week for seven weeks, and if that wasn't enough, two treatments of internal radiation. The journey was long and difficult to say the least. It's something I would not wish on anybody.

On May 5, 2009, I got my PET scan to see if all of these treatments had worked. I had never felt so anxious before in my life. Thankfully, my tumor was GONE and there were NO cancer cells visible. My prayers had been answered, the nightmare was over!!!

Now I use my story and my experience to make women aware about this preventable disease and to not become a statistic. Currently, I am the New York Chapter President of Tamika and Friends, Inc. T&F is a non-profit organization dedicated to raising awareness about cervical cancer and its link to the Human Papilloma Virus (HPV). Cervical Cancer is preventable yet, every hour a woman gets diagnosed with cervical cancer and every 2.5 hours a woman dies from cervical cancer. We know where this cancer comes from - a virus (HPV) and we have the tools to prevent it. Know that you do NOT have to be ashamed if you have HPV. It is NOT the result of promiscuous sexual behavior, or being unfaithful to your partner nor does it mean that you will automatically have cervical cancer. HPV is the most common sexually transmitted infection. According to the Center Of Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in the United States over 6 million people (men and women) get an HPV infection every year and at least 50% of the people who have ever had sex will have HPV at some time in their life. The good news is that for most people the infection is transient.

This disease takes away your identity, it changes your life and it affects the people around you and unfortunately, in many cases it can even take your life. No woman should die from this preventable disease or lose their fertility to cervical cancer. I have been cancer free for two years. It's still nerve wracking when I visit my doctor because the fear of the cancer returning is always there, but I try to keep a positive attitude and keep moving forward. This is now the norm for me, and God willing I will be cancer free for many years to come.

Introduction by Eric Galvez, President mAss Kickers Foundation

Welcome to a New Group blog. A few of my friends decided to get together and combine forces on a unique new cancer blog. You will be exposed to different types of survivorship. Just thought it would be cool to see what different survivors were up to. The goal of the blog is to expose people to the different issues that survivors of different types of tumors/cancer have to deal with. We all have issues we have to deal with, but we all have what it takes to mount a unified counter-attack against these diseases. In the wise words of Sesame Street, We are different but the same. We will be posting at least once a month. You will find each of us has a unique story. WE ARE NOT VICTIMS! Here is my story as a video.




Please take a look around! We will be open to suggestions to improve the Group Blog.