I'd first die fighting on my feet, than live begging on my knees.

It’s been now almost two months since my surgery. I’ve received an overwhelming amount of support from all corners of the world, from loved ones all the way to people who know me only by degrees of separation. At times I have felt tremendously unworthy of the love I’ve received, but mostly, I feel completely inspired by a human’s ability to love.

Earlier this month I was told my tumor markers were on a steady decline headed towards full remission. But the excitement of the good news was ephemeral after the doctor warned me that despite the excellent progress, I’d be faced with yet another difficult decision. My cancer is such, that I have a yes or no chance of it coming back, usually within the first two years after the surgery, and when it does, it comes back with a vengeance. Should it come back, they’d have to hit me with three rounds of BEP chemotherapy (apparently stands for Boring, Eternal, Poopy chemotherapy - you’d think they’d give it a cheerier name).

If you are reading this, and you have been diagnosed with my kind of cancer, one round of this chemo is administered on average 3 hours a day, 5 days a week for a full month; side effects include, loss of hearing, numbness and tingling in the extremities, infertility, loss of libido, lung degeneration, severe dehydration, terrible nausea, malnutrition almost certainly leading to hospitalization - have fun! To be fair, some of it might get better with time. But it’s all good, just remain in the 50 percentile that stays in remission for the rest of their lives.

Conversely, I can undergo one round of chemo, and decrease my otherwise yes or no chances of recurrence, down to 5%! Sounds good, no? NO! Did you not read the previous paragraph? Here’s the thing, two months post surgery, I am officially the young, healthy buck I was before my nut went HAM (hard as a mother effer, but like quite literally). It has taken everything in my being to accept the one round of chemo knowing I am “cancer free,” knowing that I could very well be in the 50% that stays in remission. And even when I survive this therapy, if I fall in the 5% that experiences recurrence, I’ll STILL need 3 or 4 more rounds of this garbage, and so why the hell did I go through the one round in the first place???

Either way, I shall live the rest of my life with one of two questions looming over me. “Will the cancer recur” or “did I really need chemo?” Considering my grandmother had breast cancer at my age, forwent chemo and has been cancer free all the way up to her sprite 92 years of age today, my decision comes with an added level of difficulty. But I have made my decision all the same: bring on the poison. To be honest, I can't imagine it’s any worse than the hangovers I’d get from playing bars with my old Irish punk band, or the one from when I turned 25 for that matter (still feeling that one).

So I prepare for battle.

Chemo: I do not know you yet, but when I’m through with you, you will know Alexei Acosta.