Touched by Cancer

By Mark Irving Lovell

Mark’s journey and battle with cancer at the young age of fifty-one came as a complete shock as you can imagine. Eating right, exercising, and living for the future instead of living for the moment was Mark’s approach to life. “I want to be healthy,” he said, ready for his golden years, but then suddenly, within just a few short months, everything fell apart! Progressing from no symptoms whatsoever to advanced stage-four non-Hodgkin Burkitt lymphoma in less than three months, Mark was in big, big trouble! He had been diagnosed with one of the most aggressive forms of cancer anyone can get, and so his battle to survive began with the help from his wife and over thirty doctors. Mark poses an interesting question in this book that asks you to reflect on your life, back to the first memories from your childhood. How do our choices in life and the consequences of those choices affect our life’s path? Those decisions can ultimately determine our physical and mental health?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643348124

Book preview

Chapter One

In the Beginning

In the beginning. This is a subject that I have spent a lot of time thinking about lately. I find myself sitting on the couch, driving down the road, or somewhere daydreaming and reflecting on my life and those old memories that have meant so much to me over the years. Looking back to early 2016, it seemed like one minute everything was fine, and then the next minute, there I was lying all alone upstairs on the sixth floor of the hospital in the Cancer Ward. All alone with nothing but time, time to lie there and stare up at the ceiling and think. After everything had calmed down and I had finally made it through being admitted into the emergency room, nine days in the CCU (critical care unit) ward, and then upstairs to the cancer ward, I finally had some quiet time to think about everything that had just happened to me. What was going on with this hurricane of events my wife, Chris, and I had just gone through? What just happened to me, I almost died or at least I haven’t died yet? Is my life over and if not, what happens next? What’s going on here, where am I, who were all of those doctors swarming around me, and what are all these lines that are connected to my body? So many questions but one step at a time please; just slow down, Mark. Why am I here and what did I do wrong to deserve this, such an aggressive and advanced fast-growing cancer? Where is my wife? I need my wife!

Where was I yesterday, where am I today, and where in the world will I be tomorrow? Maybe not even tomorrow but in the next hour! Even before I got sick and was diagnosed with this cancer, I would often find myself somewhere during the day or night thinking about my past, present, and future. Fortunately for me, as it turns out, I have a very positive outlook and sometimes humorous approach to life. Being able to laugh at myself and not take life too seriously most of the time has throttled me back and helped me lately when I get upset at stupid stuff, but cancer, that brings a whole different challenge into your life especially when you are diagnosed and hear those words out loud in a doctor’s office!

Let me stop and pause here to ask you a very interesting question, one that comes to mind more often now that I’ve been through my battle with cancer. Do you ever find yourself sometimes thinking back to your childhood? Wherever you are right now reading this book, take a minute to think back to when you were very young. Think way back as far back as you can.

What is that very first memory in your life as a child? How old were you and who was with you at the time if anyone? What were you doing? Is it a good memory or a bad one? Have you ever stopped for a minute prior to my asking you this question and really thought back to your earliest memory or your early childhood? Certain events we experience or people we meet can trigger those memories as our lives progress. Our memories, our experiences, our choices, our decisions, and those consequences of those decisions make us, us.

What is your first memory?

Sitting on our front porch with my mom was my very first memory as a little boy growing up in Hayward, California. Our house sat directly across the street from the Fairview Fire Station up in the hills of the East Bay Area in Northern California. I clearly remember sitting there on our front porch, my little butt perched on the edge of our steps leading up to the second story porch. My feet barely if at all touching the next wooden stair below. I was probably somewhere around four or maybe five years old right around 1968/1969. I remember it being a bright, clear cloudless, blue-sky day. It was the kind of day we usually experienced in Northern California as much as I can remember from my childhood. Interesting that I choose not to remember any of the bad weather days except for an occasional thunderstorm and a very rare snowstorm that we had when I was much older.

I remember that sitting right next to me on that porch to my left was my beautiful young mom, smiling down at me. This is my first memory and my most cherished memory of my mom. I remember being so happy there on that porch hanging out with her and just having fun. We were sitting there together laughing, and I remember looking up into her eyes, smiling like only a child can smile and that warm feeling of just pure joy and love! That first memory I have of smiling and laughing with my mom sitting there on our front porch that day will be a memory I will hopefully always cherish and never forget. Each time I reflect on this memory, it becomes even stronger and even more meaningful. Just like now sitting here writing this book and remembering it once again it brings a smile and a tear to my face. My mother died three years later early in the morning on February 2, 1972, in a tragic automobile accident when I was just seven years old.

You never know what the person next to you is going through or has been through in their life. Why not try to cheer them up even if it’s just a quick smile. The latest poll I read says there are 7.7 billion people in this world, so what are the chances of two strangers meeting, and why wouldn’t we be respectful to each other as we may never see them again? Thinking about the good times when you were younger tends to brighten up someone’s day. Most all the people I speak with enjoy talking with me about this question or subject and sharing what they remember from their youth. Most of those conversations are usually memories of the good times they remember, but like I mentioned, sometimes they are not.

As I’m back to traveling again now for my job and having made it to this point of my life including my cancer fight, I often talk to people and ask them this very same question about their first memories. Many (almost everyone) who I have spoken with and continue to speak with share with me their happy memories as a child. Occasionally I will run across someone who is so beat down by life, they just either don’t care or don’t want to think about it. My heart goes out to them, and I make sure to say a quick prayer to myself that they would somehow overcome their problems whatever those may be.

I spoke with a gentleman in San Diego, California, who’s first memory was around the age of three. He remembered being held in his mother’s arms while at a funeral home. He grew up in a third-world country and vividly recalls looking at his father’s casket as many others were there attending the funeral. That hit home with me because I had a similar experience when I was very young.

Then there was a waitress I was talking to in Portland, Oregon, at a local restaurant near the airport where I love to grab a quick lunch when traveling. I asked her the same question and she had one of the coolest answers I have heard so far. Without knowing the reason I asked this question, she hesitated to answer and just stared at me. I quickly explained that I was writing a book. Once she realized why I had asked, she said that her first memory was holding her dog when she was around four years old and its name was Chemo. Maybe it was Kemo, but I assumed it was Chemo by the way she reacted to the question. She then added that she also remembered at a very early age sitting outside at night watching the stars. When I told her that I was writing my book about surviving cancer and that one of my favorite things to do was to sit outside at night and watch the stars with my children, we both commented on how cool that was.

One night when I was staying in Billings, Montana, and I asked the front-counter woman who was checking me into my hotel the same question. She had a very interesting response and knew her answer immediately. She remembered asking her dad when she was around four years old about a family vacation they had gone on when she was two or three. Her dad told her that they had never gone on a vacation and that he had no idea or memory himself of what she was describing to him. She explained to me that she grew up in Afghanistan and she believed in reincarnation. What was interesting to me was that she remembered that vacation at such a young age and that her parents had never taken her on that vacation. She, too, thanked me for the conversation and for asking her this interesting question.

One very nice lady I was talking with in Seattle, Washington, said she was around three or four and was attending some sort of formal backyard party with her mother and older brother. Everyone there was very well dressed, and her mom in a very nice long dress with her high-heeled shoes on. As her mom was off in the distance talking with some other people at the party, she and her brother started to wrestle on the grass next to the swimming pool. One thing led to another, and the brother pulled off one of her boots and threw it into the pool. She remembers running straight after her boot and jumping into the pool to get it back not realizing that she couldn’t swim. She remembered vividly floating slowly to the bottom of the pool, looking up toward the surface of the water. Suddenly splash came mom diving in after her! Grabbing her by the hair and pulling her up and out to safety.

I was having lunch one day with a friend in Oregon City, Oregon, who is a business client of mine and the same question came up. He shared with me that he had grown up here in Eastern Washington on a farm in a large family. He was the youngest of many brothers who, one day, while they were out in the field playing, decided to dismantle their dad’s irrigation system so they all could play in the huge mud puddle they had created. Everything went great until that next day when their dad found out what they had done. He was even madder when he told them that they didn’t reassemble the system before the timer kicked on very early the next morning and flooded the farm! He said that he was around the age of three or four when this happened. His older brothers and he got in a ton of trouble for wasting all that water! I teased him about his second memory being the beat down of him and his brothers by his dad.

I think one of my fondest stories was just recently while on a vacation to the Grand Canyon. We took a guided tour while up in Page, Arizona, out into Antelope Canyon and had an amazing adventure. While on the trip, we were out in the middle of the desert walking back to our vehicle side by side with our guide. I asked him the same question. Being 100 percent Navajo Indian, he explained to me that his family owns thirty thousand acres of land there, and as a kid, he would ride with his father in their old pickup truck listening to beautiful classical music on the radio. It all made perfect sense because while we were back in the slot canyon, all of us on the tour just stood there in silence as he pulled out of his backpack a double flute and played us an amazing song. It was a great experience as the music resonated throughout the canyon and will always be a special memory for me.

I could go on and on about all the people and their memories, but the point is that life happens. Try this yourself and ask one of the 7.7 billion people you cross paths with this same question. See what kind of answers you hear back, and you might be pleasantly surprised. It’s cool to start a conversation with someone in person or virtually and bring a smile to their face, someone who maybe doesn’t take the time often enough to reflect on those good memories in their life. It’s very cool, too, to see the looks and reactions on others’ faces when they have those fond childhood memories. It also kind of slows us down a little bit temporarily and helps us get a better perspective on life, I think.

Life can sneak up on us in a flash, and suddenly, it’s just one big blur. Isn’t it interesting how our society has evolved over time and how fast life in general moves? Do we ever slow down and just relax? Some of us do, but not all of us. Most of the time it just takes a personal wakeup call like a funeral or to have something happen to someone very close forcing us to pause and reflect on life. Well, that’s what happened to my wife, Chris, and I. Suddenly five, ten, twenty years went by within the blink of an eye or as the Bible says, like a vapor, and now suddenly there we were facing the challenge and honestly the scare of our lives!

For some reason, when I’m faced with a challenging situation, I look toward humor to distract me from the reality of what’s happening. In my younger days, some would have called it sarcasm, but I have a different outlook and style of humor now as I’m a bit older. It took me many years to really evolve my approach with other people and their feelings, so now I’m more careful with my humor and focus mostly on self-inflicted sarcasm, which is usually more effective and entertaining anyway. I’m not the only one who gets a kick out of life’s little mishaps and humorous moments. My wife loves to laugh at me as well, mostly when I hurt myself or embarrass myself in some way!

There was a time many years ago when we spent the weekend up at a friend’s beautiful log home on the top of Bear Mountain near Lake Chelan in Eastern Washington. The home belonged to our good friends Greg and Linda. We are not poor, but we are not by any means rich either, so anytime we get to live large we greatly appreciate the experience to live, love and laugh with our awesome friends. Chris and Linda were downstairs early on Saturday morning sitting on the bright red leather couch, drinking coffee, and laughing out loud while looking out the full wall of glass windows over the peaceful Lake Chelan. I still blame their loud talking that rudely woke me up for what was about to happen. Still very tired from waking up early, I got out of bed to come downstairs and say good morning. The house, if you can imagine, was a beautiful log home that had been featured in a popular magazine recently and perched on the side of the mountain with gorgeous views of the other mountains surrounding the lake. The home has the most beautiful wood everywhere including the polished wood staircase I was about to walk down in my socks. So as I headed downstairs to say good morning, I had just rounded the second flight of stairs making a sharp 180-degree turn, and yep, you guessed it, down I went.

I went down, and I went down hard! Loud as it could possibly have been, I bounced all the way to the bottom riding my right side, right cheek, and right wrist, yelling all the way down about eight or nine steps. I scared the girls to death as they both jumped straight up off the couch where they had been sitting in silence and came running across the room to see what had just happened to me. I’m sure they were concerned initially, I think, and at least curious if I was alive or not. When they both had made it quickly over to where I was, they saw that I was sprawled out across the floor on my back and starting to move very slowly. As I looked up at Chris and Linda, there was a moment of silence and staring at each other, and then both women just started laughing as hard as they could and at my expense of course! Linda looked up at the wood panel wall and noticed that there were fingernail marks all the way down to the bottom step. After I collected myself and my thoughts, I reminded her that I am an excellent woodworker and I could repair the wall no problem. She looked at me and sternly said, No way; if I repaired the damage, then no one would ever believe her story without that evidence!

I was mad at first for my wife laughing at me, but when I pulled my shirt up and saw that huge purple bruise that went from my upper thigh to my armpit, all I could do was eventually get over it and laugh too. I’ll survive. Sure, I get upset at times as we all do, but if you can’t laugh at yourself, then you might be just a little bit too stressed out! I have German heritage and inherited anger issues from my dad and grandma Eileen, but overall, as I’m getting older, I am more of an easygoing person. My family may not agree, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Life has its ups and downs for sure. If you can’t laugh at life, what’s the alternative. Cancer is very much no laughing matter, but the attitude I choose to approach any of my life situations with including the cancer is a positive one. Even more importantly is a strong faith in God, and I knew from my past experiences and learning that a strong faith and hope would help to determine my mental and physical health. But even without any cancer or any other huge life challenge, when you really think about life, it’s pretty good, isn’t it? If you don’t think so or you know someone who is having problems in general, then do what you can for yourself or for them to help brighten up their life! Why wouldn’t we do the best we could to set a good example.

I travel a lot for my job and sometimes will see a clothing line at SeaTac airport or other airports called Life Is Good. I usually stop and pause briefly or go into the shop because it just makes me think back on the many good times in my life and how grateful I am to be alive!

In the beginning of January 2016, I was starting to notice that something was wrong with me. I was thinking about what was happening to me while driving down the 405 freeway early in the morning heading to work. The cars were traveling at the normal flow of traffic, which was about fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit, and of course, I was getting passed. I was somewhere near Woodinville heading down south to Sumner in my company car thinking about the couple of doctors’ appointments I had been to so far and staring out the front window. My symptoms had just started really acting up, and I found myself wandering mentally, daydreaming but somehow watching the road at the same time. My chin was resting in my left palm with my left elbow resting on the edge of the door against the window. I was already within a few weeks so tired of being sick and getting tired all the time. In hindsight now, I had no idea what was coming down the pipe or what was about to happen to me over the next several months and years to come. As I stared out the window, I caught the sight of a school bus going the opposite direction on the freeway, and it triggered one of those many memories from my childhood. Funny how those daydreams and thoughts distract you from how bad you’re feeling at least for a little while.

As I stared out the window, it seemed like it was just yesterday. I was riding my most valued asset in the world, a brand-new dark-blue Schwinn twenty-inch-wheel sports bike. It was the coolest thing I had ever owned, other than a new stereo set I won in a contest, at the grand old age of eleven, and it was all mine. When I got the bike on Christmas morning, as soon as my dad let me out of the front yard, I rode it down the hill and into downtown Hayward. I rode around town for hours just having a blast before having to pedal all that way back up the long D Street hill later that afternoon back to my house. We had no cell phones back then to text or call home and certainly no helmets. The hill getting back home was much easier going down than up. Imagine that. It was my first experience of total independence being free, and it felt awesome!

My bicycle was the best thing ever. I would ride it to Fairview Elementary School, my school, every weekday just down the street from my house on Maude Avenue. Every day when I rode my bike to school, I would wait to race the same yellow school bus down our street starting from my house all the way to the school. There was the Fairview Fire Station right outside our front door directly across the street from our house. This is where I would stage the start of my race against the bus and sit like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. My nice new shiny blue sports bike backed up against the firehouse door. I was staged on the inclined ramp so I could get a gravity start with my right foot ready to push off when the time was right. I would use that same ramp on the weekends to gain speed into my yard where my other friend Billy and I would set up jumps and tear through our dirt bike track we built. Each morning the school bus race started there at the fire station and continued down the street about two blocks ending in the school parking lot. After getting staged and ready to race I would listen for the bus to come around the corner just up the hill to my left. The anxiety level would escalate when I would see those big round headlights pointed straight at me getting closer and closer. The sound of the engine got louder as it approached, and then as soon as I could read Fairview School District on the side, I was off and pedaling like crazy.

I flew down the road with not a care in the world other than maybe missing a jump or two off one of the many driveway curbs along the way. I felt like I was doing a hundred miles an hour, I would find out much later what that really does feel like, but I was probably only doing thirty if that. One of my best friends, Kenny, would be there on the bus cheering me on from his window seat and getting all the other kids onboard riled up and yelling for the bus driver to speed up. The driver never did, of course, because that would mean that she was participating and may be an accomplice, so she never acknowledged me at all, not even once. Just for the record, I always beat her to the school and always won the race. I would sit there on my bike with a huge smile waiting for the bus to come to its stopping point and for my friends to get off before I put the bike away in the rack and locked it up. Those were good times. Now it seems like forty years has just suddenly passed by like a flash or more accurately that vapor! You know the feeling.

As my daydream driving down the 405 came to an end, I was back to being reminded that it had been weeks now of doctors’ appointments, and I was still not feeling very good. I was getting worse. Before getting sick, I really didn’t look back too often on the beginning and my childhood other than thinking about my mom or maybe something that triggered a memory. Now that I was feeling worse and not getting any better, my situation was starting to feel very serious and getting a little bit scary. I didn’t know what to expect, I was thinking more lately about my memories, my childhood and at that moment how fast my life has flown by. Right then in the car, that very first memory of me and my mom on the porch I mentioned earlier came back to me again and as vivid as I could have ever remembered.

Later that night, as I lay in my bed the same as so many other nights, I tried to go to sleep again, not knowing if I would wake up the next morning. I thought about being a father and grandfather and how far I had come in my life. I didn’t want to leave just yet; I’m not done here! Those first memories with my mom and other life