Brian Sluga

I was healthy. I was running college cross country, and I found a lump. I had no idea what it was. I hadn’t even heard of testicular cancer before. If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. I want as a survivor to tell my story and help others in their journey.

This discussion will be wide-ranging and tell how our actions contribute to our own health and growth. I have no personal trainer or housekeeper, but I do have a very regimented schedule consisting of three to four hours of writing daily, walking to the beach almost daily and a five-day-a-week sauna routine.

One might think of a person with cancer as unhealthy, with a particular look of yellowish skin, dark circles under their eyes and a caved-in face. But not all health is physically seen. Some are mental. After my cancer surgery, my life was out of control with an all-gas, no-brakes attitude.

I became uncertain about my life path. There was no map or instruction book. I wore some non-conformative clothing during this time in my life and partied a bit too much. I did not study enough, even though I was a student-athlete at a junior college. For the first time in my life, I questioned if I could succeed. How did I lift my mind?

Keeping my mind stimulated­ was particularly valuable. Actually, taking college classes I truly enjoyed that played to my personality helped me want to study. I didn’t just take classes I thought would look good on a transcript. I was finding my way after many years of tests and follow-up procedures. 

Taking interesting courses kept my mind from wandering and focusing on unhealthy behaviors. Behavior is important. My mom knew how hard it was on me as a young man to be sick. In spring, she would say, “It’s a beautiful day for a run.”

I was fearless, diving head-first into the fray. I would try to run every day and beat my time or distance, even if it was just by a small amount.

Running competitively was my new thing. It helped me shape who I was meant to be. Those race days, even years after my cancer, brought me to a magical place.

On race day all my stress and anxiety would disappear. I was so free once that starter shot the gun.

Everything that weighed on my mind heavily didn’t matter then. Each race day was a celebration. As a competitor, I know strange things happen in races. I look at the places where my life diverged from “normalcy.” That is where my story begins.

There were times when I felt I needed to be alone to mentally heal after a race. Sure, I knew everyone meant well by asking how I was feeling. But I felt better not thinking about my health and just enjoying the solitude run.

Funny thing about life after cancer, nothing is better than being able to forget about your past. Those endless summers and sad nights after my surgery were all gone when I ran. 

I tended to underestimate the pleasure brought forth by new experiences. In the end, I would discover myself and the world that was to be grand. My morning moods at times glum, faded over time. This journey felt more like an exhausting routine, and I would rather stop and eat grass than keep going. My mental motivation had been renewed, over time. If a stranger were to ask me what the most important steps in my recovery path were, I’d go back to efficiency. Set lofty goals and increase the pace. I did this with my studies and with running.

I trained weekly with a local running group. I labored for six months training for my first marathon. A total of 50 to 60 miles a week, through pain, rain and windy days. I struggled every day, thinking about my past and future. Some days, it was like a cold hard truth slapping me in the face. Much like the winter chill on a December morning. The grim truth is that to be successful in the marathon is to accept the distance and respect it. Finishing was a signal to me and the rest of the world that I was not only tough, but I had recovered.

Reimagining and feeling inspired by a reflection of a new way of life, I saw the world differently. I saw things almost like stars colliding. Now I could see myself growing older, being more educated on my health. I’d been given the opportunity to have a second life. I questioned my existence before and after the surgery.

Here I am still alive, now writing daily about my experiences of surviving testicular cancer and standing tall. I’m no longer a wise guy from my youth. My writing has shown me the possible. It’s transformed my life. I have discovered my words can help others with their cancer survivorship. All of your hopes, dreams and experiences are like fingerprints in a maze of life. No one has the same experiences, dreams and fears.

No one else can do this but you. Whether you're a runner, writer or weekend warrior playing golf or tennis, each story is as unique as a fingerprint.

One must get out of the four walls once in a while. I have realized doing new things can challenge your mind. It can become too easy to sit at that desk and forget to leave it. As you may be unsure of your future, feel driven to break up the dullness. Action and change are fresh ways of calming your fears. Trying to achieve the right amount of change to calm the mind and grow is exciting.

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Articles

After recovering from testicular cancer, I feel as though I've earned a second life where I face my fears head-on.

Embracing a New Way of Life After Cancer 

My personal experience brought to life the all-pervading turbulence of testicular cancer. A harrowing impact on a youth. Turns out, that there was only one question for me: how to go about living? During this time, my mind had the capacity to understand the force of cancer and the limits of humans to affect outcomes, but I was not prepared for what it would do to my mental state of health.

At times, the culmination of pure exhaustion left me crumpled in bed. How could I continue with the daily routine? I was 20 years old, so I decided to concentrate on sleep, running, eating and studying. And that was OK, sometimes. It taught me that life’s simple pleasures can be a routine; going into auto-pilot wasn’t a bad thing.

After running ten extra miles each week and a few sleepless nights along the way, I decided I needed a goal, which was to run a marathon. Feeling better and cancer-free was what I wanted. My strategy was to start by learning the fundamentals of my body and nurturing it. I did worry that every little ache and pain meant the cancer was back. Those days when I was in and out of my cancer testing, I was always pushing my limits and trying to get back to where I once was as an athlete.

Several months of stretching my running distances and being given “clear” signals from my doctors gave me confidence in understanding what my body was telling me. I got around to confronting my running habits. I remembered Coach Mac from my high school days always saying, “Sluga, Keep your arms down! Forge ahead!”

My social circle remained a constant source of inspiration and encouragement. I kept my business of knowing where I was going to myself. I tossed away all the grudges and all the negativity that overwhelmed my life. I came to realize not everyone needed to know about my cancer survivorship. I was like a tree. I nourished myself every day and grew.

Not everyone saw how much I grew, but I did and learned that friends and family helped me become positive.

After all these years, that familiar feeling I once had during my freshman year of college has come back. That feeling of power and health. Health, not only in my body but in my mind. My faith as a Christian helped me know I was never alone. Through the years I have seen the sun going down at the end of the day. Like the sun I may be down but will rise tomorrow. God’s grace helped me understand that I was not defeated.

I learned life goes on, and not as I had planned on making my own decisions and that taking risks were part of the plan. I did fail at times. I changed my college major five times over ten years and partied more than I care to admit. It was all about trying to find meaning in life. I ended up discovering my gut instinct (God) doesn’t lie.

It led me to believe in myself and my abilities. I could set lofty goals and achieve them. Trust yourself!

In contemplating the way I have become, I realized cancer did not define me, but it shaped me. I have a grand lifetime of being with great supportive friends, family, colleagues and the love of my life. That’s not such a terrible position to be in. Oh, and anyway, I'm learning more every day and still growing like a palm tree.

Readers, reflect on how you coped during recovery from illness:

Are you still there or taking calculated risks?

Looking back on my experience with testicular cancer at a young age, I realize that cancer didn't define me — it helped shape me. 

The Way Cancer Has Shaped Me 

That 45-minute procedure was all I needed to discover I was cancer-free.

My fears went away temporarily when I heard it was prescribed by Dr. K for me. I had no idea what a lymphangiogram was. A blue dye, called contrast, would be infused into the webbing between my first and second toes on each foot. Then a small cut would be made, and a tube inserted into the channel.That was the easy part.

A very rough-and-tumble radiology tech entered my room. The tech said, “when the lymphangiogram is over, I’ll sew up the little cuts.” I figured he would give me some shots in my foot and stitch me up. Instead, he handed me a large white towel and said, “Put this towel in your teeth and bite down, you’re going to want to punch, kick and hit me, but please don’t.”

What I felt was a blazing, scorching, torrid fire in my toes. The pain was more excruciating then if I would’ve touched the sun itself. The doctor asked if I required a cup of ice to chew to help ease the pain, I screamed, “No please make it stop!”

In total, after the dye was injected, the procedure took less than a Catholic Mass, but it felt like an eternity. I was disoriented, self-conscious, dizzy and awkward. I recall I said I felt like Superman, sounding dumb, to someone at the hospital I was trying to impress.

But it was then that I embarked on a life change, a new beginning. No more feeling sorry and melancholy. Although I was afraid of a blank page in my journal and scared of being together with someone of the opposite sex, I was prepared to be more than a survivor. I had my life, great family and friends. God gave me a second chance.

The day I was released to go home I told my doctor and myself I was going to get plenty of rest so that I could wake each morning feeling refreshed and ready to race another 5k. I discovered attention to myself was what I needed to focus on to shut down the fear of cancer returning — focusing on anything else would not be beneficial.

The clock reads the time as it is set. There are no products to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent testicular cancer. However, that did not stop me from looking back and wonder what I should have done differently. But those thoughts were soon replaced by inspiration to a new way of life.

I saw the world differently. I saw things almost like stars colliding. Now I could see myself growing older, being more educated on my health. I’d been given the opportunity to have a second life. It’s a joy which is aligned with my excitable natural attitude.

Months later, I felt quite well and energized, emotionally and physically. Although I was not going to climb a mountain any time soon! I found myself at the moment having a feeling of coming from off a ledge. Euphoria came over me like ice-cold water on a 110-degree day. A rush of adrenaline. A life worthy of swimming back up to the top. To breathe again.

Nine months after the unnerving surgery, Dr K advised that friends and others would continue to be cautious about asking or wanting to hear my experience. My hometown newspaper wanted to interview me, the local runner and cancer survivor. I wanted to be left alone, or to talk just about running, not my cancer. My euphoria, over a new chance in life gave way to the grind of work, school and life as a 20-year-old.

I became sensitive, sometimes crying or becoming irrationally angry over insignificant issues. It would be great to be happy again. I was unsure of whether the removal of my testicle had this effect on my emotions, specifically, if emotions and negative thoughts were caused by less testosterone. Maybe having one testicle was a more psychological puzzle than a physical loss. I viewed every day the same just like the movie, “Groundhog Day.” The day I got the “all clear” one year after surgery, my eyes were opened again. Everything was bright. I did not fear my life changing. Being positive, healthy and alive was above all things.

I saw an opportunity to be me. I thought, “Why not train for a marathon.” At least I might get the feeling of a runners high.

I believe if it were not for running the world would be a much different place for me. Now, running is a large part of my story. Chapters are full of my races and the friends I met because of running. After running the Chicago Marathon, I felt complete. But my desire was incomplete. I wanted to run another.

This post was written and submitted by a CURE reader. The article reflects the views the author and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

A 45-minute cancer procedure deemed me to be "cancer free," but it did not assuage all my anxieties. 

Brian Sluga

Embracing a New Way of Life After Cancer

The Way Cancer Has Shaped Me

A 45-Minute Cancer Procedure Changed My Life

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