At the age of 33, there’s not much you can’t conquer or it certainly feels that way. No matter the setbacks — be it wanting to work closer with Sony, getting that podcast up and running, or just the general grind that goes into keeping up with the industry, setbacks always seemed temporary — another obstacle to overcome for a site that’s independent, ad free, and especially over the past two years, fully me.
What you don’t expect at age 33 is to be told by your doctors that it’s a good idea to get a colonoscopy, something that’s recommended for those typically over the age of 50 (which many doctors are pushing for to be 45 now). I’ll spare you the details but the process is not fun and it’s really the preparation that’s the worst. But here I was, at age 33, getting a colonoscopy.
Two days of a liquid diet and fun bowel movements are done. I’ve shown up to the hospital. IV is in. Doctors with their masks are all around me once I’ve been reeled into the operating room. They ask me to turn to my side and make light conversation while the anesthesia sets in. I have a joke in mind. 30 minutes or so later, I’m waking up, carting towards a recovery area.
Me: Doc, was I pregnant?
Doc: No, but you have colon cancer.
I’m not really sure if there was an ‘I’m sorry’ in there or not it doesn’t matter, his punchline was a lot, well, punchier than mine.
The following few hours and days are what you’d expect — lots of tests, needles, and sad moments¹. As grown man, let me tell you that it’s okay to cry sometimes. Other times, I had no choice but to cry. Hearing the ‘C’ word is not easy, and facing your own mortality is even harder.
Since childhood, this was my second time in the hospital as I’ve been lucky enough to never have been in an accident, broken a bone, or have any other number of medical issues that required a visit at the hospital, let alone surgery. I guess life is collecting on the 33 years of good health with a vengeance.
With numerous blood tests and a biopsy², it was confirmed that I indeed had colon cancer, something extremely rare for someone in my age who exercises regularly, eats healthy, and doesn’t smoke, yet my genes begged to differ. It was determined that a fairly larger tumor by now has been growing inside of my colon for well over a year, perhaps even closer to two and that without surgery, my colon would soon back up, and emergency surgery would be required.
But even that’s me getting a bit ahead of myself. After the colonoscopy and the tests conducted during that day, I was required to schedule appointments with an oncologist who oversees my entire journey and a surgeon. Only after seeing them was some kind of game plan put in motion and the latter of the two doctors has a fairly ‘straightforward job’ — put me under, get to my colon via laparoscopic incisions, cut out the portion with the cancerous tumor, and stitch the colon back together. No sweat for him, right?
From there, I likely won’t be seeing him ever again (more on that in a minute) and it’s onto the oncologist who has the master plan. Unlike other types of cancers, colon cancer requires you to have the tumor removed and only when they examine it can they determine the stage. Equally, only during surgery can they really see how much of the surrounding area have been affected by the cancer.
What they find post surgery, which can take a few weeks to analyze, determines if I need chemo (assuming I will unless I’m really really reallylucky), and if so, for how long and to what degree. All of that currently remains a mystery to me. But back to the colonoscopy for a minute — because the tumor was fairly large in size, the doctors were never able to get far during the initial procedure so at this point, it’s unclear if other tumors are inside of my colon and despite bloodwork, CT scans, PET scans, and X-rays, the only way to truly know is via a colonoscopy. That means that post surgery, once I recover, I’ll have to do another colonoscopy to determine if further surgery is needed or not, but even that’s not straightforward.
The surgery is invasive and I’ll spend a better part of the week in the hospital recovering. From there, once home, it’s going to be some time before I’ll have full mobility as I’ve been told I won’t be able to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk and my movement will surely be limited, seeing how my core will be completely destroyed from the inside. Then begins the chemo and everything that goes with that but lucky for me, I’ve already lost my hair so at least I don’t have to worry about that — take that, life!
Truthfully, I don’t know what chemo holds for me, nor do I know for how long but I’ll know in a few weeks from now. Equally, I could have more surgeries planned, pending what they find, and even if only one surgery is required, there are plenty of complications that go with such a surgery. The scariest outcome is the possibility of needing to wear a colostomy bag which is where because of complications, they bring your colon close to your skin and via an external bag, you defecate. It could be a temporary thing or a new way of life, but even if temporary, hello another operation to set things straight. Either way, it sounds terrible and if permanent, it sure doesn’t seem like ‘good quality of life,’ though I suppose that beats dying, right?
Remember how I mentioned I hate needles? Well, no matter the outcome, I’ll be needing to go in for a full blood panel every three months for 3 years and a colonoscopy every six months for the first 3 years. Yeah, not going to lie, it sounds terrible. In fact, all of this sounds fucking terrible, so let’s all collectively say it
Fuck Cancer.
But even all the above isn’t the full ordeal — dealing with this stuff is expensive and time consuming. From chasing down which doctors to see, to which pre-operation tests I’ll need and where to have them done, to all the details of what my insurance covers and all the fights that can go along with that, free time isn’t something I’ve had much of. I’ve been lucky enough because of an amazing family behind me that my worries regarding cost and scheduling have been minimum and we’ve been working closely with the staff at UCLA who is overseeing most of this, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty to be done on my side. Others who aren’t as fortunate will not only be facing a huge pile of bills (we’re talking hundreds of thousands) but probably need to hire a full time assistant just to keep up with all the details that go along with such a major operation.
Think that’s the full ordeal? Nope. Not even close. On December 11th, 2018, I went in for a colonoscopy and I was diagnosed with colon cancer. On that date, my life came to a crashing halt — nothing matters anymore when you’re face to face with your mortality which is why the amount of writing I’ve been doing had dramatically decreased. Yes, part of it has been because of all the various doctor visits that I’ve needed to do, but the other part is that writing about what camera might be announced at CES 2019 or future PlayStation strategies didn’t seem all that important in the face of not knowing then (and to this day) if I’ll be alive in a month’s time.
That, my friends, is a mind fuck. What truly matters and what matters less and less become evident quickly, though at times you have to force yourself to be aware of it. I could sit around and watch the next episode of The Man In The High Castle and make an excuse for why going out isn’t in the cards because the idea scares me³ or just say ‘fuck it’ and go ice skating with my wife and best friends and experience entirely something new (which is ironic since I grew up in Michigan).
Or experience something old like a quiet date with my wife or dinner with my parents. Suddenly, these are things that I can’t take for granted and need to cherish because as much as I’m determined the kick the shit out of cancer, I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
As a married man with four fur babies, there’s a lot of responsibility I have in life and need to be aware of — does Allegra know how we pay all of our bills? How about our savings or other financial informations that I’ve mainly been in charge of? Is our mortgage properly linked to our bank account and is our cellphone bill in order so nobody suddenly ends up with a cut service in an emergency?
My life might come to an end on the operating table but I have to do everything in my power to ensure my wife has countless decades ahead of her and maybe even checks off a few things off of our bucket list like moving to Germany.
If that sounds at all defeatist, I assure you that it’s not. It’s simply trying to account for every scenario — plan for the worst, and hope — nay, fight! — for the best, which brings me to SRN and my own future. As I’ve mentioned multiple times, I have no idea what’s in store for me but it’s likely safe to assume that I have months of recovery between the surgery and chemo and from everything I’ve ever read, you don’t go through something like cancer and come out the same.
I sure hope so — I want to look at life from a new perspective and reevaluate what’s important to me. Part of me wants to pack my bags post recovery and only travel the world with Allegra — there’s so much beauty out there — from different cultures, to food, and geographical locations. Traveling and blogging about it sure doesn’t sound too bad.
But the other part of me wants more than ever to make SRN something truly impactful. I’ve made it no secret that when I started SRN a little over 10 years ago, that I had one mission in mind — to infiltrate Sony/PlayStation⁴ and change those companies, either by working for them or through my work. If you’re a reader of SRN, you know that I have strong opinions and ideas about how those companies should operate and what bright futures each hold and I can only imagine that my resolve for them will only strengthen after cancer.
If I can make it through a rough surgery, surely I can stand more rejections from the PR team at Sony or PlayStation before sometimes notices me. If I’ve been able to grind my way through the highs and lows of chemotherapy, surely I can grind my way through some crappy episodes before I get podcasting down and put together a regular show. And if I’m able to survive and defeat this tumor that’s inside of me and say Fuck Cancer, surely the idea of growing SRN to what I want it to be and one day indeed infiltrating Sony/PlayStation is possible.
I guess that’s all a long winded way of me saying that SRN isn’t going anywhere. Things might be slowing down for some time because I’ll be slowing down but I have no plans on letting cancer conquer me and in turn, it conquering SRN.
If you’ve been a long time reader of SRN — thank you and if you’re new here — I’m glad to have you on board and hope you stick around. 2018 wasn’t a stellar year for me and decided to go out on a bang but I’m not planning on sitting around and letting it have its way. With support from my amazing wife, wonderful family and friends (which I consider all readers and followers of SRN to be), I’m here to kick the shit out of cancer. All I can ask of you is to stick with me during the slower days and drop by an occasional encouragement or two. When you’re going through something like this, hearing kind words, war stories, and any positivity becomes a sort of drug and I can only hope that all of you become my dealers.
Oh, and by the time you’re reading this, I’ll likely be in surgery so chances are you know more about what’s going on with me than I do (you can keep in touch with Allegra via @AllegraOsati on your preferred socials) so I’ll end with this — life is precious and limited. Don’t spend it fighting with your loved ones or those online — it just don’t matter. Instead spend it doing the things you love and lifting those that are around you. The more you lift them, the more you’ll feel lifted, so the next time you’re thinking of tweeting a hot take or dropping a negative comment somewhere or making a snide remark to your bf, gf, or that one uncle, just really think about what you’re saying and consider if you know what the person across from you is really going through, because chances are you might not.
Finally, I’ll leave you with this amazing quote by Liam Neeson:
Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes someone feel wonderful again. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt.
#FuckCancer
Like any Marvel film, this piece also comes with multiple endings — it goes without saying, I sadly won’t be able to attend or cover CES 2019.
And one more post credit scene — do something (or a lot of things) that scare you and put you out of your comfort zone. It can be life changing, even if you’re Will Smith.
¹ As a grown ass man, I truly hate needles.
² A sample taken from the tumor.
³ Have I ever mentioned that I actually have deep social anxiety which makes it a miracle that I can go to events like CES or PSX and function.
⁴ Which is really a cool way of saying get hired by.
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