Brandon's Story

 

On Tuesday March 4, 2008, right around 4:30 p.m. PST, my life and the lives of those closest to me were irreversibly changed. I was told a sentence that unfortunately was uttered that year roughly 78 times per hour all day, every day, all year. “You have cancer.” I had been diagnosed with testicular cancer. The extent of the cancer was unclear. What ensued was the beginning of a ride that is yet unfinished.

Within 48 hours, I had moved back to the east coast with one small suitcase. The short one year old existence that I had begun to cultivate on the west coast was now indefinitely in limbo. What little possessions I had acquired were, for the moment, homeless. My job was put on hold. All the things that any normal person has to do when moving their life to a far off place had to happen in a matter of days with one caveat, I was not there to do them. That was the beginning of the most ridiculously overwhelming showing of love and support that I have ever experienced in my life and for which I will be forever indebted.

I would not classify my arrival to the east coast as a joyous homecoming. Not because I was not greeted with love and affection but because of the giant abyss that we were collectively looking down upon, knowing nothing more than I had cancer. There were millions of questions that needed to be answered, doctors to be seen, tests to be run and decisions to be made. All the while, I was trying to process this hurricane of events that literally over night had become by life. How in the world does that happen? That’s a weird thing. We all think about it at one point or another. Life is finite. It will end. But those thoughts are, for most 26 year olds, at arm’s length. But not then - it was actually happening. Wrapping my head around the fact that I may actually die in the very near future is an exercise the likes of which I simply cannot put into words.

Hindsight has allowed me to identify my coping mechanism, autopilot. Anything and everything became secondary. It’s amazing what a body will do when threatened. I had been embroiled into a fight, not one that I wanted but one that I would not be losing. Surgery was not up for debate. The tumor had to go and we had to find out what the opposition was. After the arduous process of recovering from surgery, I was faced with another set of choices. Another, larger, more serious surgery, prophylactic chemotherapy or essentially do nothing. I would be monitored with frequent blood tests, cat scans and x-rays just waiting to see if it would return.

In the end, that is what I decided to do. For anyone that knows me and knows how active I am, that was not an easy thing for me to come to terms with. I wanted it gone. I wanted all of it gone, quickly and for good. Sitting around waiting to see if this alien inside me decided to return was tough at first but it has proven to be the right move. It has been over 2 years now and I am happy to say that I remain cancer free.

I am one of the lucky ones, I know that. There are hundreds of thousands of others out there that do not share my same fate. I want to change that. I want to help people that now sit where I sat on March 4th, 2008. I want to do anything and everything that I can to see this disease disappear in my lifetime. To that end, I give you Carney’s Last Ball. Thank you for visiting us. Thank you for reading. Thank you for anything that you have done or will do in the future. Your love and support will be the cornerstone of our success.

All the best,

Brandon Carney