Chronicles of a
Cancer Patient

Hello everyone -

It’s hard to come up with a good way to say this in an e-mail, especially a mass e-mail, but I thought that perhaps this was the best way to let everyone know. Some of you may know that I’ve been particularly ill as of late, and that the doctors have had a difficult time finding exactly what the disease is. For those of you who haven’t heard any of this yet, consider yourselves lucky that you didn’t have to go through the months of playing the “Disease of the Week” game, where each week I would be whole-heartedly convinced that I had some exotic ailment like Malaria of the p.vivax strain, or the very unlikely Thalysemia, or the almost unknown Whipple’s Disease.

It was just a week ago that the doctors were aggressively testing for one of these strange, mystic diseases – when suddenly the tests all came back wrong and in just a couple phone calls, everything seemed to fall apart. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

A few more tests in a different direction confirmed the findings. I have cancer.

I have a cancer called lymphoma. This is a cancer of the lymph nodes and, I’m glad to say, a very curable kind of cancer. I’m told that with the proper treatment, 97.9% of lymphoma patients survive. Nevertheless, it is cancer and I’ll have to go through all of the cancer rituals to get rid of it. Chemotherapy will begin soon, followed by whatever else it takes to get rid of this.

This is difficult. But I can handle this, I will beat this, and I will come out a better man in the end. I am looking forward to being a cancer survivor.

If I can’t have my health, I’m glad that I still have my family and friends. It is a relief to know that I will have you all with me as I go through this. I understand that it is hard to know what to say in a situation like this, but please don’t be shy. This is a fine opportunity to make jokes about me losing my hair, etc., etc.

I look forward to seeing you all again soon.

Future Cancer Survivor,
Dave Hahn

P.S. – I’m afraid I don’t have the e-mail addresses of everyone that I’d like to send this to. Please feel free to pass this on.

This is the only time in my life where losing my hair is normal, gaining weight is a plus, sleeping late is acceptable, living with my parents is a good idea, not having a job is forgivable, and shaving is dangerous and ill-advised.

Every other Monday a nice nurse in a big, blue smock comes and gives me medications that will make me feel worse than I did the previous Monday. I schedule my whole life around this meeting like there is nothing more important than feeling worse.

I no longer need to be educated, or talented, or smart, or good-looking. I show up to my friend’s houses empty-handed and exhausted and they welcome me in. They entertain me and they feed me. We all laugh out loud and have a better time together than we ever did before.

What can I say about cancer? Everything is the opposite of what it should be. They say I’m making a lot of progress.

The Elgin Courier News wrote a really nice article yesterday about me, the benefit on Saturday and about this blog. Traffic here tripled yesterday, so I imagine many of you have already read this, but I thought I’d include it here for everyone anyway.

Thanks Cam, Peter, Susan, and Tom for the nice words.

By Tom Polansek
STAFF WRITER

ELGIN — When 24-year-old Dave Hahn was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma last summer, the first thing he did was log on to the Internet.

After reading up on the facts and figures of his illness, he started searching for more personal content: first-person stories from cancer patients like himself. He came up practically empty.

So Hahn, a professional pianist who grew up in Elgin, decided he would try to add something to the discussion. He started his own cancer Web log, or blog, titled “Chronicles of a Cancer Patient.” He also produced podcasts, or downloadable audio files that can be played back on a computer, about his chemotherapy treatments.

“When you actually get diagnosed with cancer it’s such a personal thing that you kind of want to see what it was like for other people to go through,” Hahn said in an interview. “Nobody ever talked about what it was like to lose your hair or what it felt like to sit in a chemo chair or what the room looked like.

I really wanted to know what it felt like not to have a stomach lining or what it felt like to be nauseous all day.”

But Hahn’s story has not just left a lasting impact on the Internet, where he said more than 250 people downloaded his first podcast. The Children’s Theatre of Elgin also said Hahn has left an indelible mark there through performances he did as a child and through his work at the theater as an adult.

The theater dedicated its annual gala benefit to Hahn on Saturday, and all proceeds will go to help pay his medical bills.

“He’s had a very strong influence on our organization,” Office Manager Susan Heaton said. “The top-notch caliber of his character has set a great example for our other members and really helped move us forward.”

Peter Ackeman, president of the theater’s board, agreed.

“He’s always been a pleasant person to be around and a gifted artist,” Ackeman said. “The two don’t often go hand in hand. That’s why I’ve always liked working with him.”

Hahn’s strong character is evident in his blog, where he expressed a mostly positive outlook despite his draining chemotherapy treatments. For example, instead of focusing on his physical or emotional pain, in one entry he described the simple pleasure of eating the butter-filled cookies served at the Sherman Hospital Cancer Care Center.

“Clearly the bakery keeps the best cookies for us cancer patients,” Hahn wrote Aug. 16, 2005. “They probably use a pound of butter in each cookie, but I mean, what do we care, right? What, is it going to give us cancer? Gimme one of those damn cookies, and put more butter in it next time.”

Hahn’s friends said his bravery and positive attitude were inspiring. Cameron Mizell attended Indiana University with Hahn and said his friend has always been outgoing and fearless.

“It’s just in his personality,” Mizell said. “He’s a tough person.”

Mizell, a guitarist, and several musicians plan to produce a CD this year to benefit Hahn. Hahn also is working on his own CD on his record label, Preservation Records.

There is more good news. This fall, Hahn scratched the word “patient” off the title of his blog. It now reads “Chronicles of a Cancer Survivor.”

“I found out the day before Thanksgiving that I kicked it. I beat it,” Hahn said about his cancer. “It was such a release of stress, and I think it was for everyone in the family too. You don’t realize how many people are along with you on this journey.”

Read Hahn’s blog, Chronicles of a Cancer Survivor, at www.preservationrecords.com.

Indiana Brosnan and the Temple of Pizza

“What is it?”

“It’s a major award!”

“But what is it?!”

“It’s a major award!”

I grip the crowbar and shove the end between the slabs of wood that make up the over-sized crate. “This End Up” is stamped diagonally on the side, with an arrow pointing toward the corner. I push down and the top comes off with a creak and a pop.

The inside is full of straw.

“What is it?” You all ask.

“It’s a major award!” I tell you.

I climb into the crate and throw out the straw in big, heaping arm-fulls until I get to the bottom.

And there it is.

Cold. Moldy. Delicious.

It’s a free pizza from India.

I entered an international blog contest about a month ago. It was a contest that featured english-language cancer blogs. I’m being very serious here, I really wanted to win the free pizza in India. I mean, how cool is that? There’s a pizza waiting for me somewhere in the Indian subcontinent.

I can picture it. I get off the bus, dusty and sweaty. I’ve been traveling for 36 hours without sleep. I’m wearing linen, but it’s some how not wrinkled. I need a shave. Because this is a dream, I also have a full head of hair and I look like Pierce Brosnan.

I fight past the goats with my impossibly small duffle bag (just a change of clothes for the courageous traveler). I ask a man with long robes and a staff where I cam find my pizza. He nods and I follow him.

We climb into the mountains. It becomes cold. I squint my eyes at the mountain tops like Pierce would, and I stop briefly for the camera to catch the shot. We climb higher and higher. Just below the summit, the man stops and points for me to continue on alone. He will wait for me.

I continue on alone to the top of the mountain. I am above the clouds now, and the air is thin and cold. I turn the final corner and there it is.

Cold. Hand-tossed. Delicious.

I find my Indian pizza. The pizza I have traveled so far for. It tastes like goat cheese and curry, but I don’t care. This is the pizza I’ve been waiting for. This is the pizza I’ve been writing for. I made this pizza with a internet connection and a 6 months of chemotherapy. This is my pizza.

I won second prize in the blog contest. I tied with a guy from Bangalore, India, who’s father survived colon cancer.

Isn’t this interesting?

I won a whole basket of prizes. Free entrance to Mayajaal (I don’t know what Mayajaal is either), a leather cell phone holder, a 6 month subscription to an Indian business portal, a calendar from this guy, a t-shirt, a key chain, and – don’t forget – “a dine in offer for 2 from any Pizza Corner outlet in India.”

Check it out: CAN Conquer CANcer Blog Contest

I received an e-mail from WikiCancer.org a few days ago. They are a website that posts information for cancer patients and survivors. The information is geared more toward describing experience of cancer, rather than the science of cancer. In that regard, it’s much like this blog, I guess.

And that’s probably why they asked me to be a part of it. WikiCancer.org, like other Wikis (Wikipedia.org for example) is a website created by it’s users. Any website made democratically (wikis, forums, community blogs) needs to be moderated, and WikiCancer.org has been looking for people in the cancer community that would like to become a moderator for the site.

That’s what they asked me to do. Which is flattering. Their site presents informations very professionally, and has a very clean look to it. It’s not like some guy running an off-the-cuff cancer site out of his basement (…ahem…).

But I told them no. I didn’t even think about it. I don’t want to do it.

Which is weird, maybe, because I’ve spent so much time in the past 7 months, contributing to the online cancer community. This will be the 142nd entry in this blog. During chemo, there were whole days, especially in the beginning, where I’d just sit and write all day. I think if I hadn’t, I don’t know how I would have kept it together sometimes.

But now I’m over it. And I don’t want it be a part of my daily life anymore. Cancer, that is. I think it took enough away from me, and I don’t want to give it anymore. I want to move on.

Some people are different, though. When they go through something like this it gives them something to live for afterwards. They want to volunteer, or give speeches about early detection, or be a shining example to others. Or moderate cancer websites.

It’s not that I want to forget about cancer altogether. I learned a lot from having cancer. I’d like to take those lessons with me – but not the disease. The disease doesn’t interest me.

I learned a lot back in school, and I’m glad I went, but not everything in school interested me. I’m not hoping to make chemistry a part of my everyday life anymore than I’m hoping to make cancer a part of my everyday life.

On the other hand, I hope that this journal I’ve kept helps patients and survivors if they find it. For people that dedicate their lives to cancer, I hope that it helps them understand what it’s like for a 24-year-old white kid from the ‘burbs to have to deal with it. For people that moderate cancer websites, I hope it gives them some material to use in their discussions.

And I enjoy it when patients or survivors, or others in the cancer community, contact me and we talk about cancer, and chemo, and living with it.

But I’m not going to acknowledge my survivorship anymore than I need to. People ask me now what’s been going on with me, and I say, “nothing.” I don’t wish it to be a part of every day anymore.

www.WikiCancer.org

During cancer I had looked forward to a celebratory trip I had planned in Yosemite National Park. But it didn’t work out with my work schedule and I ended up not going. I started to regret not taking the trip lately, as I’ve been looking back on how much of a pain cancer really was, and I really, I think, earned a trip.

So I booked a trip today for Pompano Beach, FL to do some scuba diving. A big thanks to my parents for supplying the lodging and to scuba.com for selling me my new snorkel (I’m not going to beat cancer only to get hepititis from a rented snorkel…).

I learned to snorkel if Fiji about 5 years ago. I was studying marine biology and anthropology in Hawaii and Fiji, and I got my PADI certification on the coral coast of Fiji’s big island, Viti Levu. (Sounds pretty sweet, huh?) I’ve always wanted to go snorkeling again, but college, work and life in the Midwest have kept me pretty far from the ocean as of late.

I had planned on picking scuba diving back up when I was on the cruise ship, but, as you may remember, I was getting pretty sick on the ship. I didn’t know it was cancer, but I was having problems with dizzyness, and coughing, that I now know were part of the tumor in my chest. The idea of coughing constantly underwater didn’t sound very comfortable, and I was afraid of passing out while in the water.

I also had a problem with my ear. I don’t know what it was, maybe all the weight I lost, but my ear was constantly closed. I’d actually forgotten about that. You know the feeling you have when you have water in your ear? And you can’t hear anything but the water? I had that all the time, except without the water. I even went to the ship doc once to see if there was something wrong with my ear. He was no help, naturally (no offense doc, but, buddy, you are totally useless).

Anyway, I beat cancer, and now I’m taking a trip to Florida for some scuba. Because now I’m healthy and I can.