Clearly, God is trying to tell me something.

Three years ago I went into surgery for removal of my left kidney. My insides were competing for space due to the massive size (13cm) of the tumor. That was an incredibly painful and stressful six months. It started with none of the doctors believing me to having an organ cut out of me and having to change my entire lifestyle. I can’t begin to explain how good it felt knowing that I was going to continue living.

Well, that all ended this last summer. Around Halloween I became sick and was having difficulty breathing deeply. Practically every breath caused me to cough non-stop. It was an awful feeling that I assumed would pass.

When it didn’t, I went to see my primary. She didn’t hear anything wrong but suggested I get an x-ray. I declined since my six-month, routine CT scan was coming up in a week, and that would visualize everything in greater detail. This would happen after a work trip to Portland, but I was feeling good enough to travel at the time, despite being on immunosuppressants for my ongoing, painful auto-immune condition.

The work trip came and went, but not without sleepless nights and a week full of coughing. It was a rough time for me, but I was able to visit my brother and hike some nice looking areas. I knew something was wrong on the flight home. My resting heart rate was between 95-100 when I’m usually 55-60, and the breathing issues got worse.

After the CT scan, my urologist called and told me the news. He said there were a significant number of masses in my lungs and he was really concerned. I didn’t think much of it and assumed it was from my recent flu-like infection. He ordered an immediate biopsy where they put me under and shoved tubes down my throat. I woke up in the recovery bed in a haze. The nurse was cleaning blood off my mouth. The surgeon was staring at me. My wife was crying.

“You have stage 4 kidney cancer in your lungs. I’m sorry.”

The feeling you get after hearing that is indescribable. Most people say you feel your stomach drop, or you get an out-of-body experience. Mine was pure nausea. I felt like puking non-stop, and I still do.

It is said that kidney cancer spreads in 1/3rd of patients. Lucky me.

Kaiser was quick to put me in touch with an oncologist. She promptly put me on chemo meds, which I’m still currently on. For those curious, it’s a combination of Nivolumab (monthly IV) and Cabozantinib (40mg pill daily). This combination boosts my immune system and prevents the tumors from growing. It has a 40% success rate and patients typically live around 5-10 years on it.

Learning that was yet another gut punch. It took a lot to accept. Learning that you don’t have much longer to live changes your entire perspective on things. You start to question every move you make. I would hesitate to buy things for myself on Amazon because it meant my family would have to deal with it when I’m gone. Work projects suddenly seemed unimportant. My kids' future is going to be one without me, and I won’t be there to watch them grow up. That one hit the hardest. It still does.

During this time I’ve experienced pretty much every side effect they warned me about. My body started to get extreme acne in my scalp, face, neck, back, and chest. This prevented long hot showers and instead forced me to take room-temp ones with moisturizing cream after. All the hair on my head turned gray. This was a shock and getting used to it took about a month. Honestly I think it looks pretty cool now. There were other minor issues like always tasting metal, severe fatigue, GI issues, blurry vision, constant headaches, and occasional migraines. This all sucked, but I’ve been through worse.

The chemo routine has been ongoing since mid-December. It’s now April 15th - just about the three-year anniversary of my kidney removal. My wife accompanied me to my first oncology appointment where they review the first CT scan results. My breathing was better, my energy was high, and I’ve honestly been feeling pretty good, despite the side effects. My nerves were spiked, but my hopes were high.

“I’m disappointed in your results.”

Well, shit. My tumors aren’t responding to the chemo. I’m obviously not part of the successful 40%. My wife and I found a quiet place to sit and cry, and we honestly haven’t stopped since. My oncologist is reviewing next steps with the tumor board and will hopefully get back to me before the end of the week.

I’ve learned that I’m going to die from this. There’s no softer way to put it. The question is when. The next steps are to try another combination of chemo meds and hope for the best. It’s not about making it through cancer-free. It’s about stretching things out as long as possible so I can see my kids just a little bit longer. AI is recommending applying for trials immediately and switching to Lenvatinib + Everolimus. Even with that, the success rate is 20-30% and the “average time to tumor regrowth” is 12-15 months.

Measuring time in months changes everything. Suddenly the world looks completely different. Why did I waste my time on so much useless stuff? Why did I bother learning how to code? Why did I make things that my family will have to throw away when I’m gone?

“Why?” is a question that comes up a lot.

So for now, I’m going to focus on being with loved ones and live as comfortably as possible for what time I have left. I still need to maintain my job at Google for the time being, as medical insurance is extremely important right now. It’ll continue to be a significant struggle, but a necessary one.

If you pray, please do.

Thank you for reading about my projects all these years. It’s been an incredibly fun journey learning, making, and teaching.

Although, I’m not done quite yet. There’s still a few more things to do first.