by Greg
My name is Greg. I was 30 years old living in Hawaii with no health issues when I was diagnosed with cancer. I was strong and in good mental and physical condition. On October 28, 2004, at approximately 11:15pm, I awoke, experiencing a grand mal seizure. I couldn't talk, was barely able to breathe, and was conscious but very confused. I was rushed to the emergency room where the doctors asked me all sorts of questions. The questions were "easy" and I knew the answers, but could not come up with them. I was scared. Why could I not answer these easy questions, but everyone else could? I was given a CT scan and next an MRI. The neurologist finally came in and delivered the news no one wants to hear. "Greg you have a brain tumor." Two days later I returned for a biopsy of the tumor. The results came in it was a stage IV glioblastoma. I could tell in the neurologist’s eyes and tone of voice that the chances I would survive were extremely slim. I thought to myself, "Did I hear him right?" "I have a brain tumor?" "Why me?" That was the only time I ever felt sorry for myself.
From that point on I was positive and knew I was going to beat this cancer no matter what the statistics or doctors said. My son was one year old at the time. I thought to myself, "I have to be here for him." "I am not going to die!" I buckled down for the fight of my life. I met with my oncologist, who explained I had a 5% chance of surviving one year. He gave me three options for treatment: 1. Have surgery but do nothing to aggressively fight the cancer and enjoy the limited time I had left with minimal medical intervention. 2. Have surgery, do minimal radiation and chemotherapy to hopefully extend my life a year or two. 3. Have surgery and go all out to fight this cancer with everything that medicine had to offer. This option would make me the sickest, require many different treatments but would hopefully give me the best chance of long-term survival. Given this information, I had a lot to think about. On the positive side, I was strong both mentally and physically and had the will to want to beat this. I decided that I would take option three and was scheduled for surgery two weeks later. I was scared. I had never had any type of surgery before and now I was having a craniotomy. I had no clue what to expect. What would it feel like falling asleep? Would I have complications during surgery? How would I feel when I wake up? Would I remember anything? All these questions and uncertainties!
The day finally arrived. Scared and with tears in my eyes, my parents and friends said that they would see me when I got out of surgery and I was wheeled down the hallway. I don't remember even getting to the operating room. I was told afterwards that the neurosurgeon told my family and friends that he didn't know what to expect; meaning, would I be able to talk...feed myself...walk? The neurosurgeon implanted six Gliadel Wafers into the resected tumor site to release direct chemotherapy over a period of time. After a brief recovery from the surgery, I went through six weeks of radiation in combination with Temodar, an oral chemotherapy drug. After I completed the radiation therapy, I had a couple weeks to rest up before starting my regular chemotherapy regime. Over the next 12 months I went into the hospital for three consecutive nights; each month I would receive two types of chemotherapy back to back, then a rest period, then the same chemotherapy back to back again. The day before my release they inserted a catheter in my groin up to my brain to release Carboplatin (chemotherapy drug). This procedure was risky as well (e.g., chance of blood clot, infection or stroke).
It has been six years since diagnosis. I have dedicated my life to helping those going through cancer or caring for someone going through cancer. There is so much that a person like myself can do to help.
Greg's website
