Round 1

After being an avid blogger since I was 15, this past summer I deleted my blog and stopped using any networking site I’d been affiliated with (MySpace, Facebook, etc.). Contrary to what I expected, I felt so liberated when I did that that when it was suggested that I start this blog, I was quite reluctant. I hardly mean to blame my starting this on anyone else, though; I hate to admit it, but it didn’t take too much nagging to get me to post my writing online again.

Of course, when I deleted all those things this summer, cancer wasn’t high on the list of things I expected to deal with this fall and winter. The main reason it was suggested I start this was because I am blessed with so many people who care about what is going on with me, I can’t possibly keep them all updated. As I said, at first I was reluctant, but I think that was because I was very much in denial over many of the truths about my condition. I really hate to think of anyone worrying about me, but part of the process I’ve undergone recently has been admitting to myself that perhaps all these people are worried about me because they have valid reasons, and that if any of them were going through what I’m going through, my reaction would be the same as theirs, if not stronger. That being said, I’ve managed to maintain my overall outlook while chipping away at my denial. There is still no part of me that doesn’t believe that I’ll have this beaten by next summer.

Those of you who know me well enough know that this first entry could be at least 100 pages long if I tried to describe everything I’ve been thinking and feeling over the past few weeks. I’m fairly certain I’ll get to most of it eventually. I figured I’d begin this blog with a story I’ve told a few of you already. It was one of the first things I thought of when cancer initially entered the picture. As many of you know, over the past couple years I’ve become a very avid boxing fan. Some time last August – about a week before my first symptoms started, actually – I went to work out with a good friend of mine at the gym where I was first introduced to boxing (as well as other fighting styles they teach). I thought it would just be the two of us going through drills and sparring a little bit, but when I got there, my friend was already in the ring with this 6’1”, 250-pound monster. This man was a former U.S. Marine who was training for a professional mixed martial arts fight in Indiana that weekend.

My friend is a fighter at heart and was putting up a valiant effort, but his opponent that night outweighed him by almost 90 pounds. Sure enough, the big guy threw a massive cross that landed squarely on my friend’s upper jawbone, and that put him out for at least a few rounds. I was still just wrapping my hands and wrists, but the big guy’s trainers – instructors at the school who knew me well from having taught me for almost a year – looked at me immediately and said, “Perez, get in there next.” It is one of the unspoken rules at those kinds of schools that when a trainer issues that kind of order, you obey or you don’t show your face there again.

I remember exactly what went through my mind as I put my gloves on and prepared to cross the ropes. I only weighed 187 pounds myself at the time, and I’d just seen this beast demolish a guy who I knew was more-or-less on my level as a fighter. I wasn’t scared, but nor was I eager to face this man. I remember a moment, though, where I paused and told myself, “All right: This guy has more training than you do, he’s in fighting shape and you’re not, and he has about 60 pounds of muscle on you. You’re not going to beat him, and there’s a chance he could hurt you. But you’re getting in that ring.”

This was one of those cliché moments where I had the chance to prove some things to myself (though I was surrounded by people whose opinions I had the utmost respect for, I wasn’t too concerned with them). First, I wanted to see if I could actually get in the ring with this guy, knowing what I knew. That wasn’t enough for me, though. I also needed to know whether I could fight this guy hard; like I didn’t know I couldn’t beat him. I think passing the first test merely proves that you have some measure of fortitude, which is nothing too exceptional. When you pass the second test, you start to see just how much you have.

I passed both. I lost the rounds we fought because he caught me with two huge hooks to my abdomen, and given the weight disparity, that was all it took. After the first, I had to sit out one round to catch my breath. When the second hit the same spot with just as much force, I knew I was done for the night. I passed my tests, though, because I kept my cool and fought him the way my instructors taught me to. The truth is I out-boxed him (which I don’t want to take too much credit for since most MMA fighters are much better on the ground than they are standing up. If he had been allowed to take me down, he’d have ruined me in a matter of seconds). As I left the ring (holding my side where he’d just hit me), I smiled and said, “You’re strong, bro. You hit pretty hard.” He responded, “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter if I can’t block anything” as he touched gloves with me. The gesture and the comment amounted to more than enough respect to grant me a sense of accomplishment that night.

I first told this story to my grandpa and my uncle when they first heard I might have cancer, and my point at the time was that I was again faced with a daunting opponent, except this time he wasn’t that much bigger than me and that’s why I knew I’d beat it. I wrote earlier, though, about coming to terms with certain things and ridding myself of denial. I know now that, like the guy I faced in August, this opponent is bigger than me. More than that, though, this opponent can hurt me much worse than any boxer could, which is why I can’t beat it on my own. This has been so difficult to admit to myself – and I don’t think I’ve completed that process yet – but I need the people who have gathered around me so quickly and so eagerly. But that is precisely why I’ve maintained my overall outlook: I am being treated at a world-class hospital by doctors who are not only some of the best at what they do but, so far, have also been exceedingly friendly, sympathetic, and supportive. Most importantly, though, I have the best family and friends in the world. I can never begin to repay them for the love and care they’ve shown even so far, so the least I can do is beat this handily. I don’t need to prove anything else to myself. Everything I do now is because I owe my loved one strength and success which, when you think about it, are the easiest parts in all of this.