This will be my sixth year in participating in Pedal the Cause San Diego. Being a cancer survivor
myself, I've been a
little more embedded in the organization than most and hence been often
asked
to provide feedback. Usually they are
seeking quick video clips, sounds bits, etc., hence
often the question they are
looking for an answer for is, "why do you ride?" Usually my replies
are honest, sincere, but
focused on being brief and concise.
There is however an answer that
always comes to mind. One I omit, not for lack of relevance, but
for it not being a quick and
easy story.
Hence, here I'm finally going to try relay it, in the written form.
https://www.mygopedal.org/riders_profile.jsp?MemberID=341
Mustafa
I was diagnosed with
bone cancer (osteosarcoma) when I was 12.
The prognosis they gave my parents wasn't good. Survival rate, one-in-ten, and if I survived
the cancer treatment, they would likely have to amputate my left arm. So many
times in my later life, I was thankful to be the shoes of the patient and not
the parent. I can't imagine the pain of
hearing that prognosis, out of the blue, of your child. So, given my grim outlook on survival, the
first 3 months in the hospital I was put bed tied in a room by myself. The cancer ward of the hospital was located near
downtown Munich, and was an older building, with high ceilings and actual
windows that opened to a green, luscious garden, features I greatly enjoyed in
my loneliness. Don't misunderstand, I
had visitors. My Mom and Dad every day,
but alas, they had jobs, my sibling, life to deal with too, so much time was
spent alone.
After I had gone
through countless cycles of intense chemo and the results appeared to be
positive, increasing my likelihood of survival, I was finally transferred to a
room with four other boys. What a
treat, I wasn't alone. I wasn't burning
through Sci-Fi books quicker than my dad could buy them at the Stars and
Stripes Bookstore and wasn't waiting for daytime TV to start, which wasn't
until about 3pm in Germany back then. I
had some cohorts!
Once in the room, we
all became quick friends, but one boy and I became very close, very quick. A fun-loving Turkish kid named Mustafa. We began to cause trouble! Playing pranks, making ridiculous drawings of
the nurses, who were angels mind you and laughed at our silliness! Playing games, just having fun. Think we finally crossed a line when we used
some syringes to start a, very one-sided, water fight with the doctors on their
daily patrol. While we did get scolded
for our actions, all the scolding was delivered with a suppressed laughter by
the nurses and doctors. Him and I were buds, friends, in it together.
After I spent a
total of a year in the hospital, first in station 1A then in 3A, likely about
half of it, in the same room with Mustafa, I had finally gone through all my
chemo treatments, my shoulder surgery in Austria, my operations on both my
lungs and some basic recovery, it was time to be released. Of course, with it came some separation. The doctors and nurses, who took such
incredible care of us and always treated us as they would a family member. The other kids, especially Mustafa, who were
my 24/7 roommates and friends. But
thankfully, it felt at the time, I would have to come in for check-ups and get
to say hello. First every month, then
every three, then six and finally yearly.
Although many of those checkups were never in the cancer ward, station
3A, I would always stop by to say hi, hi to the doctors, nurses and of course
Mustafa.
I wish I remembered
how far into my recovery this happened, but alas, so many of my hospital visits
became a blur. Although I'll never
forget the day, after whatever strange tests, blood donations and physicals on
the agenda were completed, I made my trek to 3A. After making my rounds to say hi to the
nurses and doctors, I went to Mustafa's bed and found someone else in his
spot. I was ecstatic. Mustafa had made it, he was out-and-about
like me. Quickly I asked the first nurse
I saw on how I could get in touch with him.
I think I must have surprised her with my inquiry, for the loving,
sincere and caring nature of the nurses, would have never been so blunt out of
any ill will. She responded with,
Mustafa had died a week ago.
