Immolation & Renewal.

THIS MAY BE THE MOST DIFFICULT UPDATE I HAVE WRITTEN YET. With that in mind, I shall endeavor to refrain from belaboring the point. Just under two weeks ago, I had a CAT Scan and a follow-up/ consultation with my oncologist. Many of you reached out that weekend and during the week to receive news of the results only to be met with radio silence on my end. For my part, I hope that you’ll forgive me for keeping you in such suspense. The results and news from subsequent analyses have been decidedly mixed… I’ve needed to take some time to sit with and reflect on the sheer torrent of information I’ve been inundated with.

First the good news: My latest CAT scan showed no masses, one cm or larger, anywhere in the primary sites of my body - that would be my pelvic region and abdomen. This is a extraordinary response to treatment against the aggressive form of cancer I have, and at the advanced stage of cancer I was in (stage IV) when I was diagnosed in November of 2018. Further the swollen lymph nodes have all receded, every one of them. This evinces a 180 degree reversal. There are some caveats here: CT machines, taking images at their maximum resolution, can only detect tumors at a minimum of one centimeter in diameter. One cm is roughly equal to one million cancer cells. Any mass smaller than one cm will not show up on a CAT Scan. Now, I may still have hundreds of thousands of cancer cells throughout my body, but further CAT scans will not detect them. 

Now, for the not so good news: General consensus amongst the community of physicians that specialize in cancer treatment is that the minimum amount of time that must pass, without a recurrence of disease, in order for a cancer patient to be declared “cancer-free” is five years. My cancer has an 80% recurrence rate within the first two years. I’ll have to have regular CAT scans, every three months during that time, and every six months for the following three years after. This is to catch any recurrences as quickly as possible. If/when they occur, I can expect further radiation and/or surgery to remove them - depending of course on contextual factors.

Now for the bad news: I can expect that, during the first two years most likely (and possible even after) I will need to keep my port installed. As a refresher the port is a medical device, installed in my chest, that runs a catheter up through my neck and directly into my heart. It’s what my treatment team uses to draw blood for my labs, and to administer my chemo and will be part of any future cancer treatments I can expect, especially during that two year period. This means no heavy-lifting during that time. In short, no camera department for me for the foreseeable future. For those of you who have worked with me on film sets over the years I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how devastating this news is. I have been working with professional motion camera picture systems since 1999 - 20 years. It has been my life, and resides at the very core of my identity. I’ve built two businesses around working with Panavision, Arri, Red Digital Cinema and countless other camera systems. I’ve been around the world as an operator, Director of Photography, 1st AC, 2nd AC and technician. I’ve worked on everything, from Television and Commercials, to Academy Award winning features. I have been so lucky to be able to do this kind of work for so long, but I have to leave it for a little while - not permanently - only for a period of time I can’t control or specify. It’s a terrifying prospect, as I haven’t a solitary clue what the Hell I’m going to do with myself professionally while I’m fighting to shift this cancer. The loss of a raison d’être in the midst of mortal crisis isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. In the motion picture industry the chief currency is credits. With a credit gap of two to five years, I imagine I’ll have to rebuild my professional credibility from a state of irrelevance. It’s infuriating, as this disease has already taken so much away from me. I intend no hyperbole when I say that cancer is burning my life to the ground. 

As Captain Kirk put it, “I always like to think there are… possibilities.” If I stay in the business, I’ll have to learn a new role, from the bottom, and establish credibility in a different department. My experience is vast enough to make that feasible, but I highly doubt I can ever love another role nearly as much as I do Camera Department. It’s where I always wanted to be, where I always saw myself, and nothing has been as fulfilling. Admittedly I had, even before my diagnosis, considered taking a break and doing something else, as I find myself increasingly at philosophical odds with certain prevailing trends within the industry - which I won’t elaborate on in this writing. Suffice it to say, this could be a blessing in disguise. Only time will tell. Daily I curse my naiveté with regard to how my treatment would go. I never imagined it would be such a slog; such a war of attrition. Never have I felt so disempowered. Over the coming months, once I get closer to a place of certainty as my cancer journey continues to take shape, I may reach out for help transitioning to another line of work, or another industry entirely. As of this moment, I don’t know quite what I want in that regard.

Now for the ugly news: Yesterday, I met with my surgeon and underwent further exams. He concurred that my response to treatment has been extraordinary (his words). My entire cancer team have confirmed that my already excellent health has contributed to my overwhelmingly positive response to treatment. Couched in such great news however, is a certain reality. A positive response to chemo and radiation - even if the cancer is eventually eliminated - is no guarantee of a return to normalcy. The physical exams have corroborated all the findings of the CAT scans. However, there does remain an as yet unidentified “pressure” detected within the tissues near the front right side of my body. Another round of MRIs have been ordered to gather more data. The cancer did metastasize, and so I remain at risk of developing more tumors elsewhere in my body - part of what the upcoming MRIs are meant to shed light on. In the worst case, exploratory surgeries would be required to effect confirmation. The surgeries could involve the removal of significant tissues, including, part of my colon and - most distressing - my prostate. Without being too graphic, such removals would mean the following: That I would require the use of a colostomy bag for the rest of my life, that I would loose the ability to have children (in fact I may’ve already) and that I would forever lose all sexual function. As I’ve only had 24 hours to absorb this information, I can’t elaborate, although I have no intention of living out a bleak 40-50 years as a cancer-ravaged eunuch. I would stress that this is the worst case scenario (yes, worse than death) and more data is needed to determine the likelihood of things taking such a turn. I may come to need a second opinion. I may find myself weighing the benefits of continuing my treatment against my future quality-of-life. I’m hoping it won’t come to that. I do think that my positive results thus far and current lack of symptoms are positive indicators. Nevertheless, fear and trepidation are creeping in at the margins. Some of you may know, but for those of you who don’t, I knew Hunter S. Thompson and when I got the call one morning that he’d shot himself in Aspen, I understood. Facing a life of infirmity isn’t something to be taken with a pinch of salt. I want to have a future worth living to look forward to. Continuing treatment would be tough to reconcile against dismal prospects. I’m not saying that I would follow Hunter’s example in this regard. I promise I will give everything possible to remain optimistic, but cautiously so, out of necessity.

Thus I would say to anyone, facing trepidation over whether or not to take that new job, marry that man, ask out that woman, buy that house: Live in urgency. You do not have all the time in the world. Get out of your own way, and seize the best life you can. Because, at any moment fortune can shift and take away everything you’ve built for yourself. 

I regret having to post such a sombre note, but I feel it is important to face life with open eyes and if the naked reality of this experience can be helpful to others, then it’s worthwhile. Hopefully my next update will bring positive news. Until then, I appreciate so much, all of your continued support, thoughts, prayers, donations, care-packages, jokes, requests, contact and consideration. Thank you ever so much.

That’s all for now.