Tag Archives: adversity

Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes

Another fun Cusano family vacation to Nantucket is in the books!

Whether it was on the beach, out walking around town, paddle boarding (yes, I did it!) or at Cisco Brewery, I was happy and carefree.  It is great to just wake up with no pressures – no phone calls or emails to respond to, no meetings to attend.  I definitely need to reward myself and take advantage of the time that I am afforded to do this more often.

However, I’d be lying if I did not acknowledge the moments where my mind wandered and I caught myself thinking about the past and the adversity I have overcome to get here.  It wasn’t feelings of sadness or depression, but rather, joy and jubilance.  If you had told me back in 2008 I would be riding a paddle board in the ocean, traversing through massive yachts, I would have told you that you were nuts. For the past nine years, nothing has been perfect – be it law school, the bar exam, seizures, weakness or more surgeries.  Yet, this week was an exception.

All of this made me realize that everything in life is in flux and nothing is permanent.  I watched the waves rush in and then wash out.  Ferries dropped people off and then came back to pick people up to bring them home.  As I sat on the ferry home, I realized that nothing is constant – we cannot bottle up good times and moments to take them home, but we can certainly savor them.

I said it earlier, and I’m saying it again – nothing in life is permanent.  While this may sound negative, it is not because it is reality. Just like life on the island, everything comes and goes.  The good, the bad, you have to just keep paddling.

As I learned at an early age, life is short and should not be taken for granted, so live it up.

Victorious

“Adversity.  We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.”

After 9 years of making adjustments and coping with bad news that seemed as though it would never end, today, I am victorious.

I spent the morning at Yale for an MRI.  As I laid in the noisy tube, I reflected on the past nine years and thought about what my life would be like if the scan was clear and the tumor truly was gone for good.  For nearly one-third of my life, I have made trips to Yale for surgeries, appointments, having staples removed, and MRI’s that ranged from 3 months to one year.  Going in today, and as I laid there humming to the tapping noises emanating from the machine, I knew there was the distinct possibility that this life experience could be a thing of the past after my appointment with my doctor.  But I take nothing for granted these days, including Ashley, my best friend and the one who has been there with me every step of the day since day one, when I called her after receiving this horrifying diagnosis.

Together, we stalled in the cafeteria until my appointment. Soon after, we went up to the consultation room, he walked in and delivered the news…

“Your brain looks pristine!  Everything looks great!”  He was pretty confident after the last scan that this would be the case and reminded me that he was pretty aggressive during the last surgery, so he was not entirely surprised.  I thought I was dreaming, albeit a happy dream.  Logically, the question “What should our plan be going forward?” was presented.  After a brief discussion, it was decided that I do not need another MRI for 2 YEARS.  Yes, you read that correctly!  If I ever need anything though, I’ll know where to find him.

I have not fully digested this news yet, and it has not quite sunk in.  Fortunately, this chapter of my life appears to have drawn to a close – and I don’t say this lightly. This battle has not been mine
 to bear alone, but that of my family as well – and without all of their support, I would not be here, writing to you.  They have played such an instrumental part in my recovery and never once stopped believing in me, nor allowed me to give up on myself or dreams.

I look forward to many more years of health and sharing my stories of hope, courage and inspiration with each of you.

Cheers!

That Spirit of Christmas

img_3995Here we are yet again – visiting, decorating, shopping and wrapping, all while maintaining a work-life balance.  It wouldn’t be the Christmas season without a little bit of added stress – and Coddington chewing Santa.  Last December, I wrote about enjoying the moment and enjoying the holidays, and I have frequently preached the same idea.

Despite all of my own advice, I am one of the worst violators at times.  Sure, I can chalk it up to eight years of MRIs, surgeries and seizures, experiencing let down after let down in the pursuit of my career, but the reality is that I have failed to count my blessings.  Life could have went in a very different direction for me in a heartbeat, but for whatever the reason, that wasn’t the plan.  No one is expected to be the epitome of a carefree, happy person 24/7, but, as I am reminded by Ashley, I have a lot to be grateful for this holiday season and every day – maybe like my friend Ebenezer I’ve been visited by the Ghosts of Christmas past, present and future in my sleep last night, because today it has suddenly become so clear.  With my perceived troubles, it is easy for me to forget how well things turned out for me.

Life is not guaranteed and there is simply no time to be down in the dumps.  This Christmas season and the beginning of the year is a time to start taking the advice I constantly dole out to others.  I’m not looking back.

On Monday night before the Ravens and Patriots squared off, ESPN opened the broadcast with a story that hit home.  My social media news feed was subsequently filled with the story of an amazing fighter from here in Connecticut battling brain cancer.  I cried as I watched this video, as I was overcome by profound sadness for Logan and his family.  As a Giants fan – thank you Tom Brady for helping to make this fan’s wish come true and the doctors at CCMC for giving him his own “# 12.”  I am praying for Logan and his family during the days ahead.  http://www.espn.com/video/clip?id=18266035.

As I watched this story, I was reminded once again just how lucky I am.  This one got me.  I am determined to live the renewed lease on life that I was given.

Here I am, eight years removed from what could have been, but I cannot find happiness on a day-to-day basis, all for no good reason. No more though.  I am going to live, love, laugh and smile more.

Finish your shopping and wrapping.  Enjoy the company of family and friends.  But find time to laugh and smile more  – not just around Christmastime, but all year long.  As the late, great Ray Charles said:

All the kin folk gather round
The lovely Christmas tree
Hearts are glowing full of joy
Sense the gifts that we’re giving
And the love that we’re living
Why can’t it remain
Oh all through the year
Each day the same
that’s what I wanna hear
I’ll tell ya
It’s truly amazin’
That spirit of Christmas

Walk This Way

One step at a time…

Last week, over 700 brain tumor patients, survivors, caregivers, family, friends and doctors walked and ran in the Path of Hope, a 5K to benefit the CTBTA.  As with all events, there were obstacles to overcome but that did not stop us.  The new venue worked perfectly and I heard many great compliments.  Additionally, we were faced with another event taking place on the same day and at the same location, but this too did not make an iota of a difference to our dedicated group of volunteers who adjusted to each punch thrown.  I saw determination and a desire to make this event just as great, if not better, than the previous two years.   Proudly, we can say, that goal was accomplished.

We had an impassioned speech from our President Emeritus and a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem.  New this year was a true 5K timed run to give those who wanted that experience and it was a success.  The walkers were located within the confines of the village and as each team came around the turn, I saw nothing but smiles, belief and hope.

The most incredible part of the entire of the day was witnessing the brain tumor community come together, and it is truly awesome to witness.  Never could I have imagined that there would be this community, let alone people who wanted to come together and celebrate their journey in what they have overcome or are currently facing.  Whether it was meeting Elli Haskes, a fifteen year old student whose mother passed away from brain cancer when she was five and who set up a table to collect items to create care packages for children whose parents have been diagnosed with a brain tumor, or Steve, an inspirational survivor whom would never let on that anything was wrong, and his caregiver Wendy, who radiates with positivity.  And to greet all of the patients and survivors, there was Supercow, img_1223the very animal I named in the hospital when my parents asked me who my dog was.  The handshakes, hugs and tears we exchanged are moments I will not forget and are the reason that I do this.  Thank you all for being there.

When I think about all the time and work that went into the event by everyone involved, it was all worth it as  I saw the joy that it brought to everyone.  The day was about raising awareness of brain tumors and doing our part to help find the cure.  It sounds odd, but there is truly something special when you have the chance to actually celebrate brain tumors with an amazing community of people whose lives have been affected by this awful disease.

Whether your tumor is malignant or benign, it is still a brain tumor and the effects are equally as devastating.  The best advice that I was given, and which I now give to you is simple.

Take it “one step at a time.”  There is not a day that does not go by where I do not think about it, or reflect upon how grateful I am, but to Ashley, my family, friends and all supporters – thank you for all you have done, and continue to do for me.  You have allowed me to take this and turn it into something great, and I am grateful.img_1452

I Wish That I Knew What I Know Now, When I Was Younger

Screen Shot 2016-06-29 at 9.37.10 PMHot dogs, burgers, beer, cookouts, fireworks and independence – all typical thoughts of the 4th of July (there is still no better memory than this photo from last year’s 4th of July getaway to Puerto Rico).  For me, my thoughts this holiday weekend will always be a reminder of my journey and battle.  In the blink of an eye, maybe not for all, my family included, this weekend will mark eight years since it all began.  I still remember it vividly, being wheeled into the OR on July 2, 2008.  Will I see my family again?  Will I remember everyone’s faces?  Will I be able to speak?  The list of questions goes on and on, but I knew it was my only chance of living, so this weekend, I will be rejoicing.  More importantly though, the past eight years have shown me how to live and what truly matters.  There have been many bumps in the road and unexpected twists that I did not foresee, all of which caused me to reexamine my life, my dreams and the ultimate pursuit of happiness, but I am still exploring and figuring it out.

At age 24, I was so focused on my life and pursuing my dreams, all to make as much money as possible.  Before starting law school, right through year one, I was, and still am to the extent I can be, overly ambitious.  Growing up, I saw my parents dedicate their lives to their children.  Whether it was Anheuser-Busch and driving back and forth to New York every day, Eagle Snacks, President of Cape Cod Potato Chips, followed by owning his own company, ShelfSpace Marketing, LLC, while simultaneously serving as the General Manager of Carla’s Pasta, my father was, and still very much is, a hard worker.  My mother is just as incredible, a true inspiration.  She not only raised my siblings and I, but she also taught us values and how to be a good person; she took care of the house and kept it spotless; always had breakfast, lunch and dinner ready – never failed; managed to drive all of us to lessons and appointments.  Remarkably, she did much of this while battling and beating breast cancer and never missing a beat, and is now a para-professional at an elementary school.  They always told my siblings and I: “hard work pays off.”

However, my life changed drastically between the ages of 24 and 32 and I am still waiting for my big break.  Life has been a struggle since my diagnosis – surgeries, extended hospital stays, cognitive rehabilitation, physical rehab, etc.  In addition, and as you know, I have struggled with passing the bar exam.  I still have sky-high medical and student loan bills that I have yet to make even the smallest dent in because I’m not using my JD as I envisioned.

Yet, I am still smiling because all is not lost, not even in the smallest sense.

If this ordeal has taught me anything, it is that life does not go according to plan.  Life throws you curveballs and you have to adjust accordingly.  Sure, I could have packed it in after that semester off and thrown in the towel, but I wanted to prove to myself, and any doubters, that I could excel and earn my degree.  However, what I did not know was that the initial three surgeries would not be the end, as seizures ensued, followed by a shunt revision, gamma knife surgery and one more craniotomy.  But I followed my heart and did what I wanted and have absolutely no regrets about how the past eight years have unfolded.

At 32 years old, I look at my life in quarters – the fourth quarter was pure hell.  It presented me with challenges and hardship, but now, with my renewed lease on life, I am restarting the clock and have an opportunity to explore new avenues and opportunities that perhaps would not have been possible had I gone down the path to being a lawyer.  I have been part of some great conversations of late, some of which are right under my feet.  I intend to continue exploring alternate opportunities with my firm; I just collaborated with the staff at the Yale Brain Tumor Center on content for its new website; I have been working with the Director of Special Events at Yale University on Brainstormin’ and am open to exploring opportunities there.  On the nonprofit side of things, I am the Vice President of the CTBTA and am intrigued by what the future there may hold.  I did not know how much I enjoyed fundraising and development, but it is an area that I truly enjoy, especially for a cause that I am so passionate about.

As I continue to reinvent myself, I get down on myself from time-to-time, due to what I perceive to be, “failures”.  Yet, at the end of the day, I am reminded that I still have all that is important.  As odd as it may sound, I feel blessed to have been dealt this diagnosis, as it made me a better, stronger person and has opened new doors and opportunities for me to pursue.  I am exploring life and doing things I never thought I would do.

On Tuesday, I was interviewed by iHeart Radio and was asked, “How has this experience changed your life?”

To try to answer that concisely was difficult, but as I told the interviewer, these past eight years have been eye-opening, causing me to reexamine how I live my life and taking nothing for granted and never losing hope.  We should all strive to live in the moment and not lose sight of what is important – family, health and friends.

“I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger.”

I’m Living My Life Like Its Golden

Being a brain tumor survivor can be lonely and scary for many, but one of the great things that has come out of this ordeal is that it gave me the chance to meet patients and survivors like myself, and to talk with them about their stories.  As I mentioned a few posts back, I wanted to offer up the opportunity for guest posts from some of the people I’ve met along the way.  Amazingly, and as you’ll read, the lyrics from the song we all heard time and time again growing up “it’s  a small world after all” is true.  This entry below is from an incredible survivor and person, Aisha.  

“Letting the joy unfold…it comes naturally.”

When Chris asked that I title my post with the title of a song, naturally I thought of Jill Scott’s “Golden”. Along with “Happy” by Pharell, Golden was often heard from my room in rehab. If you happened to walk by, you’d find me jamming in my wheelchair, basking in the sunlight pouring into my room. The powerful words inspired me to keep hope and my resolve in face of a difficult situation in my life.

My story started off benign from the beginning. No symptoms, no emergency. My tumor, or lesion as it was defined at the time, was an incidental finding on a routine CT scan following a concussion I sustained from a slip on black ice, early one dark winter morning. Months later, after four consultations, surgery was advised and I agreed. I underwent an elective neurosurgical procedure in which my tumor was removed in its entirety; however, a few days later I woke up completely paralyzed on right side. In many ways, it is then that I truly feel my brain tumor journey began. I was admitted to a stroke unit in rehab and remained there for two months after which I was transferred home. I struggled to learn to walk again, write my name, and do simple grooming. There was a time when I was in rehab that I was discouraged from working or even applying, but it remained my goal to work again and by the grace of a higher being, I was able to do so. I am now employed as an assistant academic director/assistant professor of health science for a graduate program. This May, during brain tumor awareness month, I will celebrate my 2nd anniversary since surgery and it will have also been two years of therapy.IMG_6871

In addition to the personal connection I have with Golden, it also connects me with Chris. After my discharge I still had great difficulty with walking and unfortunately was unable to attend a concert featuring Broca’s Area, a CT band in which Chris’ brother is the drummer. They were fundraising for brain tumor awareness and the article was the first time I learned of Chris Cusano, a guy around my age, from my town, and amazingly with the same rare benign brain tumor as me, a central neurocytoma. I didn’t actually meet Chris until several months later at a CTBTA meeting. Shortly after our first meeting, I attended my first CTBTA event, Laughter on the Brain, in Hartford, CT. My attendance that day was truly a blessing as I could not drive yet and my father surprised me at work. He drove me from Bridgeport, CT all the way to Hartford, CT. After I arrived, I remember registering for the event and making my way downstairs where they were serving refreshments and a performance by Broca’s Area was going on. As I was making my way down, I heard a familiar beat playing in the background and found myself grinning ear to ear. It was my song, Golden. I heard a beautiful voice on the mic, a performance Jill Scott herself would approve of. It was Kismet: my unexpected arrival, my first CTBTA event with Chris, and my song was playing. Through Chris, I met his beautiful wife Ashley and the Cusano family. As we stood by the bar listening to the band, I felt gratitude to have recovered enough to be able to hear my song live and to have found a friend in a fellow survivor.

Although I have always considered myself fortunate for having the tremendous support of my family and friends, to have the support and validation of another survivor is priceless. They say “birds of a feather, flock together”, and I feel this is very appropriate for anyone who has suffered from a brain pathology such as a tumor. Through the CTBTA, I have met numerous other brain tumor survivors and recently and more specifically, “benign” brain tumor survivors. Hearing your struggles as they are experienced by another individual provides a sense of validation that is difficult to find with caregivers and clinicians. After all, even I get tired of telling my friends, family, and even coworkers how my shoulder is sore or my leg is angry. Often I’ll joke that my left leg has requested a trial separation as it feels that it picks up too much of the work for the right. With Chris and CTBTA survivors, I could joke and hear their experiences and feel that “aha” moment. I walked away thinking, “yes, they get it”.

So now, I feel honored to be a part of a unique group of individuals who have been impacted by a brain tumor. We may be weathered by the experience but we have not exhausted our resolve. In fact, each of us has in some way decided to share our experience in case our struggle may resonate with someone else. True, the path has at times been difficult, but the memorable associations I have made along the way give me reason to smile and the strength to continue “living my life like its Golden”.

Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now

The Big ‘C’.

We hear about it all the time filling the airwaves, social media and conversation.  You’d be hard pressed to say that there’s anyone out there whose life hasn’t been touched by it.  My own family has been affected by cancer – as I mentioned before on this blog, my mother is a breast cancer survivor and the strongest woman who I have ever met – she even managed to raise me!

When I received my brain tumor diagnosis, the one blessing bestowed upon me was that the doctors thought it was likely benign.  A malignant tumor would have presented so many more challenges than I was already facing.

Just as with any type of cancer, brain cancer is awful.  There’s no denying that fact.  I thought maybe it was just me, but it seems to be a common thread among benign brain tumor patients to feel a sense of guilt in opening up about their struggles due to our benign status.  Trust me, we are grateful and while we do consider it a stroke of great luck to not have encountered the big ‘C’ in our journeys, our benign tumors have presented us with unique challenges which we will deal with for the rest of our lives.

This past Saturday, I met up with three truly remarkable, inspirational people from right here in Connecticut who have gone down the same path I have – Rob, Aisha and Julia.  All three were diagnosed with benign brain tumors.  As we sat around the table for coffee, sharing our stories, I felt the connection of togetherness and pride in that while we may each have undergone a traumatic experience, we are still here and able to share our stories.   The scars on our heads cannot take away our ability to live and sometimes even important, to laugh.

This meeting was something I had wanted to do for a while, to reach out and talk with others in the same situation like I am.  Now, I do not want to take anything away from anyone with brain cancer, or any other form of cancer – I hate the thought of it.  But hear me out.

Being diagnosed with a benign brain tumor and having it removed is not the end of the struggles, unfortunately.  If you been following my story, you know my continued struggles and the additional surgeries and procedures that were needed.  However, I am very fortunate in the grand scheme of things – something which I have known for quite some time, but which I sometimes forget to appreciate.  The four of us each had to fight to regain our livelihoods, which included intensive rehabilitation and requiring us to put our lives on hold.

Pre-brain tumor, Rob created a very successful life for himself.  He spent years in the music industry, working as the tour agent for musicians including Britney Spears, the Backstreet Boys, Justin Timberlake, Mary J. Blige and most recently, the Jonas Brothers.  Unfortunately though, in November 2012, Rob’s life changed forever when he was diagnosed with a brain tumor on his brain stem and spent nearly 200 consecutive days in various hospitals.  During that time, he underwent 9 surgeries and countless hours of rehab.  He developed hydrocephalus and now lives with a shunt.  He still experiences double vision and is restricted to driving during the day.  However, Rob is full of hope and is an inspiration to me and everyone around him.  I have been in Rob’s company on several occasions now, and despite his challenges, not once have I heard him complain about his life or feel sorrow for himself.  His doctors will continue to monitor the remaining tumor that is left on his brain stem and his hydrocephalus is under control with the shunt.

Aisha, whom I’ve previously mentioned on this blog, was diagnosed with the same type of tumor as me – a central neurocytoma.  Ironically enough, she grew up and lives in North Haven, CT, the same town that I grew up in and come to find out, in very close proximity to where I used to live.  Like me, she was treated at Yale-New Haven Hospital and her prognosis is good.  Aisha is a spirited and hysterical individual with a tremendous outlook.  She shared a story with us of how she applied for a teaching job at the University of Bridgeport and was called for an interview while in the hospital.   Determined, she asked if she could interview via Skype.  While she did not Skype with them, she did end up going for an interview five months later when she was home and recovered, and was the successful candidate for the search.  Despite her fortunes, Aisha is left with paralysis on her right side, requiring a cane to enable her to walk.  There’s no stopping her though – she doesn’t let her challenges bring her down.  She truly lights up any room with her positivity.

Julia reached out to the CTBTA seeking to volunteer and help our organization – not to mention, she is full of wonderful ideas!  A phenomenal personality and pleasure to meet with, I knew she was committed to this cause from the moment we exchanged our hellos.   Before her diagnosis, Julia was experiencing headaches and loss of smell, which she believed to be a sinus issue.  Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with a meningioma and underwent a craniotomy and then again surgery for a CSF leak and infection she developed.  Julia has since lost her sense of smell and can only taste certain things, but certainly has not lost her sense of humor!  During our meeting, she asked the rest of the group about our screws.  Yes, screws.  Julia pointed to a spot at the top of her forehead and another one above her right eye where the doctors inserted screws to place her skull back in.  When I reached out for her consent to share her story with you, she referred to herself as “part bride of Frankenstein, nuts and bolts and all!”  Despite her sense of humor however, she expressed frustrations with her memory and fears of neuropsych testing, all while waiting for a decision on her disability.  Yet, in the eyes of a seven-year survivor, for someone who is only seven months out, I think she’s doing remarkably well!

I think the four of us would all agree that joining together and sharing our stories – the pain, the struggles, and believe it or not, the belly-hurting laughs, was a great experience.  There’s just something about the camaraderie felt between those sharing similar experiences that is therapeutic.

So yes, while a cancerous tumor certainly is not the same as a benign tumor, tumors are tumors and they each present their challenges and obstacles.  It is my hope, at least, that together we will bring all brain tumors to the forefront – both cancerous and benign.

Because after all, grey matters.

Empty Chairs At Empty Tables

Despite how well I have been feeling of late, I cannot help feeling guilty.  Yes, I have survivor’s guilt.

2015 has been particularly difficult.  Whether it has been through social media or the evening news, we continue to hear about the tragic stories of those newly diagnosed.  And just during the  past couple of months alone, the Connecticut brain tumor community has lost two courageous warriors.  Through my involvement with the CT Brain Tumor Alliance, I am surrounded by stories of heartbreak and triumph.  Recently, I told you about Martin and Candice, two individuals who I had met through my involvement with this organization and I am proud to say that I live a better life because of the two of them.   With a smile always on their face, they never allowed their diagnosis to bring them down.  Unfortunately, both lost their battles to their horrific disease.  Yet, I am still here.

I wish life were different.  The questions haunt me: why does someone with a benign tumor like the one I had, have such a different recovery and prognosis than I?  Why was my tumor benign while another person’s was cancerous?  I wish I had answers to these questions and as to why I am okay compared to others.  However, these are questions which nobody can, or ever will, be able to answer.  My pain and sadness for the victims and their loved ones makes me want to fight harder for them.  I often remind myself how lucky I am, but it does not take away the somber reminder of those who are less fortunate.  I am attempting to turn my tragedy into a positive.  If nothing else, it has allowed me to gain an entirely new perspective on life and what is truly important.

My role as a Director of the CTBTA becomes that much more important to me and I feel the pride when the Board goes to the various hospitals and research centers to present checks.  These monies are used to better assist research and treatments; to allow children to get into MRI machines without being scared; and providing for patient-assistance funds.  The opportunities that the hospitals are to present from our hard work brings a smile to my face, providing reassurances that I am taking part in a greater change for something good.

Nonetheless, I am quite certain that I will always be haunted by survivor’s guilt.  Saying goodbye to an acquaintance with this diagnosis will get harder and harder.   However, I believe that the best way to honor those who have passed from this disease is to continue fighting in their honor.  To try to bring something good out of this experience.  So when I hear about someone with a more difficult prognosis than myself, I will always be reminded by a sense of gratitude from my recovery and how far I have come to fight on in the memory of those who have passed.

Grazing In The Grass

Chip,

Where do I begin?  You were a brother to myself, Jackie and Stephen, a son to Mom and Dad and you enjoyed a life full of love and character.  For the past fourteen years, you brought such joy, smiles and true companionship to all of us.  Mom sent me this picture taken of you last Tuesday – typical you!  IMG_1922You loved to roam and lay in the grass and never wanted to come in.  And now, I hope that you have found a lush patch of grass in Heaven that you can lay on permanently.  Thank you for always being such a loyal friend and companion to us all.

I have so many good memories with you that it is hard to pick which ones I want to tell you about.  I will always remember the day that we brought you home, how small you were.  I will never forget the countless hours that I spent with you when you first came home, lining up your food toward the bowl.  You would eat each piece one-by-one and then eventually, you would lick the bowl clean.  I will also always savor the times that you heard my car turn into the driveway and race to the door to anxiously sit there, waiting for me to come in and you would give me the best greeting ever.  Or how about car rides – you loved the feel of your ears and hair blowing in the wind.  And I know you’re a dog, but you loved beer and I hope they have some for you up there!  There were trips with us to the Christmas tree farm!  But for as long as I live, I will always remember the times spent on the couch when you jumped up and curled yourself into my lap.  I honestly don’t know who loved it more, you or I?

On July 1, 2008, I got the phone call with my MRI results.  Amidst the flurry of emotion that day, I neglected to give you your birthday present and I told Mom and Dad during my hospital stay that I was afraid I would never be going home and would potentially never see you again.  When I finally got home on July 15th, I cried from joy and euphoria and you were there to greet me.  I finally got to give you your birthday present!

Saturday morning, when Mom and Dad called me with the news, I went and sat on the deck to reflect on your life and the joy that you brought us over the past fourteen years.  As all of the happy and fun memories ran through my mind, I was overcome by emotion and I looked up at the sky and the sun and said a prayer for you.  By the time I looked back down at the table and opened my eyes, and with Ashley as my witness, there she IMG_1921was, just staring at me.  I was in shock and awe.  I know this was a sign from you, telling me that you were finally at peace after suffering for the past two months.  I began to cry some more because of the coincidence of seeing another ladybug in the time of need.  You sent us all the sign that we needed.  Another ladybug, another sign from above.  Just like Dad witnessed during my neuropsychological testing when he prayed for a sign that I would be okay, or when I went for my last MRI in April that there would no evidence of growth and the ladybug appeared in Dad’s office, this was my sign letting me know you were at peace.  A great reaffirmation that we made the right decision in designing the logo for the Cusano Family Brain Tumor Fund.

We will all miss you and always cherish the times spent with you.  You made our family better, and I thank you for that.  Rest in peace, Chip.

When You’re On A Holiday, You Can’t Find The Words To Say

Last week, Ashley and I were away on vacation and I had one goal in mind – to relax and forget about the everyday grind for a while.  Out of the gates, 2015 was fast and furious with the surgery for my regrowth, to returning to work everyday with an occasional “day off” for my followup doctors’ appointments.  It was definitely time.

We had kicked around some ideas of where to go, but we settled on the El Conquistador in Puerto Rico.  The resort is located in Fajardo, about 45 minutes outside of the bustling city of San Juan.  As you head up the driveway to the property, you are surrounded by sprawling acres of golf courses, tennis courts, palm trees and other natural vegetation.  Then suddenly, the resort appears right before your eyes.  Growing up, I have had the luxury of traveling to some great destinations over the years, and this one ranks up there with the greats.

Aside from being a phenomenal vacation, the trip also provided me with time to reflect on the past.  We left on July 2nd, which happened to be my seven-year “brainaversary”.  In comparison, these two days could not have been any more different.  This July 2nd, I was elated and jubilant; then, I was uneasy and wracked with emotions.  Two days later, on July 4th, Ashley and I watched a magnificent firework display from the balcony of the lobby with other guests of the resort.  And as I stood there watching IMG_3427the fireworks going off over the water, I had a flashback to July 4, 2008 while laying in my hospital bed watching the firework over the New Haven harbor.  I remembering enjoying that night, feeling happy with the prognosis I was given and the great strides I was making in my recovery, yet it was still difficult as a hospital was the last place I wanted to be that night.  The feeling I had this year is hard to describe, but there was a definite sense of joy and relief as I watched the fireworks right before my eyes over the waters of the Caribbean.  This was where I wanted to be and to have come so far made me proud.

Two days later, Ashley and I hopped on onto the first ferry over to Palomino Island, a private island owned by the resort.  Guests ride the high speed ferry from the marina to the island and within 15 minutes, you step off into another world. There was a definite calming sense from being one of the few people on an island in the middle of the ocean so early in the morning, but we wanted to pick the best spot we can find.  When we found our spot on the beach,IMG_1798 I took it all in; I found myself reflecting once again.  But I learned a few years ago that you need to realize that it is okay to reflect and actually process what you went through, so I did.  I went back to July 6, 2008.

Throughout the past seven years, this was the scariest day for everyone involved.  Ashley had been at the hospital with me on July 5th for a visit and we were all smiles.  Though I was unable to communicate with her at that time, I was so happy to have her by my side, spending time with me.  Not less than 12 hours later though, I was being rushed into the OR for emergency surgery.  I had done a complete 180 and was manifesting symptoms similar to a stroke.  The right side of my body had gone lifeless.  Would I make it out alive?  Would I have permanent side effects that would leave me a in a vegetative state?

Flash forward to the present day, I looked over to my left and there was Ashley, right by my side again.  I am so fortunate for her.  And as I stared at the aqua blue water, it was hard to believe that I had come this far.  I experienced a rush of gratitude to be so blessed to experience all that this beautiful life has to offer.  The beginning of the year proved that life isn’t always easy, but whether I’m preparing for surgery or floating in the Caribbean, isn’t it amazing to just be here?   To be fully functioning and experiencing each moment makes it all worth it.