Day 91! David Montalvo is a friend of mine AkA ball brotha from NY! He shares his story :) Monorchid Diaries Balls. Huevos. Giggle Berries. Whatever you call them, this is my journey of losing one of them to testicular cancer. By David Montalvo Twitter: @montalvo_d Instagram: @montalvo_d Being Ballsy They say that life happens when you’re busy making plans. For me, that was at the grocery store one Sunday afternoon while I was in the middle of figuring out whether the private label dehydrated cranberries were sweetened. I don’t care much for the sweetened ones. I was studying the packaging when all of a sudden a sharp pain pierced through my left nut. It didn’t feel so much as a kick in the balls – there was no crouching and falling – but rather a serious flick that left me hobbling. That’s when life happened. Later that week, I’d discover that I had testicular cancer. It’s been a little over a year since that day at the grocery store. But I haven’t quite yet gotten over the fact that I didn’t have the facts on testicular cancer. How did I manage to get through high school, college and my 20s without much awareness of what is supposed to be the most common cancer among young men? The average age at diagnosis, I later learned, is 33. Back when I was fussing over the dehydrated cranberries, I was 33. And I was one of nearly nine thousand men who would be diagnosed with testicular cancer in the U.S. that year. I’d felt that sharp, sudden pain few times in the months prior to my diagnosis. But I never really thought it was something to worry about. As a result, the cancer spread outside my testicle and into my abdomen and nearly my chest. Less than a week after my diagnosis, I was dozing off in a hospital gown on the operating table. Then in April, which turns out to be Testicular Cancer Awareness month, I began my 20 sessions of chemotherapy over a four-month period, which ultimately poisoned me. (My brilliant but generally apathetic oncologist burst with excitement upon discovering I had “platinum toxicity,” a rare reaction to chemotherapy these days, he marveled.) Then a month after that poisoning, I underwent a surgery so big and so uncommon that it’s hard to find a surgeon with enough experience performing them, and so some countries can’t even offer the surgery as part of the treatment. Infusion center-bound. Housebound. And at times bedbound. What’s a writer to do? So – perhaps much to the displeasure of former executive editor of the Times Bill Keller – I took my trials to Twitter, as well as Tumblr, Facebook and Instagram. Social media allowed me share what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. And it allowed me to find and connect with a global community of survivors. One survivor in particular really stood out as ballsy. I met Thomas Cantley on Instagram, a handsome man with hipster coiffed hair and scruff to match who exuded the kind of confidence of someone who very well already knew this. Cantley had already gone through what I was going through, and now he was rolling a giant flesh-colored ball, which he told Men’s Health was his “reincarnated left testicle” called Lefty, across Canada to raise awareness. Today, Cantley continues to raise awareness of testicular cancer and continues to build an online community of support for survivors and their loved ones, using Instagram to showcase survivors who are also “ballsy” and Facebook to share their stories. Cantley and a few other support groups have kindly invited me to submit my story. But it hasn’t yet been a full year of recovery for me. There’s still much I’m processing in my head, despite my high spirits. And there’s still some healing my body is undergoing, despite being back at the gym and doing head stands. For now, I’d rather write about a hero and his big Lefty. And if all goes as he planned, Cantley may soon be sharing his incredible cross-country journey with Lefty at a film festival near you. Can’t wait! montalvod.tumblr/post/81350470957/being-ballsy
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 16:10:31 +0000