“Dr. E.”

I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of… Indianapolis?

When I was first diagnosed with testicular cancer, I had heard very little about it. Like many, I knew of Dr. E in connection with Lance Armstrong. Even when I told people, the most common response was, “Oh yeah, didn’t Lance Armstrong have that?” Yes, he did. However, had he been diagnosed a few decades prior, the outcome of his battle with testicular cancer might not have been as positive as we all know.

After my diagnosis, I read everything I could about testicular cancer:

From survivor stories to medical journals to crazy, borderline conspiracy theories on why it (cancer in general) exists. I wanted to know – I needed to know. That is my nature, and, admittedly, my curiosity is sometimes to my detriment… it is, at the end of the day, who I am.

Regardless of where my search led, one name kept appearing: Dr. Lawrence Einhorn. Why? Because he changed the game – no, seriously! Before Dr. Einhorn, a testicular cancer diagnosis was essentially a death sentence. He revolutionized how it was treated, and today, oncologists jokingly reassure patients, “If you had to choose one type of cancer to get, testicular cancer is it!” Yes, it’s a strange thing to say. But testicular cancer boasts such amazingly high cure rates, in large part to Dr. Einhorn.

Many people in various support forums and online communities told me I had to write to “Dr. E.” So I did. On Saturday, I sent him an e-mail. It was brief and to the point, highlighting where I was in my journey and that I needed his advice. See, when I was first diagnosed, I handed over the keys, for lack of a better term, to the oncologist. I was sick, very sick, and I put my faith in my doctor and his team. When I was faced with a recurrence, I started to wonder a lot. That is NOT to say I lost faith in the doctor treating me – certainly not! I respect my oncologist’s opinion and genuine care for me very much.

However, I also started to wonder about his approach to dealing with what was being labeled a “recurrence” of the same cancer/germ cell tumor.

When I wrote to “Dr. E.” I expressed these worries. In a straightforward, almost clinical way, I put forth everything from my initial seizure to the recently discovered growing nodule in my right lung.

About three hours after writing to him, my phone rings. “Yes, this is Lawrence Einhorn. May I speak with Jeremiah Ray, please?”

Two days after our phone conversations, I told my nurse, who has to sign off on my treatment, that I will forego chemo this week (what would have been my 2nd week of “salvage chemo”); I’m gathering every a single bit of medical data about my case I can gather on such short notice, having yet another CT of my chest (per Dr. E.’s request for comparison), and booking tickets to Indianapolis.

What I want is reassurance. I want to know that my steps are the right ones. I don’t want to find a fountain of youth or be promised to live until a ripe old age. More and more so, I believe in the here and now. And, here and now, I want to know that we’re not just shooting in the dark hoping to hit something. Here and now, I want to know that the highly toxic chemicals I’m subjecting my body to are the right ones. I want to make an informed decision about my future.  

I want the scale to tip: more answers and fewer questions.