Overcoming the Odds and Beating Cancer

December 12, 1992. What was thought to be an emergency operation for a ruptured appendix turned out to be a rare, ruptured tumor in my abdomen that quickly spread throughout my lymph system. Diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, the doctors at Memorial Sloan Kettering gave me less than a ten percent chance of ever walking out of the hospital.

I began receiving the highest doses of chemotherapy a human being could stand without it killing them. At first, I thought I could manage it. “I’ll keep living and training as if nothing has changed.” Then on the third day of my first week of treatment, I realized I couldn’t. My cancer owned me.

My cancer knew no boundaries. I was a physically strong, active Martial Artist – but my cancer beat the living shit out of me. Starting chemotherapy at a lean, mean 175 lbs, but after 4 months, I was a frail 135 lbs., and bald as an egg. I couldn’t punch my way through a wet piece of toilet paper. I was a skeleton with skin.

I had twelve holes drilled in my hips to harvest my own bone marrow that they would freeze and transplant later. I received platelets thirteen times. I had blood transfusions twenty-one times. I was administered chemotherapy drugs eight hours a day for ten consecutive days at a time, then given a week to recover and make sure I was fit to start the cycle all over again.

This was all through a port in my chest, right above where the sixteen-inch scar down the center of my body would be when they later reopened me and removed all my lymph nodes from my groin to my armpits. At one point I had no immune system. I almost died from a common cold. I almost bled to death from a bump on the head. My cancer left me with no dignity, and it wanted me dead.

People that have never had cancer say it’s like a death sentence. I can tell you from experience that cancer is more like a prison sentence because you become “institutionalized”. You are limited, confined, and stripped of daily pleasures. I believe that metaphorically speaking, you are repeatedly beaten and raped.

Let me recall for you, some of the things that slowly made me look at life a little differently;

-The day my Sensei said, “Don’t try to be a hero, but the pain medication is tricking your brain that nothing is wrong with your body – so if you can get off of the meds and deal with the pain, you will heal so much faster.”

-When he made and delivered videos of kata to watch and study in my hospital bed. On VHS tape, prior to the days of digital phones and computer files.

-When he would pick me up during my recovery days at home, drive me to the dojo, dress me in a gi and sit me on the side of the room and explain to others that what they had to go through in class was a walk in the park compared to what I was going through – so “suck it up and give Mr. Lombardo every ounce of energy you have right now!” That energy from my dojo mates contributed to saving my life. When I had no more energy of my own, they gave me theirs.

-53 days in isolation without being able to touch another being – performing kata in my head – thousands of times.

-When I took my brown belt test six weeks after having an 8.5-hour abdominal surgery, and Sensei said “I will be more proud of you if you quit, instead of hurting yourself. You have nothing left to prove to me – you have already taken the most difficult test of your life.”

So just like a real, physical confrontation – the only way I could win the match with cancer was to make it my friend. When I made cancer my enemy it had the power to defeat me, but somewhere in the midst of it all, it made sense – and I made my adversary my friend. Just like my Sensei always taught me…

So here’s the trick – I let my enemy make my life better. I let it make me smile. I let it make me breathe. I let it make me not be so competitive, selfish and self-absorbed, that I didn’t care about other people or what they may be going through. Martial Arts taught me to appreciate my life, my death – and to know the difference between those is just one breath.

Remember that no matter how bad losing feels for you, someone else most likely has it worse. When someone is short with you, maybe you shouldn’t take it so personally. When someone cries, it doesn’t mean they are weak. And when someone is hurting, maybe you can help them.

As you go through your daily life, regardless of what situation you may be in – I ask you to periodically ask yourself the same question that I do;

“Am I utilizing my Martial Arts lifestyle, knowledge, and skills – to make someone else’s life better?”

Shihan Scott Lombardo