My name is Saul Tbeile. I am one of the many people that have ventured on a journey. Thankfully, I am also one of the many to complete this journey, which all too many people have not been able to complete.
It started off like any other day, when I was about to turn 12. My mom, ever so observant, noticed that I had had black and blue marks for about two months that seemed to keep getting worse. Because of this, combined with a constant nosebleed, a rash called petechiae, and that I had been falling asleep the second I came home from school, when I usually stayed up till at least 10, she knew something was wrong. The next day, when I complained of a huge headache, my mom decided that this was the perfect time to take me to the doctor. Unknowingly, I embarked on a journey that would change my life.
When I first got to the doctor I thought, “Nice. I might miss a couple of days of school.” If only I knew how true that statement that would be. The doctor told me to go get a blood test. It was then that I started to get a little suspicious that something might be up.
That night my mom got a call from the doctor saying that he wanted me to go to the ER immediately. Later on, my dad would say that he realized then that I had Leukemia, and his mind just hadn’t connected the dots because you never expect it to happen to someone you know. Thankfully, my mom told the doctor that I was sleeping and she would bring me first thing in the morning. Little did I know that it would be the last time I would sleep in my bed for about two weeks.
The next morning, at about 6:30, my parents woke me up and rushed me to the ER. On the way, I vividly remember the scene in the car. We were driving up an incline near Maimonides Hospital and I asked my parents these exact words, “Hey, mom, I never thought I would say this, but can I go to school today?”
We got to the waiting room and waited about an hour until we finally got called in. I remember the fight that the doctors had to get me to put in the IV. Maybe subconsciously I was fighting the inevitable. Maybe my unconscious did not want to acknowledge the situation; I don’t really know. After the doctors finally got the IV in and did the blood test, we waited for the results. Sadly, I tested positive for Leukemia; to be specific, “Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia” or ALL, for short. In about 5 seconds, my whole world was shattered. How can I possibly have cancer? I was healthy; I was just an ordinary kid.
My mom and dad were hysterical. I was their oldest son, and I was just diagnosed with cancer. Me, well, I was in shock.
After the immediate shock wore off, I had a lot of questions. As an Orthodox Jew, what would I do for food since I can only eat kosher? Will the hospital have kosher food? What about school? Will I be able to go back this year? How would I keep up with all the work? What will happen with all my friends? Will I ever have a normal life again? And the biggest question of all: will I even survive? My brain was working in overdrive trying to answer all these questions.
They took me up to the Intensive Care Unit. Thinking back, I think the ICU may be the one of the worst parts of the experience. Since it was an ICU, they needed to keep me under observation, so I had no privacy and worse, no bathroom. The next day, my mother was contacted by a cancer organization called Chai Lifeline, and started to work on getting me transferred to a hospital that specializes in cancer. The night before I was scheduled to start on chemotherapy, Chai Lifeline called an ambulance to transfer me to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. That night I started chemo. I honestly don’t really remember the next two weeks. The only thing I remember was asking the doctors to try to get me out by my birthday, February 24th. And that was exactly what they did; I got out of the hospital on the twenty-first of February.
After that, my life more or less fell into a routine. Every day I would wake up, drive to Manhattan, get hooked up with the poison or poisons of the day, wait between eight and ten hours watching “Everyone Loves Raymond” or reading a book, and then go home and pass out. That was basically my life for the first two to three months of treatment.
During this time, I received visits from my friends and family almost every day. Behind the scenes, Chai Lifeline, my school, and my mother were trying to work out some way for me to “go to school” while not actually being in class. Together they came up with an idea: to have me learn through Skype. The teacher would set it up in the room, and I would be a part of the class. Sadly, this was earlier on, about three years ago, when this sort of thing wasn’t as reliable as it is today. In fact, today many colleges offer courses online through a program similar to this. It didn’t work out in the end, and some teachers ended up coming by to home school me.
Throughout this time, and for the rest of my treatment, two volunteers continuously visited me, and that helped me immensely—whether it was physically helping me or mentally helping me feel like a normal person, not some fragile invalid that needed to be locked up. Later on in my treatment, I met another volunteer who literally became a brother to me in everything except blood. Every day, I spoke to him for hours upon hours until he got married and moved out of the country.
Midway through treatment, I was finally able to go out into the world—when my neutrophil count was good, that is. It was then that I fully appreciated every day and tried to enjoy it to its fullest. I started to pursue cooking. It was like therapy for me; some people read, some people play an instrument, cooking was my medium. So every day I would cook something new: one day lo mein, the next pull-apart pizza. Every day something new. In the morning, I would wake up, make brunch with my mother, put on Food Network, decide on something to make for lunch, read an entire book, make dinner with my mom, and then read some more. There is something about cooking the food yourself that just makes it taste so much better. Cooking for me can be likened to a mini-game; while not the main focus of the game, it makes it more enjoyable. That was exactly what it did. While I was still undergoing chemo and couldn’t leave the house, it made my life much more enjoyable.
I also started to read a tremendous amount. I have always been a good reader, but with all the time I had on my hands, I was able to read even more. I devoured books like they were water. I own every Clive Cussler book and most of Tom Clancy’s novels, among many others. Each book is its own little adventure, and just like the main characters succeeded in the end, so did I.
Throughout all this I learned many important lessons, specifically from three volunteers, two of whom I still speak with almost every day, even now after I have finished treatment. One important lesson is that every day is a new adventure. Recently, a close friend of mine passed away from cancer. He always believed that everyday brought another adventure. That is how I remember him.
I have learned that every day there is something new to discover. Whether in school, and it is something interesting in biology, or outside of school, and we are visiting the elderly in a hospital, there is always something new to experience and discover. But along with new adventures, every day also brings new challenges. These challenges help mold you into a better person in the long run, even if it doesn’t seem like that in the short term.
To me, those last few lines sum up my journey through cancer: another challenge to overcome, in the even greater adventure called life. Even though it was a grueling experience and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy, it also helped mold me into the person I am today, proving true what Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Life is a journey, not a destination."