<b>Coping With The Fear</b><br>Following two surgeries and an unexpected lymphoma diagnosis, to cope with the fear, I began photographing myself with a self-portrait in my bathroom mirror. <b>Waiting Hands</b><br>While waiting to see the oncologist, Li and I nervously waited to learn my test results, praying for the biopsy to be negative. <b>A Complicated Case</b><br>The scan showed bad news. Two totally unrelated cases of Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma were co-existing in my body at the same time. <b>Not Good News</b><br>As we reacted to the bad news, I worried about my wife. We knew we were in for a long haul. I had never before been seriously ill with no idea what would come next. <b>A Doctor's Concern</b><br>Doctors don't normally show emotion. I was fortunate to have one of the best in the lymphoma field, Dr. James Lynch. He never wore a false face but instead offered me news of powerful treatment options, helping me to summon my courage to begin the fight. <b>Metaphor Of The Impossible</b><br>I must have been on autopilot photographing myself during the process of hearing such awful news. As Dr. Lynch formulated my chemo schedule, and my wife was left to contemplate the impossible days to come, I tinkered with the camera, very aware of the metaphor that I might have to learn to say goodbye. <b>You Just Pray You Can Beat It</b><br>For journalists, cancer stories are the biggest cliché. But when a photojournalist gets cancer, you don't feel clichéd, you just pray you can beat it. We faced the ultimate test of our faith. However, even at that moment when I knew I could die, I never believed I would. <b>The Joy of Every Day</b><br>They tell you to just go on living your normal life as best as you can, and that's what we tried to do. All I could think of was being alive to see my kids grow up. <b>The Tear Of The Needle</b><br>During my first chemo treatment, I held the camera up and hit the motor drive as the needle tore through my skin for the first time. When the needle goes in, they tell you to breathe out. I exhaled and squeezed hard on the shutter button. <b>Bald To Be</b><br>After the first chemo, I was left to imagine what I would soon look like bald. <b>Clumps Of Hair . . . Everywhere</b><br>Just like they said, two weeks after that first chemo, my hair began to fall out in huge clumps. <b>Left Behind</b><br>As I awoke early one Monday morning at 6 a.m., hair was left behind on my side of the bed while Li still slept. <b>Preemptive Haircut</b><br>I didn't want to scare my young kids but had no sense of what to tell them. My hair was rapidly falling out. With mock enthusiasm, I shared plans for getting a 'super short summer haircut.' I pre-emptively had it buzzed off to not scare them. But, they were scared anyway. <b>Trying To Find The Father She Knew</b><br>Carina, just 4-years-old, tried to find the father she knew. <b>Reality Strikes Quickly</b><br>Even though the haircut really was a positive experience where I was able to exercise some control of what was happening to me, I broke down for just 10 seconds toward the end. Reality was again setting in. <b>Strength In Family</b><br>On that seminal day, I found strength in family—-Li, Carina, Max, and me.  Somehow, I knew I would find the strength to beat it. <b>I Don't Recognize Myself</b><br>For three days, I didn't recognize myself. After I took this picture on the driveway and showed it to my daughter, Carina, I asked her, 'Who's that in the picture?' I thought for sure she'd say, 'Shrek.' But, immediately, she said, 'That's Daddy!' <b>It's Still Me, Mom</b><br>I was born with a full head of hair and my mom had never seen me bald. When she first saw me outside her front door, with cane in hand she came right over to give me a hug.. <b>We Can Face It</b><br>My fellow professor, Lisa, was diagnosed with breast cancer two months before I learned I had lymphoma. We helped each other feel we could face it. <b>Just How Does One Photograph Himself With Cancer?</b><br> You may ask, 'Just how does one photograph himself with cancer?' This may work at first . . .<br><br>. . . But when your hair is gone . . . 'What to do?' <b>Slowly Dripping</b><br>The drip was slow, and when it was again time for chemo, I was there all day. <b>The Energy Dance</b><br>Time away from treatment at a nearby Florida beach helped us clarify what we were fighting for. We sang, 'Energy, energy. Positive Energy . . . Energy, energy, I love you!' <b>A Nugget Of Courage</b><br>Through my many months of chemo, Dr. Lynch and I became close. We're both humanists at heart. He never sugar coated the diagnosis and treatment, yet always communicated hope, and a nugget of courage, too. <b>Love Kills Cancer</b><br>I decided I wanted to continue to try to work, despite the obvious toll that chemotherapy takes. On the first day of class, I tipped my cap to my students after explaining my cancer diagnosis and plan to beat it. <b>A Birthday In The Rain</b><br>On my 49th birthday, a rainstorm that nearly became a hurricane was a metaphor for the challenges I faced. <b>My Birthday Wish</b><br>As I opened birthday cards, surrounded by wife, kids, and mom, my life felt full. <b>The Face Of Fatigue</b><br>After the fourth chemo treatment, the fatigue grew and, at times, replaced my recognition of self. But, the fatigue ebbed and flowed; it wasn't constant. <b>Down Low But Still Believing</b><br>Even at what was perhaps my lowest point, trying not to throw up but knowing it was inevitable, I still believed I was going to beat it. And, as time, faith, and sheer resolve would later prove, I did. <b>Not Resolved</b><br>Photographing my own journey helped me cope with the fear that every cancer patient faces. Most often, I hand held the camera, using 'auto focus' to photograph a time when my future was anything but clearly resolved. <b>The Pain</b><br>Squeezing a camera remote hidden in my hand, I endured the most pain I have ever experienced, a bone marrow biopsy. But, I think it's hardest on the caregiver. Li had to deal with thoughts of what it might be like if I was no longer here. <b>Waiting For The News</b><br>At the doctor's office, Li and I wait to hear if the months of chemotherapy had been successful. <b>Remission!</b><br>Dr. Lynch shared the news we had prayed to hear, 'You are in complete remission.' Li was exuberant. I was still in shock. <b>To Our Love</b><br>Li and I celebrated the news of 'complete remission' with a toast to our love, to health, and to our future together. <b>Every Day Is A Blessing / Every Day Is A Gift</b><br>During treatment, I repeated the following words to myself each day, and still do. 'Every day is a blessing. Every day is a gift.'

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