Learning to Breathe Again

So, before all this craziness went down, life was chill, you know? Just the usual—work, weekends, and wondering what to grab for dinner. I mean, the most medical I got was Googling symptoms for a cold or maybe a twisted ankle from an overly enthusiastic soccer match with the guys. Hospitals? Doctors? Nah, those were just settings for medical dramas or something you pass by on your way to somewhere more interesting. Little did I know, life had other plans, and let me tell you, they were anything but "normal."

Unwelcome Surprises

So yeah, for like a week before the whole "rushing to the hospital" episode, I'd already been feeling like I couldn't get enough air. Kind of like trying to breathe through a coffee stirrer, you know? But me being me, I thought it might just go away. Spoiler: It didn't.

Fast forward to shopping day—there we are, my girlfriend and I, in the snack aisle. We're picking out junk food, and suddenly it's not just hard to breathe; it's like, max-level-can't-get-air.

That's when she turns to me and says, "This is it, we've gotta go, like NOW." She had this look in her eyes that told me she meant business. So we hop in the car, and she's basically a Formula 1 driver, just tearing through the streets to get me to the hospital.

Honestly, at that point, red lights were just a blur, and the speedometer was definitely just a number. She knew something was seriously wrong, and not gonna lie, it freaked me out. One minute you're arguing about cheese puffs, and the next, you're praying you'll see another day. Wild, right?

The Hospital

So, check this out. We screech into the hospital parking lot, and before I can even say "ER," they've got me hooked up to some machine that's beeping like mad. They see my oxygen levels are in the basement, like below 70, and they're like, "Nope, straight to ICU for you, buddy." Next thing I know, I'm in an ambulance zipping me off to a level of hospital hell I didn't even know existed.

They wheel me into this ICU room, right? And I'm not talking about any room. It's like something from a sci-fi movie—walls made of glass, so I'm on display like a lab rat. I can't even see my girlfriend; they've shooed everyone away. I'm in there all alone, just me and my thoughts. And let me tell you, when you're boxed in like that, every worry you've ever had in life comes crashing in. My mind's racing like, "If I don't have COVID, I'll probably catch it in here."

So the docs start running tests, poking and prodding like I'm some kind of pin cushion. Blood tests, lung X-rays, you name it. But here's the kicker: they can't figure out what's wrong with me. For two whole days, I'm just this medical enigma, this unsolved case right out of a Dr. House episode. It's like the universe decided to drop a riddle, and I'm the unlucky punchline.

And you ever tried sleeping in a hospital? It's the worst. Every hour, some nurse comes by to check this or that, and just when you think you might drift off, boom! Another test. Time drags on forever when you're waiting to hear what's wrong with you.

The Diagnosis Twist

So after a couple of days feeling like I’m part of some unsolvable riddle, in comes Dr. Portella. Now this guy, you could tell he wasn't your run-of-the-mill doc. First thing he does? Orders a biopsy of my lung. Yeah, like they're gonna take a piece outta me and study it. What's wilder? He decides to make me a freakin' medical celebrity.

Get this, he sends my lung tissue to a medical forum in São Paulo—big league, you know? We're talking more than 300 doctors tuning in to see what's up with me. It's like I've got the whole medical community of Brazil huddled around, trying to solve my life's greatest mystery. They're discussing me as if I'm a quiz show question. And the buzz is all about pushing the medical frontier or something. No pressure, right?

Then, boom! Dr. Portella drops the bomb. It's not COVID. It's tumors. Yeah, you heard that right. Tumors. Plural. One in my thymus, messing with my lung, and another one chillin' on my rib. Like, seriously? Was my body holding a 'Buy One Get One Free' sale for tumors or what?

I was like, "WTF? This is a thing? And why is it happening to me?" It's this whirlpool of relief that it’s not COVID, but then a whole new level of "Oh crap, what now?" And you know how people always say they’d like to be unique? Trust me, not like this.

As for my fam and close pals? Only a few knew, and I wanted to keep it that way. The ones who did find out came over, trying to make hospital visits less sucky. But man, you should've seen their faces. It was like they saw a ghost, only the ghost was me, in a hospital gown, with all the works.

The Operating Room

So, you know how some people never even get a scratch, and then there's me who's becoming BFFs with the operating table. I’d never been inside an OR in my life, man. So walking in there was like stepping onto an alien spaceship. The room's all sterile, everyone's masked up like ninjas, and I'm thinking, "Is this real life?"

Emotions? Bruh, I was a freakin’ salad of feelings. A pinch of terror, a dash of relief that maybe they'd finally fix me, all tossed up in a cloud of what-the-heck-is-happening. It's the ultimate life hack if you wanna feel every emotion at the same time, but trust me, zero out of five stars. Do not recommend.

Let me run you through my surgeries like a laundry list: First, they take out the big bad tumor from my thymus. Then there’s the rib tumor, which is like the thymus tumor’s evil twin or something. Add in lung biopsies, just to make sure they're not missing out on any party favors. And oh, don't forget the bronchoscopy—basically a lung car wash. So yeah, seven trips to the OR. SEVEN.

And as if that’s not enough fun, post-last-surgery plot twist: I get hit with a pneumothorax. That's a fancy way of saying my lung went "Nah, bro, I’m out." Yeah, straight back to the ICU for two more days like a bad sequel. But hey, I pulled through.

That pneumothorax, man, it was like the universe saying, "You thought you were done? Cute." ICU again. More tubes, more monitors. I swear, if I heard one more beep, I was gonna lose it. But you fight through it, you know? What else are you gonna do?

Through all this, my fam was solid gold. My girlfriend basically moved into the hospital, like she was setting up a bed-and-breakfast but with more antiseptic smell. And mom? She was the daytime shift, making sure I didn't lose it. They were my sanity in a world gone mad. I don’t know if I could've done it without them, to be honest. It’s like their love was the ultimate cheat code.

Re-learning Life

Okay, imagine coming home after 40 days of hospital life. It's weird, man. My own bed felt like a hotel mattress, and don't even get me started on real food that didn't taste like cardboard. Readjusting to home life was like learning to walk again, but emotionally. The house was the same, but the guy walking in? Totally new model.

My family, though, they were the real MVPs. They helped me adapt, because honestly, hospital life makes you forget how to be a regular human. I got to relearn enjoying the simple things. Like, suddenly I’m Mr. "Life-is-Beautiful," wanting to travel, discover stuff, and I've got this insane newfound love for beaches and the sea.

So, I started making changes, big and small. And I’m not talking about switching from Coke to Diet Coke. Nah, I went full on 'Eat, Pray, Love' but without the praying and eating, mostly just loving life. Travelling became my new jam. Beaches? Man, why did I never appreciate the power of waves and salty air before? It's like Nature’s Xanax.

Enter Ivson, the fitness Yoda in my life. Dude knows his stuff, and he got me moving better than a motivational speech from a sports movie. Seriously, I owe that guy a lifetime supply of protein shakes or something. With Ivson's help, I graduated from "couch potato struggling to breathe" to "guy who actually looks forward to gym time."

We started with baby steps, literally. Like, just moving without feeling like death was a win. Then we added some light workouts, then some not-so-light ones. Dude tailored everything to fit me, my state of health, my pace. And look at me now, a certified gym rat. If you told me two years ago I'd be excited about deadlifts, I'd have said you're nuttier than a Snickers bar.

So, long story short? I got a heck of a reboot. Between the hospital episodes, the family love, and Ivson turning me into a fitness junkie, I'm like a new edition of myself. Software updated, bugs mostly fixed. And let me tell you, I'm kinda loving the 2.0 version.

Dealing with Relapses and Moving Forward

Ah man, just when you think you're cruising, life throws another curveball your way. Like, I'm over here enjoying my newfound life and BOOM, new diagnosis. Thyroid cancer. For a sec, it felt like I got smacked in the face with a shovel. It's like the universe saying, "Hey bud, remember me?"

The emotional toll was a rollercoaster. First, it was shock, obviously. Like, "Seriously, Universe? Again?" Then there was that crushing disappointment, the "not this crap again" kind of feeling. But here’s the thing, after you’ve faced down one life-threatening thing, you sorta get this gritty, hard-core edge. You're like a video game character that's survived the big boss and now has to face a new level. Yeah, it sucks, but you know what? Bring it on.

Family and friends had that “Oh no, not again” look, but they’re my rock. They've been through the wringer with me once, so we all kinda know the drill. We’re this tight-knit team now. We know the plays, we know the game, we know it's gonna be tough. But we're tougher.

Right now, it's like I'm in a boxing ring with life. We’re in the prep stages, doing the training montage. My doctors keep saying this surgery should be "routine," but let's be real, it's a hospital, not a day spa. So, physically, I'm getting my body in gear. Ivson has put me on this pre-surgery workout routine to make sure I’m in fighting shape.

Mentally, I'm strapping in for another wild ride. Yeah, the thought of going back to the hospital gives me the chills, no lie. It's like revisiting a haunted house. But this time, I’m arming myself with the spirit of a seasoned warrior. I've been there, done that, and damn it, I can do it again.

Look, I don’t know what’s around the corner. Maybe it's another surgery, maybe it's a beach in Thailand, maybe it's just a really good sandwich. What I do know is I'm not done fighting, not by a long shot. Cancer may be a part of my story, but it sure as hell isn't the ending.

Lessons Learned and Battles Ahead

Dude, let me tell you, it's been a wild ride. And when life gives you a second chance, you better make the most out of it. So, for 2023, I set myself some goals. Get this, I want to train for 175 days this year. Crazy, right? I'm at 81 days now, and even though the next surgery might slow me down, you bet I'm gonna give it my all to hit that mark.

And the weights? I've got ambitions, baby. I wanna lift 20 kg on each side, plus the bar, on a flat bench press. Currently, I'm at 12 kg each side, but hey, progress is progress!

Oh, and get this, I've thrown in volleyball and boxing once a week each to spice things up. It's like I've got my own little Olympics going on. I'm telling you, it’s not just about building muscles; it's about building a life.

So here's the tea: Life's too short. If this journey's taught me anything, it's that you gotta live for today while planning for tomorrow. We’ve got one life, one shot at making it epic. Taking care of yourself, both physically and emotionally (shoutout to ADHD), isn't a luxury. It’s a necessity.

Look, I know it sounds cheesy, but it's true: Focus on the good stuff, the stuff that lifts you higher. Spend time with people who push you to be better, not drag you down. Because when you surround yourself with positivity, you’re unstoppable.

Yeah, there are more hurdles coming up, but after everything, I'm not just a survivor; I'm a frickin' warrior. I've learned to appreciate the little things and to tackle the big things with a full heart and a fearless spirit.

So, let's do this. Whether it's the gym, the operating room, or just life throwing its curveballs, bring it on. I'm ready. And you know what? The best is yet to come. Cheers to the ride ahead! 🥂