A few weeks ago on a rainy night on I-4, there appeared to be a car stopped on the left shoulder with it’s flashers on.  My wife and I were in the left lane with a tanker truck right next to us on the right.  As we got closer to the stopped car, I realized that the stopped car was half on the shoulder and half in our lane.  I had one option which was to accelerate as quickly as possible to sneak in front of the flammable truck to our right and avoid smashing into the back of the car on our left.  If the tires didn’t grab the wet road, or if we didn’t have enough space to make the move, we were done.  Needless to say, we made it.  But it spooked me for a couple of days.  It can all go that quickly.  And it does everyday on highways everywhere.  I felt as though we’d dodged a bullet.  But within a couple of weeks I received my cancer diagnosis.  Until the phone rang, I didn’t know. Then I did.  My life was rerouted in a matter of seconds.  But it didn’t end, it just changed. Big difference. I get to see my enemy, and I get to fight it.  That phone call was bad news, but it could be worse.  Brush fires, wars, earthquakes, tornadoes, cyclones, random crimes.  How many people in the past week have left us with no warning, and no chance to fight back?I can’t tell you how much your comments on my first blog entry, and emails to me directly have empowered me.  I’m humbled by your concern, and the fact that you took the time to surround me, and to so beautifully tell me your stories and offer your support.With all the appointments and tests, formulating our plan to chase away the lymphoma has become a 2nd full time job.  I’m frustrated that the end of the day comes too quickly and that I haven’t been able to respond to you personally.  Until I can, please know that I’ve read every word, and so have my wife and daughter.   You’ve helped to infuse strength and resolve into our home as we ramp up for the coming challenges.    I hope that in some way we can return the favor, as I know you might be fighting uphill battles of your own.  We’re hugging, talking, walking, and laughing.  Spirits are good, and we like our chances.  It could be a lot worse.  

It’s been a trademark of The Scott & Erica Show to share just about everything that goes on in our lives.  From the mundane to the major events, you may know more about us than you do some of your own family.

Something has happened in my life that I haven’t spoken to you about yet.  For me it’s been going on in the background for a month, and I just let my co-workers in on it last week.

I have cancer.

To be exact, it’s non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

In the past month, after our fun on the morning show, I’ve left for blood tests, biopsies, and scans.  They all confirmed the diagnosis. 

I’ve never smoked.  I’ve never used drugs.  I’m not overweight.  But if it can happen to the beautiful children I just met at the Florida Hospital Celebrity Stroll last Sunday, it can happen to me.  It would be arrogant to think that cancer only happens to other people. 

The lymphoma I have is slow moving.  So slow that I don’t have ANY symptoms.  I feel great!  But thank goodness I have annual check-ups and thank goodness my dermatologist cared enough to take a second look when the early results were inconclusive.

My family and friends have been riding an emotional rollercoaster as you might guess.  But as we’ve gotten further away from the diagnosis, and closer to the treatment, things are evening out.

There’s nothing fun about chemotherapy, which is most likely going to be the treatment.  However, I will have an extra 15 minutes every morning since I won’t have any hair to sculpt!  My doctor is going to work with me to schedule treatments so that I’m still able to come to work and be harrassed by Erica and Jay.  Management has been amazingly, but not surprisingly supportive, as have all my co-workers.

Since we do share our lives so much with you, it would be odd if I didn’t update you on how things are going from time to time.  But most of that kind of information will be found here on my blog.  I invite you to share in my recovery here, and to tell me what’s going on with you. 

For us, our 4 hours on the air in the morning are our oasis from normal daily stresses.  I know that by talking about this on the air Wednesday morning I allowed a breach to take place.  But we’re going to move on with our show today and everyday.

I know there’s a certain amount of limelight that comes with hosting a morning show.  We can push one button and use our 100,000 watt transmitter to talk to half the state (not to mention the entire world through our web stream here on our site.) But what I’d like to do is reflect that light back onto the thousands of men, women, children, and their families in our listening area who have also received a cancer or other life-threatening diagnosis.  We have a special bond now, and I hope I can help you the way you’ve already inspired me.

This isn’t the end of any road, but a turn onto a less familiar one.  I’ll have to slow down a bit to handle the curves and bumps, but that’ll give me a chance to look around and appreciate all the blessings along the way.

Thanks for listening.  Thanks for caring.  And thanks for understanding that we’re going to go right back to being goofballs.

I’ll update you here quite often. 

With love,

Scott