I went through a lot of tests at Duke, and my parents and coaches were there for the last CT scan, so I figured something wasn't right. They brought me into a room and unleashed everything I needed to know. Turns out I had waited too long, and the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. It happened so fast, I didn't even have time to think about it. I stressed to the doctors that I wanted to get back on the field by January, so we decided on an aggressive course of chemotherapy.
Most people go three times a week for four to six months.
I opted for three sessions, each one a week long. I'd get hooked up with an IV, they'd shoot me up, and by the time I walked from the hospital to my apartment, which was about half a mile away, I was done. I'd sleep for 36 hours. Try the worst flu you've had and multiply that by thousands. That's how I felt.