A Year Later: Cancer, Comeback, and Finding Normal Through Tennis

Tennis has a strong bearing on how I mark time. One prominent example of that is habitually reporting my age in “USTA Years.” For example, I currently say that I am 59, even though my birthday when that will be officially true in every other context, doesn’t come for a few more months. Today is another example of how tennis dominates my perception of the actual calendar.

It has been a year. Sort of.

The HTA RBC Wealth Management Level 4 Tournament in Houston is always conducted over Easter weekend. This year, that holiday fell relatively earlier on the calendar than it did in 2025. Nevertheless, in my frame of reference, it feels like a year has passed between those two events. That is significant because last year’s HTA/RBC Wealth Management Houston Open Level 4 Tournament marks the last “normal” weekend before we found out that something was seriously wrong with the Trophy Husband.

That is not to say that when I played that tournament last year, the signs weren’t already there. The doctor’s appointment to discuss Troy’s escalating cognitive lapses and increasing awareness that something was wrong was locked in for the following Tuesday. That appointment triggered an immediate CT scan, which revealed a large mass in his brain. The following days were filled with medical appointments, evaluations, and testing. All that culminated in brain surgery the day after Memorial Day. It was an intense whirlwind month.

The primary goal was to obtain a sample of the tumor for pathology, and the secondary objective was to remove as much of the mass as possible without compromising critical cognitive function. The surgery went exceedingly well, the first of many things that broke in our favor. It was apparent from the moment he regained consciousness in the neuro-ICU that the Trophy Husband’s cognitive function was dramatically improved. It seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Of course, the arduous journey was just beginning. The pathology revealed that Troy’s tumor was cancerous. However, even with that devastating news, there was a measure of hope. If this had been 2019, the Trophy Husband’s tumor would have been classified as glioblastoma with the expectation that it was likely to quickly and aggressively return. However, medical research in the intervening time has revealed that his particular tumor contains a mutation that makes it slower growing. It is also more responsive to a chemotherapy protocol. We have never lost sight of the fact that we are walking a more hopeful path than many other people who receive a similar diagnosis.

That is not to say there have not been setbacks. The treatment protocol itself is relatively new, and in some ways, we are all learning as we go. The Trophy Husband has been personally redefining the tail end of the side effects from this particular chemotherapy protocol. One way to conceptualize what is happening is that Troy’s body does not tolerate the chemotherapy well. However, another way to think about it is that his immune system has responded aggressively to the treatment.

The result is an emotional roller coaster of things going exceedingly well, punctuated by a series of challenges. Early on in the treatment cycle, Troy experienced the need for emergency blood transfusions and one rehospitalization as his platelet and white blood cell levels plunged to critical lows. More recently, we have achieved something more closely resembling a steady state. The Trophy Husband’s bloodwork is closely monitored, and we now have standing, pre-approved protocols to address the blood issues as they arise.

However, there are still fluctuations and issues. As I write this post, the Trophy Husband is considered immunocompromised due to low white blood cell counts. His next bloodwork is tomorrow, and that will hopefully show that he has reemerged from that precarious state.

To mark where we are in the process, the established treatment protocol is 6 weeks of radiation and chemotherapy, which wrapped up in August. That is followed by 12 monthly bursts of additional chemo treatments. At this point, Troy has completed 6 of the 12 monthly cycles. We are halfway there. However, he isn’t always hitting the one-month timeframe between treatments. We have frequently had to delay cycles to allow his blood levels and energy to recover. Cancer kills, but unfortunately, the chemo can do that as well.

At the same time, a great deal has gone right. The MRIs continue to show no evidence of residual or recurrent tumor. That is arguably the metric that matters most. There have also been a few windows of time when Troy has felt well enough to make his way back onto the tennis court to hit a few balls. He has even competed in a handful of official USTA matches. Life isn’t normal, but we can see the end of this current phase.

It was so good to be back in Houston for the HTA/RBC Wealth Management Level 4 and the familiar rhythm of tournament play. It felt… normal. When I played that tournament last year, we stayed with my daughter and her family in their new house. Throughout this past weekend, it became increasingly clear that Troy retained almost no memories of that from the previous year.

In the whole grand scheme of things, tennis is not all that important. But for our family, it is how we mark time and anchor our lives. Being back in Houston playing a tournament, even with everything that has changed, is a sign that we are finding our way back toward normal.