So, they cut me open and saddled me. I came out of the surgery and recovery quite well. Looking back now, it seems almost comical that one of my first worries was whether I could rehabilitate my abdomen muscles in time to play two sets I had committed to on June 23 as part of a benefit concert some friends were throwing for me. 

Ironically, in all this, my good friend and coworker at the paint store I'd been day-jobbing at since relocation to the Northwest was diagnosed with some cancer of his own six months prior to my grisly discovery.  Around Christmas 2006, I reached out to my friends and former bandmates in the group Loaded. 

Loaded, to the outside world, had been a Guns-n-Roses side project. To me it was about exploring how deeply into riffs you could go in a practice space. Duff McKagan and I started playing together in late 1999 when the project had no name and was to be fronted by Mark Lanegan.  Mark was quickly and  - at least for what would become Loaded - devastatingly drafted by Queens of the Stone Age. As part of the Songs for the Deaf era, he was to be part of the best lineup seen in rock since ASIA. Duff and I went on to recruit who we could when we could. I convinced him to take over the vocals, and we piecemealed together a record that would be called Dark Days. 

At the end of 2002 Loaded headlined the grand opening of the massive Club Vodka in Hollywood. Three stages, go-go dancers, circus freaks - you name it. For the end of the set extravaganza, Slash and Shooter Jennings came out and we did "Whole Lotta Rosie" and "It's So Easy". It was a remarkable moment: a pinnacle for the band. There wouldn't be another Loaded show for 4 years.

Fast forward to Christmas 2006.  As I watched mounting medical bills and stressful sub-par medical attention tear away at my coworker and his family, I hoped if I ever found myself in his position people would show up for me. 

I knew everyone from what I consider the "classic" line-up of Loaded was going to be in the Northwest for the holiday season, so I called the fellas and asked if they might want to do a show to benefit my friend. Everyone agreed and we had a great time. It went really well.  We raised a respectable amount of money and gave my friend an evening he would never forget at the same time. There was no way of knowing I had sowed some Loaded seeds that would reach all the way around the world and back in a few short years.

Saturday, June 23, 2007 was one of the best nights of my life. Don Robertson and Donny Paycheck put together a benefit concert for me. The outpouring of support was almost overwhelming. Besides a scorching set from Zeke and Redneck Girlfriend, I had agreed to (attempt to) perform with a reunited New American Shame and also with Loaded. The highlight for me was a last minute addition to the festivities in the form of Shawn Smith playing a single song. Alone on stage with his keyboard he performed Mother Love Bone's "Chloe Dance/Crown of Thorns" - one of my all-time favorite tunes. 

Monday, June 25, 2007 was the beginning of the worst eight weeks of my life. That Monday was a dual check-up with my surgeon and my oncologist. The objective was to determine, having finished one round of chemo and radiation (and recovered form one emergency surgery), do we schedule the BIG surgery to remove the tumor, or do another, harder round of chemo to further destroy as many cancerous cells as possible before going in with the "overly invasive" procedure?  I don't know what I was hoping for - which path seemed less brutal. I found out.

The word came down. Eight more weeks of chemo - surgery in September or October. 

Weeks later, we realized what a comedown we had gone through. For all the good will and support and well wishes, when you're sick you make people uncomfortable. No one likes to be faced with his or her own mortality. People say, "Let me know if you need anything".  It's a defensive mechanism. Innately, unconsciously, we all realize that once the work comes down - sickness, dying, death - there is only one person that can really DO anything about it. The cheese stands alone.  That person can either get strong and live (if all goes well), or become weak and die. 

We realized we were alone. There were lots of tears. Lots of  "why us?" These were lonely, lonely times on the road back to life.  I'm still on that road, to some extent, but at the time I HAD to find things to focus on. Then along came the KISW American Idiot local band contest. 

I had never been in a battle of the bands. Most of the time they're a scam. Or stupid. Or both. But our manager said it might be worth doing, and the winnings were pretty substantial - so Top Heavy Crush set about to see if we couldn't rally some troops. There were a whole lot of hoops you and your fans had to jump through in order to advance through the ranks. At every step, THC did well and advanced. When it got down to the last few bands, there was a show booked and the top three bands would have a true battle - all on the same stage the same night. The show was held at Studio Seven in Seattle.

At this point, I'm afraid it gets a little grim. This is the unfortunate "T.M.I." portion of the story. So, be warned.

Try living life with a colostomy bag. Go ahead. Give it a shot for ONE DAY. I'm glad you won't. I had lived with one for a couple of months by the time the contest finals rolled around in August. Generally, I knew the ins and outs (sorry) of the thing - and its limitations. The two biggest rules I had discovered were A) Always have an extra set up and B) Never get the set-up you just applied wet for at least an hour afterward, to allow time for the paste used to adhere the bag to your abdomen to fully cure.

I followed both these rules the day of the contest finals ... almost.

I got to the club late. I had been having issues with my bag. I had still only performed once with it. I was nervous about it and decided about an hour before set time to change it out for the spare I always carried. I don't wish to convey full visuals of the process, but suffice to say the process is indeed a procedure where you are literally bearing your insides, and the cleanest possible environment is preferable. I spent longer than I should have confirming the lack of a clean water closet. In the end, a mere 35 minutes before we were to go on, I bit the bullet and in a one seat bathroom that could only be described as "grody," knocked out the steps in fifteen minutes to go from bad to good. 

We were on stage and we were KILLING it. It was a great feeling. I knew we were going to win. I had friends in both the other bands and felt the tiniest bit bad for them - even while we were on stage. About half way through the set, the usually airtight seal that housed my insides suddenly became... uhhhh, "less than" airtight. I had waited too long to change it, too close to stage time. I had started sweating before the seal had cured. It hadn't come all the way off, just broken the seal. But it was my spare and I only brought one. 

We finished our set. We had all played really well - as a band. I was proud of us, but I was a little preoccupied. I SHOULD get right in the car and drive to the safety, cleanliness and supplies of my own home. But there was still one band to go and I KNEW we were going to win. The sound guy had started the changeover on stage and I hit him up for a roll of duct tape. I went to the same appalling hole of a restroom (the only one in the whole building with a lock on the door) took off my sweaty shirt and surveyed the damage, deciding it wasn't going to end my evening. I duct taped that thing around my stomach and back within an inch of its life. I would NOT be a victim this evening. I went back outside packed my drums up and had a couple shots of tequila. No one was any the wiser and the duct tape held. An hour or so later they announced Top Heavy Crush as the winner. It was pretty cool. 

The following month doctors performed the "highly invasive" surgery. I went under the gas knowing that the first thing I would hear on the other side would be life or death - good or bad. If all the chemo and the radiation's aim had been true, it would be smiles all around. If the tumor was stubborn, and had dug in and was spreading... we'd have to deal with THAT. 

I remember my wife told me my surgeon came out of the operating room aglow. I had been a dream to work on. It couldn't have gone better. Tumor was all but dust when she got to it, and further tests would show no more tumor cells remaining than in a person who was a light smoker.  It was going to be OK. ... 

As part of our prize for winning, Top Heavy Crush got a chance to play the sold out KISW Holiday Hangover Ball, opening for Seether at the Showbox SODO. It would be one of the final two shows I would play with the bag on. If you see pictures of that performance, the guy sitting on stage next to me in the sports jersey is the same "Beast" from the story about the stealing the Rush 5150 t-shirt. There's also a great shot of the crowd while we're on stage - which must have been snapped right after we finished playing a song because everyone's hands are raised and clapping. Right in front on the left is my big brother.... 

Drummer Geoff Reading - who writes a bi-weekly online column (Fridays) for the Weekly Volcano called "Holding Down the 253" in addition to his weekly Wednesday music column - has played music in tons of Northwest bands - Green Apple Quick Step, New American Shame, Top Heavy Crush and most recently Duff McKagan's LOADED - to name but a few. He's toured the world several times over, sharing stages with the likes of Slipknot, The Cult, Buckcherry, Korn, Journey, The Sex Pistols, Nine Inch Nails and on and on. He has called Tacoma home since 2005, and lives in the North End with his wife and son.