SAN ANTONIO -- It took his life by storm, Staff Sgt. Miguel Leon said, without rain, hail or wind it swept him and his entire family out to sea -- adrift and fighting to stay alive. The tempest was called cancer. First rearing its head in February in the form of stage three testicular cancer, the disease spread aggressively forming 6-8 cm masses near his spinal cord and aorta. It pushed Leon to extreme limits of endurance, yet through it all, the 28-year-old's message continues to be one of hope.
"You can bounce back," Leon said. "You can have a comeback story!"
Humbled and grateful for every moment, Leon's eight-month storm included three major surgeries, five rounds of chemotherapy, frequent separations from his family and a trans-Atlantic move from Germany.
"Cancer took my life by storm," he said. "It's like I've lost eight months out of my life -- away from my wife, my kids and my Army career -- I'm behind and now I'm working hard to catch up on everything."
Catching up means Army combative training, jujitsu during lunch, teaching his son to ride a bicycle and getting back to the business of being a soldier. While awaiting the green light to return to full duty, Leon found a new mission at U.S. Army Installation Management Command. Leon's face transformed with a smile when he talked about his current status, one that gets him back in combat boots while offering him the flexibility needed for medical monitoring and full recovery.
"IMCOM gave me a place to call home -- a chance to be part of a team again," Leon said. "I feel so good, like everything is coming together. I'm back on my mountain bike, able to stand in the sun."
It wasn't always so. Beginning in February when he was diagnosed, Leon was bombarded. Fighting the disease was just one challenge of many. According to Leon, maintaining normalcy for his sons Aiden and Noah, ages six and three respectively; staying close to his wife, Jennifer, over the many occasions that he had to travel for treatment; his changing physical appearance as well as feelings of loneliness and vulnerability took an emotional toll on him as well.
"When I signed up for the Army, I wanted to be on the front line, doing all the cool stuff -- running around the woods, riding in the dune buggy -- all the stuff I saw on TV," Leon said. As Leon realized his dreams -- becoming a cavalry scout, his assignment to 1st Squadron, 91st Calvary Regiment,173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team in Schweinfurt Germany, joining the annual D Day jump into Normandy, combat deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, becoming a noncommissioned officer, and starting a family -- cancer attacked his identity as a man and as a soldier.
"I wanted to stay with my unit, I was not going to opt for WTU (Warrior Transition Unit)," Leon said. "We, my wife and I, had to come up with a game plan. We wanted to make everything as normal as possible. I felt that I could beat this disease and make a 100 percent recovery . . . but there were lots of hardships. My wife was in the middle of teaching, my kids were in school - I had to sacrifice a lot."
Those sacrifices meant leaving his family, traveling three hours to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center and remaining there for weeks during treatment. No stranger to Landstuhl, he had previously had surgery and extended treatment following a compressed skull fracture and traumatic brain injury, sustained during his deployment in September 2012. This time he went alone.
"There were lots of lonely moments where I didn't really have a go to person, someone to talk to because of the separation. We skyped . . . a lot," Leon said. "We did a lot of talking on the phone, talking with the children and reassuring everybody that I was going to be fine."
Leon said that few could understand what being in "this alumni club," as he put it, meant. His medical team and Sarah McNary, his TBI case manager, jumped in and helped him keep his mind engaged and spirits bolstered.
"The medical team and TBI clinic --Sarah- knew I was going to go through some hard times mentally and physically," Leon said. "She got me with the pain management team and into group therapy. Even though I felt a little odd and out of place, it gave me a chance to talk about some of the things that I was going through."
Activities, such as yoga, kept his mind busy and water massage therapy made pain manageable. Visits from his mother-in-law, herself a breast cancer survivor, and his brother kept despondency at bay while he spent entire days hooked up to an IV, being pumped up with bags of chemicals.
For Leon, round three of his chemotherapy was a dark time. The visits from family were over and the treatments now extremely painful. Because of the cancer's advanced state, Leon explained, doctors didn't have time to fit him with a chemo port -- a device and catheter surgically implanted in the patient -- to avoid damaging veins.
"My body had taken enough," Leon said. "Everything was so aggressive and happened so fast that there was no time for a port. I had an IV setting every time, so my veins were blown out, extreme sensitivity to the needles. Pain to the slightest pressure, bone aches, mood swings, you name it. By the time I reached the end of the third round, I didn't want to be touched. I didn't want to be talked to -- I just wanted to get through it."
People, like his squadron commander, Lt. Col. James Wright, the medical team, fellow patients and most importantly family, encouraged him through the toughest times with a phone call, note or well timed hug. Reflecting on his wife's example, all she did to create a sense of balance and normal family life, brought tears to his eyes as Leon recalled the experience.
"My wife," Leon said, "is my foundation and the source of my strength. She knew I wanted to be encouraged, knew I didn't want to be babied. She just never skipped a beat, she acted like it was a normal day -- like I just had to drive a little further to work is all."
In Jennifer's words, "breaking down wouldn't do any good."
"I had to keep it (separate) -- work life and home life," she said. "My mind set was that life doesn't stop because you're having a bad day. I had my moments, yes, but I would have my moment and that was it. Life goes on. He likes to take care of things, he's the provider -- just falling apart in front of him would have made it harder for him. He already felt like he couldn't do anything, so my moments were private."
To combat his feeling of helplessness, Jennifer said her husband at first tried to continue all of his routines, doing things he shouldn't.
"He tried to keep doing everything for awhile," Jennifer said, remembering how in between chemotherapy treatments he borrowed a lawn mower from his squadron to mow the lawn and save her the extra work.
"Things like that, he just didn't want to give up," she said. "It took its toll and he learned that he does have some weaknesses. Sometimes you just have to let go."
As his chemo treatment at Landstuhl concluded and Leon focused on recovery, coming to terms with his post treatment appearance and limitations was a new challenge. Losing 40 lbs., his hair and his stamina was very humbling, he said. His unit held a post deployment ball and Leon's realization that only a select few of his comrades-in-arms recognized him was a blow.
"I was just this random person that no one recognized," Leon said. "It was hard. No one knew you and the ones who did were awkward -- standoffish. I was lucky to have a few friends that stood by me."
Getting back to work and focusing on fitness and training, kept Leon from dwelling on his discomfort and worries over the next battery of tests, which came with news in May - the tumors were greatly reduced, but he would require an immediate and complex surgery to remove them at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
"At that point, I was just so ready for everything to go back to normal," Leon said with a sigh. "I had to make that call to my family, to my wife and say there was still more work to do. At first, I didn't really understand how serious it was and went to Walter Reed alone. The staff there -- they really knew what they were doing. And my wife, strong woman that she is, in less than 24 hours packed three bags, flew from Germany to Houston to drop the kids off with family and flew to Walter Reed to be with me. Surgery was nine hours. I woke up. I wasn't nice -- the incision went from the bottom of my sternum to the top of my pelvis, and a little over 50 staples, but they removed the tumors."
No rest for the weary, the couple strategized immediately. Should they go back to Germany? Jennifer still had a teaching position there. The children were still in Houston, their oldest son, enrolled in the Army's Exceptional Family Member Program, had special needs and the start of the school year was looming on the horizon. What about Miguel's Army career? How long would he stay at Walter Reed? Could he continue to serve on active duty or would he be medically retired? And weighing heavily on two sets of burdened shoulders -- was the cancer finally gone?
The answer they wanted to hear most, didn't come. Leon's scans showed active cancer cells, and as much as they wanted to return to Germany - Miguel to his unit and Jennifer to a new teaching position in Grafenwoehr - his care team strongly recommended transfer to a Warrior Transition Unit at either Walter Reed or Brooke Army Medical Center and additional chemotherapy.
The Leons demonstrated their ability to meet and overcome every new hardship once more. Deciding to opt for treatment at BAMC, they set about their tasks -- Miguel to start two rounds of chemo and Jennifer to put together a home at Joint Base San Antonio -- Ft. Sam Houston and move the children into it.
"Everything was different here," Leon said, from his chemotherapy to the atmosphere. "The vibe was just different, everything was happening faster . . . I felt like I was going to recover -- I was going to be alright."
After the next battery of chemotherapy, his doctors pronounced him cancer free. Leon and his wife enjoyed the traditional BAMC Oncology department's celebration -- ringing the bell. Leon will always remember how the oncology nurses congratulated him and walked him to the exit where patients ring a bell to announce their good news.
"I felt the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders," Leon said, describing how he rang the bell "like there was no tomorrow."
Even as he rang the bell and celebrated, he saw others around him who would never have the same chance.
"It hurt (seeing the other patients)," Leon said. "Cancer is a nasty disease and it doesn't discriminate -- young, old, skin color -- doesn't matter. I saw how many people were still there and realized that this was something I would carry for the rest of my life. It was humbling and lonely. I was lucky though. I didn't have to worry about so many of the things others do, the Army made sure of that. I don't know where I would be without the Army or my family."
To his fellow soldiers facing cancer, Leon has this message.
"I'm here -- you can talk to me," he said. "Attitude makes a difference. It's a hard fight, you're going to get discouraged -- smile, keep going, stay humble and know you're going to make it."
While cancer changed him, he and his family have weathered the storm. Jennifer believes the best of who her husband is only became better.
"He went through this and now he's more loving, more caring," Jennifer said. "He's a different person, a more compassionate man."
Miguel said that he's blessed -- humbled by the people who surrounded and supported him, family and strangers alike, and grateful for the unseen, lasting effects of his battle.
"I'm a better person, better father, soldier and husband for this," Leon said. "Those were moments that defined our marriage and we learned to really depend on each other. I live my life in minutes and I'm grateful for each one of them."
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