Joshua fights cancer

Story

Hi all, This is Sinclair; If we haven’t had the chance to meet in person yet, I’m Josh’s partner. One month ago, our lives flipped entirely upside-down. The weekend before this all started, the two of us were working on set for a film Josh was shooting– we were in our element, making images together. I had just finished a feature film in April; Josh was set to finish one of his own the following week. And then, over a course of days, we started to notice swelling in his cheeks. He complained of dizziness. We wracked through every explanation. He visited an urgent care in Brooklyn, who prescribed antibiotics for a potential sinus infection with complications. But his swelling got progressively worse, stretching up all the way to his eyelids. He looked less and less like himself. Then he fainted. Everything changed after that. We knew he had to go to the ER. It was not easy to convince Josh to drop his upcoming shoot days to go to another medical visit. Finally he agreed. After 10 hours in the ER, two soft-spoken whitecoat-wearing doctors told us that his chest x-ray had immediately revealed an anomalous mass in the center of his chest. It was cancer. The dizziness and facial swelling were caused by constriction of his vena cava (Superior Vena Cava Syndrome). The tumor’s growth had obstructed the blood flow into his heart. The rug, or seemingly the whole world, was ripped out from under our feet. We are only 24 years old, how could he possibly have cancer? He didn’t leave the ER that night. We went straight into a multi-night stay at NYU Langone, running CTs, X-rays, and endless bloodwork. After a week spent in terrifying darkness, we finally received his diagnosis: A stage 3 mediastinal germ-cell tumor, of a yolk sac variety. Germ cell tumors evolve from primordial reproductive cells. In this case, a microscopic clump of cells that became stuck inside the chest cavity during embryonic development. These cells have been present since birth. Even if these cells are present, there’s no guarantee they’ll become cancerous. But his did. This is a rare diagnosis. There are only a few hundred cases per year like this in the US. The oncologist who delivered our results told us 99% of the time, mediastinal tumors in young adults turn out to be lymphoma. We were shocked at first, but they impressed upon us that his prognosis was good. The tumor is large and aggressive, but it is also highly receptive to treatment. He would immediately begin chemo. His chemotherapy regimen is intensive, containing 3 separate drugs: ifosfamide, etoposide, cisplatin. His treatment is 5 infusion days in a row, then two weeks off for recovery. After his final treatment week, the recovery period will be closer to a month. 5 months in total. The first round of treatment was excruciating. We spent 5 days in-patient at Langone. During the treatment week, all of his symptoms aggravated. His swelling increased triple-fold, expanding below his head and shoulders, all the way to his fingertips and down to his hips. Complications with his PICC line arose from the increased swelling. He developed a jugular vein blood clot (which now requires twice-a-day self-administered anticoagulant injections to care for). Josh will tell you it’s nothing, no big deal, that this is just something we’re going through. He’s been a champion thus far; Unflinchingly stoic and utterly polite throughout every blood draw, every 1000mL infusion, every 4 am awakening for vitals. Finally, at the end of the 5 days, we went home. His symptoms seemed at their peak severity. The nausea was debilitating. He slept for 24 hours straight, and didn’t eat for days. And then miraculously, we watched as his swelling subsided. I was able to see his face for the first time in weeks; I could hear the clarity in his voice as the blood returned to his body. It’s still too soon into his treatment to run any further scans or ultrasounds to track how dramatic this progress is, but these changes have meant tremendous relief for us both. We began his second round of treatment yesterday. We are in good spirits, but have come to understand the incremental severity that each round of chemo will have on the body. The gravity of our situation is hard to deny. While his health insurance has done well to cover a tremendous sum of medical costs, we still have spent thousands on insurance deductibles, copays on chemo infusions, medication costs, and all the little items in between. More concerningly, he and I have both lost our sources of income as we take a necessary leave of absence from filmmaking to prioritize his care. If you have worked with either of us before, you know how deeply devoted we are to our work. We often fill 2 key roles on our shoots: a gaffer and focus puller, the sister departments commanded by the cinematographer. Our lives are fully lived on set— the filmmaking community in new york city is our lifeblood, social network, and our creative joy. Me and Josh have talked circles around whether or not we should put up a campaign. I am sure many of you have experienced his stubbornness firsthand. He would go to the ends of the earth for his friends, and fiercely deny anything in return. He will always be the first to offer support, and the very last to accept it. But this time, I have to ask for the both of us. Know that we have no expectations for our use of this platform— we have chosen to put up a campaign in order to make an opportunity for assistance, if donation is a method of support you feel comfortable with. Thank you, a million times over, for any and all contributions you’re able to make. Everything helps. We are exceedingly humbled by the support that has already washed over us this last month. Our parents are our bedrock. We feel so indebted to the generosity we’ve witnessed, as friends have swooped in to coordinate meal-drop offs and car rides to-and-from the hospital for his treatment days. It has been a whirlwind for us, but know that we have cherished every message and call. We see and appreciate you all. We have hopes that this period of our life will fly by, and that in autumn this will all feel far away. And thank you again from me personally, for helping Joshua. He is my break of laughter after a long day, the warmth of a hand I know each line of, and the person I want to climb every mountain with-- this one included. With endless gratitude, Sinclair

Donation protected

Hi all,

This is Sinclair; If we haven’t had the chance to meet in person yet, I’m Josh’s partner.

One month ago, our lives flipped entirely upside-down. The weekend before this all started, the two of us were working on set for a film Josh was shooting– we were in our element, making images together. I had just finished a feature film in April; Josh was set to finish one of his own the following week.

And then, over a course of days, we started to notice swelling in his cheeks. He complained of dizziness. We wracked through every explanation. He visited an urgent care in Brooklyn, who prescribed antibiotics for a potential sinus infection with complications. But his swelling got progressively worse, stretching up all the way to his eyelids. He looked less and less like himself. Then he fainted.

Everything changed after that. We knew he had to go to the ER. It was not easy to convince Josh to drop his upcoming shoot days to go to another medical visit. Finally he agreed. After 10 hours in the ER, two soft-spoken whitecoat-wearing doctors told us that his chest x-ray had immediately revealed an anomalous mass in the center of his chest. It was cancer.

The dizziness and facial swelling were caused by constriction of his vena cava (Superior Vena Cava Syndrome). The tumor’s growth had obstructed the blood flow into his heart.

The rug, or seemingly the whole world, was ripped out from under our feet.

We are only 24 years old, how could he possibly have cancer?

He didn’t leave the ER that night. We went straight into a multi-night stay at NYU Langone, running CTs, X-rays, and endless bloodwork. After a week spent in terrifying darkness, we finally received his diagnosis: A stage 3 mediastinal germ-cell tumor, of a yolk sac variety. Germ cell tumors evolve from primordial reproductive cells. In this case, a microscopic clump of cells that became stuck inside the chest cavity during embryonic development. These cells have been present since birth. Even if these cells are present, there’s no guarantee they’ll become cancerous. But his did.

This is a rare diagnosis. There are only a few hundred cases per year like this in the US. The oncologist who delivered our results told us 99% of the time, mediastinal tumors in young adults turn out to be lymphoma. We were shocked at first, but they impressed upon us that his prognosis was good. The tumor is large and aggressive, but it is also highly receptive to treatment. He would immediately begin chemo.

His chemotherapy regimen is intensive, containing 3 separate drugs: ifosfamide, etoposide, cisplatin. His treatment is 5 infusion days in a row, then two weeks off for recovery. After his final treatment week, the recovery period will be closer to a month. 5 months in total.

The first round of treatment was excruciating.

We spent 5 days in-patient at Langone. During the treatment week, all of his symptoms aggravated. His swelling increased triple-fold, expanding below his head and shoulders, all the way to his fingertips and down to his hips. Complications with his PICC line arose from the increased swelling. He developed a jugular vein blood clot (which now requires twice-a-day self-administered anticoagulant injections to care for). Josh will tell you it’s nothing, no big deal, that this is just something we’re going through. He’s been a champion thus far; Unflinchingly stoic and utterly polite throughout every blood draw, every 1000mL infusion, every 4 am awakening for vitals.

Finally, at the end of the 5 days, we went home. His symptoms seemed at their peak severity. The nausea was debilitating. He slept for 24 hours straight, and didn’t eat for days.

And then miraculously, we watched as his swelling subsided. I was able to see his face for the first time in weeks; I could hear the clarity in his voice as the blood returned to his body. It’s still too soon into his treatment to run any further scans or ultrasounds to track how dramatic this progress is, but these changes have meant tremendous relief for us both.

We began his second round of treatment yesterday. We are in good spirits, but have come to understand the incremental severity that each round of chemo will have on the body.

The gravity of our situation is hard to deny. While his health insurance has done well to cover a tremendous sum of medical costs, we still have spent thousands on insurance deductibles, copays on chemo infusions, medication costs, and all the little items in between. More concerningly, he and I have both lost our sources of income as we take a necessary leave of absence from filmmaking to prioritize his care.

If you have worked with either of us before, you know how deeply devoted we are to our work. We often fill 2 key roles on our shoots: a gaffer and focus puller, the sister departments commanded by the cinematographer. Our lives are fully lived on set— the filmmaking community in new york city is our lifeblood, social network, and our creative joy.

Me and Josh have talked circles around whether or not we should put up a campaign. I am sure many of you have experienced his stubbornness firsthand. He would go to the ends of the earth for his friends, and fiercely deny anything in return. He will always be the first to offer support, and the very last to accept it. But this time, I have to ask for the both of us.

Know that we have no expectations for our use of this platform— we have chosen to put up a campaign in order to make an opportunity for assistance, if donation is a method of support you feel comfortable with.

Thank you, a million times over, for any and all contributions you’re able to make.

Everything helps.

We are exceedingly humbled by the support that has already washed over us this last month. Our parents are our bedrock. We feel so indebted to the generosity we’ve witnessed, as friends have swooped in to coordinate meal-drop offs and car rides to-and-from the hospital for his treatment days. It has been a whirlwind for us, but know that we have cherished every message and call. We see and appreciate you all.

We have hopes that this period of our life will fly by, and that in autumn this will all feel far away. And thank you again from me personally, for helping Joshua. He is my break of laughter after a long day, the warmth of a hand I know each line of, and the person I want to climb every mountain with-- this one included.

With endless gratitude,

Sinclair