By Ryan Mink
rmink@digitalsports.comMatt Miller spent many sweltering hours in the Gold’s Gym in Bowie near his parents’ home last summer. He got a job there so it would be easy for him to work out every day — sometimes twice a day. DeMatha boy's lacrosse coach Scott Pugh said Miller dedicated himself to the weight room more than any of his other players.
Miller had always been athletic, but by the end of Summer 2007, he had gained 20 pounds more muscle and was in his physical prime. He was preparing for a breakout season as a DeMatha boy’s lacrosse goalie, and aiming for reclamation of the WCAC championship title from St. Mary's Ryken, who ended the Stags' eight-year title streak last spring.
Soon after that loss, Miller had sat down at the desk in his bedroom to do what he often has while growing up. He handwrote his goals. He had seven goals for the 2007-2008 season and he taped them to the middle of his mirror.
Goals for senior year
1) 3.8 GPA, 2nd quarter
2) 3 game-ready lax wands
3) First team All-Met
4) Win WCAC championship
5) Beat Boys Latin, Landon, Prep!
6) Be No. 1 in the nation
7) Weigh 190-200 by seasonAbout seven months later, Miller temporarily took the paper off the mirror and wrote below his previous goals:
After chemotherapy
1) Start eating really healthy, maintain 185-190. Really just a solid 180 by start of season
2) Catch up in school (midterms) 3.0 is great!
3) Stay positive!
4) Practice at least 3x a week (getting shot on)
5) 3 game-ready wands
6) Keep journal of how I feel, workouts, what I eat
7) Build lower body strength up as well as upper bodyThe night of Nov. 7, Miller and his mother, Sarah Miller, went to the Anne Arundel Medical Center to see what was causing a terrible pain in Matt’s testicles. They talked in the car about what could be bothering him, Sarah joking that he probably had a hernia while lifting.
They both expected to be in and out of the hospital in 20 minutes and watched cartoons until the doctor finally returned with results from an impromptu sonogram.
“We found a mass on your testicle,” the doctor said. “There’s a 90 percent chance you have testicular cancer.”
Matt described the next few minutes as an out-of-body experience, as if he was watching himself in a movie.
“I was just kind of in shock, processing ‘Wow, he just said I might have testicular cancer,’” Matt said. “I thought I was just going to be in and out of there and the next day going to work, working out, going to school – normal things. Really that wasn’t going to be the case.
Matt's first question was, “Am I going to be able to have children?” His second, “Am I going to live?” His third, “Will I be able to play lacrosse?”
“WHAT IS TESTICULAR CANCER?”The next day, Nov. 8, it was confirmed that Miller did indeed have testicular cancer. Two days later, Miller was in a hospital gown and prepped for surgery to remove one of his testicles, an automatic and necessary operation for anyone diagnosed with testicular cancer.
“The scariest part was not knowing anything about testicular cancer and not knowing what I would have to do,” Miller said. “The scariest part was thinking, ‘I might not survive through this or I might have to deal with this for the rest of my life.’ Just wondering what would happen next.”
Next were constant doctor’s appointments to see how far the cancer had spread, days when Miller would perennially look around and find himself the youngest patient in the room. It made him feel isolated, he said, like he was the only kid his age with cancer on the East Coast.
But as the Millers talked to more doctors and did endless online research of their own, they found that testicular cancer is the most common form of cancer in men between the ages of 15 and 39.
Each year, approximately 7,000 to 8,000 new cases are diagnosed in the United States and about 400 men die. The number of new cases diagnosed annually in the United States has doubled among white men over the past two decades, the cause of which is unknown. The good news is that testicular cancer is one of the most curable forms of cancer.
Miller had a daunting, near tennis-ball-sized tumor in his lymph nodes (tissues found throughout the body that collect and destroy bacteria) near his waistline, too large to simply be removed with a second surgery. The Millers chose an aggressive nine-week chemotherapy regiment, a draining and debilitating process, but one with a 95% survival rate. Miller would undergo three consecutive three-week chemotherapy cycles.
Outside the doctor's office, the diagnosis and treatment plans raised questions not only about Miller's ability to play come springtime, but his desirability to a Division I lacrosse program considering him for a scholarship. Miller was waiting on a scholarship offer from Drexel University, but was unsure how Dragons Coach Chris Bates would take the news of his cancer. After all, Miller had met Bates only a handful of times.
Bates was shocked, but took the news in stride. He told Matt that he didn't expect him to play at all his senior season, and that he still had a scholarship waiting for him.
On Nov. 14, national signing day, the letter from Drexel arrived. A week after being diagnosed with cancer, Miller accepted a scholarship to play Division I lacrosse at a Top-25 program.
“Just being able to sign with them having been diagnosed with testicular cancer, it was an accomplishment for me in that,” Miller said.
“THAT WAS HIS FIGHTING HAIR”Two days before going to his first chemotherapy treatment at the Annapolis Oncology Center, Miller opted to shear his shaggy hair into a Mohawk. He posed for pictures, crossing his arms and looking tough.
He was making a statement.
“That was his fighting hair,” Matt’s stepfather, Alan Jacobsen said.
Despite everything he knew about chemotherapy, the weight loss and the sickness, Miller was determined to keep his physique. He had worked tirelessly over the summer to get his body in pristine condition for the most important lacrosse season he had ever faced.
Miller's doctor said Miller couldn’t work out until two-and-a-half weeks after the Nov. 10 surgery. He was back in the gym in a week-and-a-half.
On Monday, Dec. 1, Miller started receiving chemotherapy. That day, he went to his local Bowie gym to work out for two hours with his teammate and best friend, Ryan Kotowski. All week, he underwent daily chemotherapy from noon until 5 p.m. and continued to go to the gym.
By Friday, his body was starting to fail him. After three exercises he was so exhausted that he had to stop. Once the second week of his first three-week cycle hit, Miller was often too sick to even roll out of bed. He constantly weighed himself, keeping track of the progress he was losing.
“I worked really hard to get bigger and stronger and it was chipping away at that,” Miller said. “All that hard work I had done was gone.”
Patient reactions to chemotherapy can vary widely. Miller's reaction was among the worst his doctors had seen.
Like most patients, he lost all of his hair. His mohawk began falling out in chunks until he shaved it off. Dark circles formed under his eyes, and his face became so thin you could clearly see his pronounced chin. Miller's weight dropped from his hard-earned 190 pounds down to 163 pounds, and he was left with hardly any muscle on his arms and legs.
Each day seemed to bring a new problem. He would throw up at a moment’s notice and his bowels were nearly uncontrollable. Sometimes there were fainting spells and at times unwarranted and endless sweating. Food tasted disgusting and often came back up soon after being swallowed. Over the New Year's holiday, Miller didn’t eat for five days, losing 10 pounds in less than a week.
“It was like having the flu and a stomach virus at the same time,” Jacobsen said. “That’s what he felt like all the time.”
Miller would often toss in his sleep and moan from the pain, calling out to his parents for help during the night. During a particularly challenging stretch, a two-week period during his second cycle, Miller slept on a mattress in his parents’ bedroom.
“There were a couple nights when he wanted us to help him more and there was just nothing we could do,” Jacobsen remembered. “He was scared. He just didn’t know what was going on.”
There were only three days during the nine weeks of chemotherapy when Miller felt well enough to make it into school.
“I would have rather gone to school and sat in a chair for five hours,” Miller said. “That’s when I got into that negative mentality a little bit. I would have rather been in school. I don’t think I had ever said that, ever.”
“ALWAYS SOMEBODY THERE”The Millers, including Matt, his parents and Matt’s three brothers, Stephen, 21, Aaron, 16, and Chris, 16, woke up at 6:30 a.m. on Christmas morning to open presents and eat breakfast. Even on Matt’s favorite holiday, he didn’t want to delay his treatment.
The Millers arrived at the hospital at 8 a.m. for Matt's chemotherapy.
Within the hour, guests were arriving.
Nearly all the DeMatha lacrosse players and their families came to wish Miller a Merry Christmas and check in on his progress. Miller had so many visitors to his tiny hospital room that a rotation system took shape, with the Millers calling a new group in after each family exited. Miller estimated that more than 30 of his friends and their families came.
“I don’t know what I would have done without my friends and family,” Miller said. “It helped me so much just to get through that day. … Whenever I thought I couldn’t make it, there was always somebody there.”
Through the entire nine weeks, Miller could count on continuous support from Kotowski, whom he called a brother. Miller had helped Kotowski recover from his anterior cruciate ligament tear the previous season.
“We’ve grown so close through the years that now me and him are pretty much the exact same person,” Kotowski said. “I just felt like I had to be the guy to step up and be there with him and be his wingman. We both needed each other. I needed him last year. He needed me this year.”
The night Miller went in for surgery to have his testicle removed, Kotowski gave Miller his silver St. Christopher’s necklace of a lacrosse player. Kotowski’s grandmother had given it to Kotowski before she died, and Kotowski was known for wearing it religiously.
“I thought he needed it more than me,” Kotowski said.
When Miller returned from surgery, he opened the door to banners and posters welcoming him home, some featuring some off-color humor about the surgery, courtesy of Kotowski. Most evenings, Miller had the company of either his girlfriend, Elizabeth Seton senior lacrosse player Caitlyn Quade, or Kotowski.
“I didn’t mind going there and putting a video on and he would just fall asleep,” Kotowski said. “I can still enjoy hanging out with him if he’s just lounging. I didn’t care as long as I knew my friend was alright.”
DeMatha players and friends from school visited constantly. Pugh and even Bates talked to Miller nearly every day. He received countless cards, letters from St. Mary’s Ryken coach John Sothoron and St. Albans coach Malcolm Lester and a poster from the St. Mary’s-Annapolis team.
Even St. Mary’s Ryken forward Zach Angel and his mother sent Miller cards months after Angel was instrumental in spoiling DeMatha’s 2007 title hopes. Angel and Miller had never met before, only competed against one another.
DeMatha senior Mike Smail drew a picture of Miller in the goal with the words, “Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting.”
As the fight against cancer reached its final rounds, Miller continually looked at his calendar. On it he had circled the date: March 1. The first day of tryouts.
MARCH 1Chemotherapy ended on Feb. 2. Matt was back in the gym the next day. In the March 1 square of his calendar, he wrote "185." The weight he wanted to reach in time for the season's start.
All February, Miller piled everything in his mouth that he could and went to the gym as often as possible, desperately trying to recover the weight he had lost. He worked out as much as his body would allow and stepped into the net for the first time just three days before tryouts.
The night before March 1, Miller packed all of his lacrosse gear and had his stick perfectly strung. There wasn’t much sleep that night. When he woke up and stepped on the scale it read 183. Miller still laments that he didn’t reach his goal, though by March 3 he weighed 186.
March 1 was a cold, gray day. Miller’s teammates arrived to the first day of tryouts, some complaining about the weather but mostly not looking forward to all the running tryouts would entail.
“I thought it was a nice day,” Miller said. “Everybody had been asking, ‘Are you going to be there March 1?’” Miller said. “I said, ‘Yeah, that was my goal wasn’t it?’ I’m a captain, so I thought that I should show I’m ready to play.”
Matt wanted to run the mile, a staple on the first day of tryouts. DeMatha trainer Wendy Norris wouldn’t let him. But with Norris believing Miller was intent on just attending practice, Miller managed to sneak into a line of sprints at the end. The team runs in shifts: first the attackmen, then the midfielders, then the defense and goalies. Miller lined up and burst forward.
“I was booking,” he recalled. “I was like, ‘Hey, I’m going pretty fast.’”
As Miller sprinted to the finish line, the entire offense -- led by Kotowski -- went nuts, hooting and hollering. Of the defenders and goalies, Miller was the first one back. The entire team came over and huddled around him, slapping him on the back.
“It really was emotionally awesome for me,” Miller said. “I thought, ‘Wow, I made it through the chemotherapy and everything.’ I was back.”
Miller was named starting goalie for the team’s first scrimmage on March 7 against Anne Arundel power Broadneck. It was about 32 degrees and raining, and Miller could literally feel the raindrops falling on his bald head through his helmet's vents. His helmet was so loose from the weight loss in his face and his lack of hair that he could turn it completely sideways on his head.
The first shot was a save. Miller made six saves in the first half before Norris sent him and two other freezing teammates to his car to get out of the cold rain. DeMatha won, 11-2. Miller has split time with junior Ryan Brant all this season, helping DeMatha to a 10-4 record.
“I was surprised he was out there,” Pugh said. “But then again I knew how bad he wanted to be out there, so when he said he was going to I took his word for it.”
Miller has not only performed, he has performed quite well. On April 24 Miller made 11 saves in the first half of a 9-8 win over St. Mary’s Ryken, the team who knocked off the Stags last season. Miller will face Landon, one of the teams he set out to beat in his goals list, tomorrow.
“From not knowing whether I was going to be able to play, to come in and do really well was really awesome for me,” Miller said. “I’m extremely proud of myself; I worked really hard. It was a lot of hard work but it also showed me my character and how strong I really was.”
“MILLERSTRONG”
Miller’s friends came up with a slogan during Matt’s battle with cancer. It was called “MILLERSTRONG,” adapted from the “LIVESTRONG” slogan started by cyclist Lance Armstrong. While the slogan was just a joke at first, Sarah Miller has turned it into a rallying cry for other testicular cancer patients.
Sarah distributes pamphlets at DeMatha’s games that read, “Helping Teens and Young Adults Conquer Cancer by Inspiring, Connecting, Educating and Financially Supporting Them!” The belief is that cancer patients need support not only throughout the treatment process, but also afterwards when they often find themselves depleted of savings and without income.
Donations can be made by buying a $20 t-shirt that reads, “How would you play today…if you could not play tomorrow,” by donating a belief basket (a collection of a voice recorder for journaling and doctor visits, a camera, a journal and other motivational tools such as survival stories) for $100, or by contributing any amount of money to the Belief Bank. Checks can be made payable to The We Believe Foundation, Inc., headed by Sarah, and mailed to 4808 Briercrest Court, Bowie, MD 20720.
Matt is still undergoing tests to determine whether the chemotherapy successfully sent his cancer into complete remission. His first results, received in mid-March, showed a shrunken tumor in his lymph nodes and zero tumor markers, a very good sign.
If Matt’s tumor has not shrunk further by the time he goes back to the doctor on May 13, then a surgery to remove all of his lymph nodes, whether they are affected or not, will be scheduled.
“If I can get through chemotherapy, I’m sure I can get through the other surgery,” Miller said. “I’m a lot stronger mentally, emotionally and spiritually.”