Through his lens: A Dallas photographer uses social media to document his cancer battle

Through his lens: A Dallas photographer uses social media to document his cancer battle
This selfie became my first social media post when I let friends know I have Stage 4 esophageal cancer.
It was Sept. 9, 2016, outside Texas Oncology-Baylor Charles A. Sammons Cancer Center, which became my second home.
I'd been having difficulty swallowing on vacation that July and went to a gastrointestinal specialist after getting home. An endoscopy found the tumor.

9/9/2016 — This selfie became my first social media post when I let friends know I have stage 4 esophageal cancer.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

Stage 4 simply means it has already spread. The secondary tumor is in my liver and was the size of my fist. The primary tumor is blocking about half my esophagus at the juncture with the stomach.
Chemotherapy began about a month after the diagnosis, on Sept. 22, 2016.
Along the way I’ve documented on Instagram my days during doctor visits in Dallas and Houston, in waiting rooms, labs, infusion clinic and radiology. A few times I asked others to make a snap.

12/22/16 — What I usually get from [my son] Drew. #nopicturesplease

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

Taking pictures is as much a part of me as it has been since high school. It’s not just my job. It’s an obsession and now so easy with a phone. It serves as an escape and a coping mechanism. Using my phone at arm’s length is very limiting but also challenging.

Late-stage kidney cancer should have killed me. Thanks to these Dallas doctors, I have a chance

9/19/16 — Cancer cells grow faster and show more "heat" than normal. White hot is bad. The circle near the spinal cord is the tumor in my esophagus. The mass at left is in my liver.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

Sharing my images and a bit of my story online just seemed natural in today's instant communication, narcissistic atmosphere. I'll plead guilty to that.
My initial prognosis was not good. I was told that if chemo didn't work, then I'd be kicked into clinical trials. If no strong response followed, then I would have six months to live. The size of the liver tumor made surgery impossible.
I love images, especially the color shot from the endoscopy that shows what’s invisible to the naked eye. It’s fascinating to see what’s inside one’s body. The primary tumor is ugly and beautiful at the same time.
Fast-forward to early December 2017: Being bombarded with four poisons has been really easy and I continue to work most days with only minor side effects.

1/25/18 — Today I'm officially tired. Radiation at 9:15; Meals on Wheels at 10; labs at 10:45; Dr. Paulson at 11:30; chemo at 1:45. Up at 4:33 after 4 hrs 41 minutes of sleep (Fitbit knows) gotta get home for nap.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

Other than fatigue, I can’t complain. I sleep a lot. I put all my weight back on (plus some) within three months, a really good sign. Blood work shows improvement every visit. I feel rather guilty that chemo has been easy given what I’ve read and been told about how debilitating it can be for others.
After nearly two years of chemotherapy, the big bad one in my liver has seen a "complete metabolic response": It's gone.
Today, the primary tumor is still active and I have some swallowing issues but overall I’m doing quite well. Surgery may now be an option to remove it, since the bad boy is gone. It’s a high-risk surgery because of its location, but we’ll see.
The chemo’s working; the battle continues.
Guy Reynolds has been a photographer and photo editor at The Dallas Morning News since 1996. An exhibit of his film-based photography titled "Not Dead Yet, (and neither is film)" will be at the Tammy Cromer Gallery in Dallas, opening Oct. 13. For more information, go to tammycromergallery.com.

Editor’s note: Below are 30 of Guy Reynolds' #cancerchroniclesguy Instagram posts presented in chronological order. You can find him on Instagram @reyguy

9/9/16 -- Contrast material I had to drink for the PET scan.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/11/16 — 179 pounds I believe I maxed out at about 230 in Baton Rouge in 1990 or so. I haven't been under 190 since '91. Haven't been under 180 since jr year of college when I was selling my blood plasma in order to buy my next meal.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/15/16 — Notes I made during the first consultation with my oncologist. Cancer in two places. Surgery is not an option. Secondary tumor covers 3/4 of the liver. Need to get a port. Begin chemo next week.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/19/16 — IV time before port installation procedure. A tad difficult to shoot my ownself so Nancy was pressed into duty.

(Nancy Visser/Staff )

9/19/16 — This one had to be in color. PET scans show the heat profile of cells. Cancer cells grow faster and show more "heat" than normal. White hot is bad. The circle near the spinal cord is the tumor in my esophagus. The mass at left is my liver. The good news is the cancer isn't anywhere else. Chemo begins Thursday. Game on!

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/22/16 — Lab work. First order of the day. I have good veins. I even sold my plasma several times in college when I was desperately poor. Now I'm rich beyond my wildest dreams in so many ways.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/22/16 — [My wife] Nancy [Visser] the notetaker.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/22/16 — Dr. Scott Paulson. My oncologist.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/9/16 — I've had a mental illness a whole lot longer than this physical ailment. In 1991 I had my first of many bouts of depression and was diagnosed as bipolar. It's been a struggle to find a balance with different meds and a roller coaster ride isn't easy for me and it's even tougher for Nancy, who has to put up with me and my swings. The point of the image: Cancer may beat me, but depression won't. I refuse to get down about this.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/22/16 — Getting hooked up for the first day of chemotherapy.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

9/28/16 — According to Nancy there's a thing known as chemo brain. This may be an example. Put the skillet on the back burner on the range, Canadian bacon piece in, turned it on and went upstairs to wake up Drew only to find the packaging melting on the front burner when I came back down. Or it was just stupidity.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

10/20/16 — Other cancer patients visit and work a jigsaw puzzle in the chemotherapy waiting area.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

11/3/16 —  The results were positive, according to Dr. P. Things are going well for now.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

11/3/16 — Lab work with Carlos again. Door code wrist band. Dr. P said labs were improved again.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

11/3/16 — Irwin visited and brought me Schlotzsky's and a Cinnabon for lunch. Awesome.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/1/16 — Another one getting labs done.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/12/16 — Getting ready to go to M.D. Anderson for the first time. Cancer is Funny was sent to me by Courtney Perry.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/12/16 — Meeting Dr. Ajani at M.D. Anderson in Houston for a second opinion about these pesky tumors in my esophagus and liver. My brain is mush so Nancy does the listening and questioning. Good to have The Rock in the room.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/13/16 — PET scanner. 30 minutes on my back moving to and fro in that massive machine with my arms above my head. Had a terrible headache at the start and kept falling asleep during the scan. They had to wake me when it was over and the headache was gone. Karma.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/15/16 — Last post from the first trip to Houston and @mdandersoncancercenter to see Jaffer Ajani, the top esophageal cancer doc around. Here we sit Thursday late afternoon in his exam room waiting for the news about what Tuesday's PET scan showed. A while later we were really smiling, not forcing it. The forest is thick and I'm far from being out of the woods but some trees have fallen from my path. Both tumors have shrunk. Big nasty in the liver considerably so. Doc says do four more chemotherapy sessions in Dallas and return for further imaging and he'll present my case to the group to discuss next step. Radiation? Surgery? We'll see.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

12/12/16 — Therapy dog in the chemotherapy waiting room.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

1/19/17 — Elvis has left the elevator. Time for chemotherapy #9. 16-mile bike ride this morning. Trying to get more regular exercise to combat the fatigue that follows the infusion of poisons.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

1/19/17 — Ugh. This thing takes hours. Now I wish I'd declined to be in the study but hopefully some good will come of it.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

1/19/17 — That bike ride did me some good. Wyatt McSpadden told me the key to cancer fighting is chilling and I'm so chill I oughta be asleep with a BP this low. Lisinopril helps too.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

3/24/17 — Now just doing one poison for 90 minutes instead of 4 for 4 hours. Now if those mail-order pills will just get here I can get on a much easier regimen. I was really hoping to lose my hair so I'd have an excuse for the burgeoning bald spot. Oh well.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

3/28/17 — Capecitabine tablets arrived yesterday when I'd gone home to leave a note on the door for Mallory to call when he was in the neighborhood. I can get home in about 8 minutes and the package had to be signed for. Why? Because a 2-week supply costs $3,800. That's right. And if the pkg is stolen off the porch I owe for it. How can 84 pills cost that much? I'm taking six a day for two weeks and then a week off with the next infusion at the end. So every three weeks instead of every other will be better. If I tolerate the side effects of the pills. They're replacing the 5-FU pump I have been wearing for 46 hours after each treatment.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

4/14/17 — Waiting for a chest X-ray before chemotherapy. I'm tired. Always it seems. Hoping to get through this pill side effects issue and continue on them since it makes the infusions less frequent and no pump to wear afterward. Back on the pills for a week so we'll see soon enough.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

1/26/18 — Last of 15 radiology appointments today. I surprised Ramona and Rob, the super zapping duo, with a big smile. Courtney Perry suggested I draw a smiley face when she saw a previous post showing the alignment tattoos. The little dot in the center of the nose is permanent. The rest I did this morning. I know it's pretty bad because my great artist son wouldn't do it for me.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

1/30/18 — The last dose of capecitabine a.k.a. Xeloda (oral poison) for this week. I take six a day for seven days beginning the day of chemotherapy infusion. Then two weeks without. Then do it again. I will likely do chemo until I die. They don't think I'll ever be cancer-free. Living the dream.

(Guy Reynolds/Staff Photographer)

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