Finding Harmony
One Man, His Tuba, and a
Battle With Cancer
by Mike Martinson
One Man, His Tuba, and a
Battle With Cancer
by Mike Martinson

"Finding Harmony" is a 64,000-word inspirational memoir that chronicles the journey of a professional tuba player, Mike, as he navigates a rare, high-stakes double stem cell transplant. Throughout his grueling treatments and the life-or-death decisions he faces, Mike relies on music and his unwavering determination to refuse being defined by his illness. Driven by his love for music and his Alaskan spirit, he battles to reclaim his identity in the face of his diagnosis, proving that while cancer may affect his body, it cannot dictate how he chooses to live his life.

Mike’s written journey began as a raw, real-time cancer blog during 37 weeks of intensive treatment in Seattle. Initially created to keep his high school band students informed and to ease their fears, these entries captured the daily realities of his fight. What started as a simple bridge to his classroom has evolved into a powerful, full-length memoir.

Even after more than one hundred infusions, this story goes far beyond a medical log. It‘s a collection of personal anecdotes and hard-won life lessons. It's an invitation to experience an attitude of defiance that cherishes every small win in the fight for a meaningful life. Ultimately, it celebrates the power of the human spirit to find its rhythm, even in the face of devastating odds.

Throughout months of brutal cancer treatments, humor remained Mike‘s constant companion. By lightening the mood during his toughest moments, he turns a painful cancer battle into a testament to endurance. This is a memoir about the defiant power of joy and the choice to smile when the odds seem overwhelming.
Inspirational memoir: health and wellness
Comparative Titles:
Me, Myself & My Multiple Myeloma by Ray Hartjen
When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
Teaching in the Dark: A Memoir by Genét Simone
Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted by Suleika Jaouad
63,000 words
Email: mike@mikemartinsonauthor.com
Phone: 907-440-2855
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CHAPTER 1 - Gut Punch
“You need to get your affairs in order,” the doctor said, his voice heavy with concern. “You have one to three years to live.”
I could hear the strain as he delivered news he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He cleared his throat, fist pressed to his lips, then looked at me before dropping his gaze to the floor. And just like that, my life was upended.
I hadn’t even gone to the doctor for anything serious. It was just my shoulder, an ache that had been hanging around for months. I assumed it was a sprain or maybe something more serious, like a rotator cuff tear. Either way, I thought it was something that could be fixed. I ignored the pain until it got so bad that I couldn’t lift my instrument at all.
On a typical rehearsal evening with the Symphony or various orchestras in Anchorage, Alaska, I would park on “G” Street, two or three blocks from the rehearsal hall and carry my instrument inside. But as the pain got worse, carrying my instrument became unbearable. It didn’t help that I played the heaviest instrument in the orchestra: the tuba.
I finally visited a medical clinic and saw one of the physicians on staff. The clinic was efficient but impersonal, sharp with the smell of disinfectant and the soft trickle of a rock‑wall fountain. People stood in line, shuffling forward to explain their ailments to the receptionist. Before meeting her, I told myself my shoulder was just an annoyance, nothing more.
I sat by myself to avoid the coughing and nose blowing, flipping through magazines and thinking about the music I was going to play that evening. Outside, heavy December snow was piling up. The city was being transformed to a clean whiteness that was great to look at but miserable to drive in. I didn’t realize I was about to be transformed, too.
Soon after, an assistant called my name. She walked me through a hallway where I was introduced to the doctor who would be treating me that day, a kind‑looking man in his fifties with a short beard and a balding scalp. I explained the pain and weakness in my shoulder. Without hesitation, he sent me to the X‑ray room.
After the X‑ray, I was asked to wait in a small seating area while he examined the results. The waiting area had three chairs and a small table with outdated magazines. I sat there for twenty minutes, watching other patients walk by and wondering why it was taking so long.
I had no idea that in just minutes, my world would never be the same. The man in that chair, worrying about an evening rehearsal, would soon be replaced by someone who would have to learn an entirely new vocabulary for hope and what it means to be human when your mortality shifts from the distant background to the spotlight.
Those were my last twenty minutes of not knowing. I didn’t realize I was about to begin the most important performance of my life. This time, the challenge wouldn’t be about music or something beautiful. It was about staying alive.
When the doctor finally approached, his head hung low, his face burdened. He invited me into his office and offered me a chair in front of his computer. I recognized the digital picture as an X‑ray. My ribcage filled the screen, and near my right shoulder was a large white object. He explained that a baseball‑sized tumor was destroying the second rib on my right side, causing pain in my right shoulder. He asked if I had heard of multiple myeloma. I hadn’t, so he spelled it out for me and said those ominous words that are reserved for people who are extremely sick. Then he said, “You need to see an oncologist.” “Get your affairs in order” is something you say to people who are dying. But I felt fine. I just had a sore shoulder.
I later learned this cancer targets plasma cells in the bone marrow, where blood cells are produced. It only affects about seven out of 100,000 people each year. I was in an exclusive club—one I could do without.
My mind felt numb. I tried to study the X‑ray like a music score I’d never seen before. This white mass, where bone should have been, was silently eating through my rib for months while I’d been conducting rehearsals above it. For thirty‑two years, I had been teaching students to read and interpret music notation: black‑and‑white symbols that transform into sounds words cannot imitate. Now I was trying to decipher what this white blob meant. It wasn’t music or beauty; it was disease and probable death.
It felt like he was talking about someone else. My voice remained steady as I asked technical questions about tumor behavior, maintaining the same analytical detachment I used to dissect my conductor’s score: breaking it into smaller pieces, trying to solve the puzzle.
For decades, I’d guided teenagers through their first encounters with complex musical ideas. Now I was the confused student, and there were no practice exercises for mortality. You either understand that you’re dying, or you don’t. The doctor watched me with concern, clearly recognizing that I hadn’t truly processed what he’d told me. He seemed more shaken by the diagnosis than I was, at least for now.
I thanked him politely, as if he’d just given me directions to the nearest coffee shop. My body moved on autopilot, shaking his hand, gathering my jacket, and walking through the antiseptic hallways toward the exit. I must have walked through the snow to my car, because I found myself standing beside it, keys in hand, wondering how I’d gotten there. An hour earlier, I was a band director with a sore shoulder. At that moment, I had no idea who I was or who I would become.

A dedicated musician, Mike has been principal tubist with the Anchorage Symphony for more than 30 years. His versatile career includes solo performances, operas, musicals, and concerts throughout Alaska.

As a longtime music educator, Mike has dedicated his career to teaching high school students the power and beauty of music. His desire to reassure them that he was doing well during cancer treatment became the primary inspiration for his memoir, Finding Harmony.

When he isn’t on the conductor’s podium or the symphony stage, Mike serves as a storytelling tour guide. He leads visitors through the rugged beauty of the Last Frontier, sharing the unique history and untamed spirit of Alaska. He brings that same Last Frontier spirit and narrative grit to the pages of his memoir.

Mike ran a family commercial fishing business from the docks of Homer, Alaska, with his three children as his crew. They lived among diverse marine wildlife and the stunning beauty of Alaskan waters. That experience helped him build the endurance that later supported him during cancer treatment.

Mike’s early years in Alaska were spent mining for gold. That experience cemented the work ethic that would later define his resilient fight against cancer.

Mike is a true Alaskan outdoorsman who finds harmony in the solitude of the wilderness. His love for the state’s rugged beauty and wildlife gives him a rare perspective on life and fuels his powerful will to keep on living.
Download FINDING HARMONY, chapters 1-3 (pdf)
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