Posted on Sat, May. 24, 2008

Former Wildcat receiver battles cancer

Community rallies around Lexington policeman, football star

By Mark Story

HERALD-LEADER SPORTS COLUMNIST

Jenn Ackerman | Staff

Kio Sanford, with his wife, Jenny, and daughter, Cami, 7, was diagnosed last year with a rare form of cancer. He is in the midst of an aggressive treatment program that has sent the cancer into remission, for now. Photo by Jenn Ackerman | Staff

Every three weeks, Kio Sanford knows it's coming.

The most desired of foods -- pizza, hamburgers, steak -- taste about as appealing as turpentine.

His hands swell. His face puffs. His skin turns drier than the Mojave.

Many are the days when a 33-year-old Lexington police officer -- hardly more than a decade removed from his days as a standout wide receiver at the University of Kentucky -- is so weak he doesn't feel like getting out of bed.

In dark moments, Sanford wonders if the cancer that conceivably could kill him is actually worse than the aftereffects from the chemotherapy designed to save his life.

"The worst part of this whole thing was the first week of chemo," Sanford says. "I was like, 'I have 13 more treatments of this? I don't know if I can do this. I'm going to quit.'"

It started last summer as a little knot the size of a popcorn kernel on Kio Sanford's side.

He went to his family doctor. Don't think it's cancer, he was told.

Next came a visit to a plastic surgeon to have the knot removed. Don't think it's cancer, Sanford was told.

By the time Sanford went back to the plastic surgeon to have his stitches removed, the doctor had called a pathologist for another opinion.

The date July 13, 2007, Friday the 13th, is seared into Kio Sanford's memory.

"Jenny," Sanford said when he called his wife, "they just said I have cancer."

It took a series of doctors working together to identify what form of cancer had beset one of the stars of Hal Mumme's first Kentucky football team.

Ewing's sarcoma is normally a cancer found in the bones. It most often afflicts teen-age Caucasians. In this case, it was in the abdominal wall of an African-American in his early 30s.

"When I found out what kind of cancer it was, I got online and looked it up," Sanford says. "The news I found on the Internet, it wasn't very positive. They're talking about you have anywhere between three to five years to live. It was depressing."

Eventually, doctors at Lexington's Saint Joseph Hospital put Sanford in touch with a specialist in Boston who treats the relatively rare occurrence of an adult with Ewing's sarcoma.

The plan the doctors came up with for Sanford involved an aggressive form of chemotherapy -- 14 weeks of multi-day treatments (three days one week, then five days the next time) separated by three-week intervals.

"It's miserable," Sanford says. "Every time, you ask yourself, do I really want to go through this again?"

When it gets to that point, Sanford weighs what quitting would leave behind.

The 75-year-old grandmother who helped raise him and adores him. A wife who loves him and has stood by him. An adorable 7-year-old girl who calls him Daddy.

"You can't quit," Sanford says.

Caring in a time of need

At first, dealing with the emotional impact of the diagnosis no one ever wants to hear proved nearly as challenging as the disease.

"In the months before we started treatment, Kio was the worst to live with," Jenny says. "That was the toughest time. He was kind of on shutdown. I was trying to be there for him, and he was putting up a barrier."

In the expected course of life, 33-year-olds don't tell their wives that they just hope to live to see their 7-year-old graduate from high school. Their little girl doesn't have to say, "I pray for Daddy to get better," every day before they eat lunch at school.

How could you not be terrified?

When they were helping raise Sanford, George and Jackie Grimes taught their grandson to believe a higher power controls events on Earth.

Now, "I question God," Kio says. "What did I do to deserve this? I'm not angry. I just want to know why me? But like my grandmother always tells me, 'He has a plan for you, and you have to go with the plan he has.' I pray every night. I feel better after I do."

If there is a positive to such adversity, it is that you find out how caring people can be in times of need.

Before they first traveled to Boston to see the specialist, Kio and Jenny were scared to death over what they might hear. That made the anxiety of traveling to a strange city more acute. They fretted over what part of the city to seek lodging in.