THE VERDICT: Eddie's "One More Shift"

Forever it seems, Eddie Olczyk has been referred to in several ways by friends and fans who are fonder of him than trying to spell his last name.
Edzo. Eddie. Eddie O.
But on Sunday, as if to close the book and post results of his fight against a relentless foe, you wanted to put a final score on the board.
Eddie 1, Cancer 0.

He was the man of the moment in the Blackhawks' "One More Shift" celebration. Others have been honored thusly, and deservedly so. But their curtain calls marked careers well spent in behalf of Chicago hockey.
Olczyk would qualify on that count, of course. As lead TV analyst for the Blackhawks and NBC, he is so adept at explaining goals that you can forget he scored 342 of them during 16 seasons after being drafted in round one by his hometown team in 1984.
However, Olczyk's most impactful message was not delivered with telestrator in hand but with his soul bared. Famous people can do that. They can also retreat and ask, "why me?" But Olczyk went public with his battle upon being diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer in August 2017. While we resist a hagiography about an individual otherwise blessed, Olczyk just might be credited with countless assists after retiring as a player.
"I believe Eddie, by doing what he did, saved lives," said Pat Foley, his Hall of Fame play-by-play partner. "When we heard the awful news about this situation, I went and got a colonoscopy. I know a lot of other people in this organization who did the same. I've met dozens of other people who went for a colonoscopy.

"He could have been private about his health. Instead, he used his platform to help others. What if he said nothing? He could have. But who would have benefitted by that?
In Sunday's pregame warmup before their game against the Minnesota Wild on "Hockey Fights Cancer" night, the Blackhawks wore lavender sweaters. Shortly before game time, Olczyk skated out from the west end, wearing No. 16. He raised his stick, then went down the blueline with the Blackhawks' starting lineup. They were joined by children beset by pediatric cancer. A ceremonial puck drop followed.
Olczyk didn't speak. He didn't have to. For months, he has given thanks for the support he received beyond wife Diana, their four children, and extended family. The Blackhawks told him to work only when he felt up to it. NBC said the same. Dr. Michael Terry, the Blackhawks' Head Physician, was "captain of my team," according to Eddie. At Northwestern Memorial, oncologist Dr. Mary Mulcahy told Olczyk she was there not to treat him, but cure him.
"Thousands of messages from all over," Eddie said. "I couldn't have done it by myself. I thought of that often when I went in for chemo. People in the same room, waiting, but they're alone. I'm wondering, 'do they have someone they can hold onto through this?' When they go home, is there someone to be with? That's part of why I did what I did. To let everybody fighting cancer know that they are not alone."
Olczyk recently received the Ace Bailey Courage Award at the National Hockey League Alumni Awards ceremony. Bailey, a rugged left wing, was aboard United Airlines Flight 175 when it was hijacked by terrorists and slammed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City on 9/11. Bailey, director of pro scouting for the Los Angeles Kings at the time, was 53.
Sunday night, "One More Shift" was one more step away from the rear-view mirror for Olczyk.
"A year ago, I was in the battle of my life," he said. "I thought I was in a good place before I got sick and then I realized I was in an incredible place. If my time was up, I still had a heck of a life. Besides the shock of being told you have cancer, and then the ordeal of trying to beat it, there's that unknown.
"That's the scary part that's with you every day. They removed 18 inches of my colon and took out a tumor the size of a baseball. Then, once you can handle it after six hours of surgery, starts the chemo. Every other Monday, twelve treatments, six months of hell.

"Vomiting, blood clots, fatigue, you swallow and it feels like glass. You lose feeling in your fingers and feet, taste buds gone, can't control bodily functions at times. After two or three treatments, I told Diana, 'I'm done, I can't live like this.' She got hold of me and said, 'fight for me, the kids and all the people who love you.' Then we both had a good cry. I needed that."
When Olczyk was informed that he had colon cancer, he was in excellent shape. Active physically, never a drinker or a smoker. But cancer has no conscience. It does not discriminate. And even when you mount a counter-attack, there is that unknown of which Eddie O spoke.
"There's no guarantee, after you do everything you're supposed to do, that it will work," he said. "If I was told before chemo that I'd be clean as a whistle after six months of it, great. But it doesn't happen that way. What if they see something after all that? What if after six months, you're still not rid of it? What then?"
Olczyk was "unhooked" from his last chemo treatment last Feb. 21. Then came the verdict. He was on the Blackhawks' charter to Boston March 8 to broadcast the next day, part of his therapy. Across the aisle was Dr. Terry, who had information to share about the pictures from Olczyk's scan.
"Doc told me that everything looks good," he recalled. "It looked clean. I cried again. I lost it right there."
Olczyk lost it because, in a must-win assignment, he nailed it.
Eddie 1, Cancer 0.