Walk into Advanced Automotive in Goleta and you’re immediately greeted by a life-size Captain Morgan on the front porch. Inside, every bit of wall space is covered with pirate pictures and memorabilia. At the helm is Miller Breese, the shop’s owner since 1999, who resembles a friendlier version of the breed with red hair, a bushy mustache and skull tattoo.
Miller’s connection to pirate life began with ‘Canalino,’ the classic teak Cheoy Lee sailboat he once kept in the harbor to escape the clanging and banging of his day job. Now he commands a crew of mechanics who he calls “the boys.” He boisterously welcomes everyone who enters his business with a smile and a familiar “hey bro,” “buddy” or “brother.” Miller’s been “bending wrenches” since he was a boy running around his father’s car dealership. “I was taking apart little Briggs & Stratton motors, putting them all back together,” he brags.
This macho marriage of machines and mariners might paint Miller as a tough character. But when the 56 year-old speaks about the friends he lost to cancer and how his own fight against the disease sapped his strength and spirit, tears well up, falling onto his hands folded on the desk blotter. “You have no control over any of it. But I’m working on it. That’s all you can do,” he laments while dabbing his eyes with a tissue.
In 2013, not long after his honeymoon with his wife Tiffany, Miller found a lump in his neck that grew to the size of a racquetball. Doctors ordered a biopsy to examine the cells inside. In order for the sedation mask to fit properly, Miller needed to shave off his signature mustache. He feared it might never grow back.
Cancer Center physicians Dr. Shane Cotter and Dr. Daniel Greenwald confirmed Miller had stage IVA cancer of the head and neck. A tumor in his tonsil had invaded his lymph nodes. Treatment of head and neck cancer often requires a multi-specialty approach with surgeons and oncologists working together. In Miller’s case, his team recommended radiation paired with infusion chemotherapy to “melt away” the tumors. Miller began seven weeks of targeted radiation, five days a week. He’d distract himself for the 15 to 20 minute sessions by staring at the ceiling murals, his protective plastic head mask bolted to the table to limit movement. While his new reality wasn’t ideal, he easily turned over the burden of his care to his medical team. “I fix cars, I don’t fix tumors in the neck. They seemed to think they could lick it,” says Miller.
During the chemotherapy that followed, nurse navigator Cindy Ambriz Gasser, RN, OCN, helped turn Miller’s chemotherapy sessions at the Cancer Center from stressful to manageable. He admits he initially shuddered at the sight of the “big green toxic bag” flowing into his body. But seeing the same caring person willing to field a ton of questions at each visit made a world of difference. “Every time I would show up, she was there. She would walk in, check me out and determine exactly how I was doing. It was just fabulous,” he remembers.
The combination of radiation and chemotherapy in the back of Miller’s throat led to a sort of sunburn inside his mouth, making swallowing extremely painful. To maintain his nutrition, doctors inserted a feeding tube in his stomach where he’d syringe in his meals. Miller lost so much weight that his aching body was too weak to reach the second floor of his home. A lack of normal food and extreme fatigue took its toll. One sleepless night he contemplated whether he could continue. “I said ‘God, I’m done, I can’t go any farther,’” describes Miller. “I closed my eyes and there was just black. The next morning, I woke up and thought, ‘I’m still here. God isn’t going to bail me out, so I gotta put my boots back on and make this happen’. I knew then I was not going to let it get me.” Miller believed he had a story to finish, and dead men tell no tales.
Fast forward to 2016 and Miller is a changed man. His treatment plan successfully eliminated his cancer, and he’s very grateful. “I told the doctors afterwards, ‘you guys really put the accelerator to the floor and didn’t let up,’” he jokes. A Cancer Center class helped him relearn how to use his neck muscles to eat and drink again. While his steadiness and strength is still a little depleted, he sees himself improving daily. “I am not as good as I used to be, and that’s OK. I am how I am now,” he sighs.
Like the fine-tuning of classic cars in his garage, a restoration is underway, mentally and physically. “I told him I couldn’t promise a full beard but that we were sure he’d be able to grow his mustache again, which thankfully has come to fruition,” remarks Dr. Cotter. That milestone made Miller feel more like himself than anything. “I thought ‘well, you’ve beaten that one,’” he smiles. The storm in his life has calmed for now and he’s especially appreciative to be back on the job with his loyal co-workers who ran the business for months when he was ill. “It was crazy but we made it through all that and we’re still here,” asserts Miller. He worries less about little things and is savoring time with his wife and friends, small steps toward normal. For today, he’s captain of his own destiny. “I’ve got to enjoy it while I have it,” he adds. “Will it ever be the same? I don’t know, but we sure are trying.”