Taking on cancer...

Sunday, January 12, 2020

I’m into my second week of semi-retirement and have had a nagging, mucus-filled cough for most of that time.  That, along with some severe neck and shoulder pain, have kept me inside and not exercising.  I hate excuses, but it is the reason I have been less than motivated to write in the blog though I continue to fill out my daily journal.

For the past year or so John’s wife Teri has suffered with uncontrollable dizziness and vomiting.  I would estimate that this condition has landed her in the hospital on at least six occasions and each time they have sent her home having reached no conclusion as to ‘why’.  They did see a growth in her brain early on, but were unconvinced it was playing any part.  She saw the best people in the world-renowned Cleveland Clinic and from there, the Mayo Clinic.  They went so far as trying to do a needle biopsy of the tumor, but with no success (missed it and couldn’t do the proper pathology).  Finally, this past December, the Clinic opened up her skull and was actually able to get a piece of the tumor to do the proper analysis.

Several days after the surgery, John texted me this: ‘Grade 4 inoperable, incurable and very aggressive tumor.  Prognosis with radiation and chemo is 14 months.’

As I read the text at work, tears welled in my eyes.  John, after all, is more of a brother than a friend.  I was his best man and he has been there with me through the best and the worst events of my life for almost thirty years.  To this point, the medical community as a whole did not believe the tumor they could see with an MRI was cancerous or dangerous (if they did, they didn’t share it with my friends.)  I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d arrived at the same conclusion the first time it had been spotted over a year ago, the prognosis today would be as bleak.  I’m sure John and Teri have had the same thought.  In any event, I reckoned in my head how life changing this news would become, comparing it in that way to the news I’d received seven years earlier about my marriage.  Though the potential outcomes were quite different (they’re not giving up and mine wouldn’t kill me), never the less the future each of us thought we were going to live was suddenly and irrevocably altered. 

I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d had a similar diagnosis whether I could ever have a waking moment where I wouldn’t be conscious of the tick, tick, tick of time.  I doubt it.  For good or for evil, it would be a part of every thought I would have and move I would make.  I figured that both John and Teri would be going through this and as important as they were to me, that I would have it close to the surface of my thoughts, as well.

Segue to three weeks earlier.  Holly’s fiancé Craig and I had a meeting of the souls and are now spending time in one another’s company comfortably.  I had reached the conclusion that if I am to be as active a part of the lives of my children and grandchildren, I need to accept his presence and be willing to be where he is in a way that leaves no one feeling uncomfortable.  It has been seven years and we have all acknowledged our separate and joint parts in what led to the divorce and to their getting married next month.  I actually can admit that I am happy for Holly.  I still love her and care about her happiness and I believe she will have more with him than she ever did with me.  And like her, I am finding more happiness with Miggie and my current life than I could have imagined was possible.  So be it.

As we gathered to exchange gifts as a family on December 28^th, Craig came to me with a large package at the end of the night.  “This is something special my brother collected and has been in my possession since he died.  I knew your feelings and figured you would appreciate it much more than I ever could,” he explained as I opened.

It was a framed, autographed picture of Lance Armstrong from the ‘Race for the Roses’ event in Austin in 1999.  Other autographs on the picture included Olympian Eric Heiden and five-time Tour de France champion, Miguel Indurain.  I was overwhelmed and honored and told him so.  I took it home and hung it on the wall of my family room.

With John and Teri coming over to share New Year’s Eve together, a thought began to hatch in my brain.  I sat on my sofa and studied the poster hanging a few feet from me and thought about what it represented – or could represent.  Lance Armstrong may have been a cheat and a diabolical person regarding associates who ratted him out and cost him his legacy, but he was still the baddest ass ever to ride a bicycle and possibly owned the most amazing story of someone beating cancer in the history of that horrible disease.  I mean, the guy had testicular cancer that metastasized into his lungs and brain and if memory serves, had a prognosis of surviving in the neighborhood of 5%.  From there, he went on to win seven straight Tours and is healthy and cured today, over twenty years later.  What if I gave this poster to them?  Wouldn’t his story inspire them both to the kind of positive attitude without which NO ONE ever beats the big ‘C’?  And so I pulled it off the wall, and called Craig to tell him what I was thinking.

“Honestly, John, it occurred to me that you might think that and I totally applaud your doing that with the poster.  I gave it to you, in any event, and you can do whatever you want with it, but yes, I think it’s a great idea,” he said.

I re-wrapped it and hoped they’d see it that way, too. 

It was the first time I’d seen them since hearing the news, but there was no awkwardness amongst friends that are so close – even in the face of such devastating news.  I felt and feel like I’m in it with them and I believe they did, as well.  We ate dinner and talked about life and then I presented them with the present. 

“There’s a story behind this present and one I think you’ll like,” I said as I handed it to them.  I told them how Craig and I had met several weeks ago and had coffee and a talk about everything that led us to the paths we currently walked.  Understanding and forgiveness were the theme of that meeting and I left it lighter and happier.  I explained how I’d been given the present for Christmas, but that we both thought it would be better in their hands.  I’d written a letter to accompany it, which explained that and why I thought they should have it and finished with a P.S. warning that ‘once you’ve beaten this thing, I get it back.’

She opened it and we all held back some tears through our hugs.  We spent the next half hour looking over the seven signatures on the poster, trying to align the right names with the scrawls that represented their names.  We discussed the importance of ‘believing’ and what effect will power and the mind had on any chance to survive a prognosis like hers. 

“I don’t know if it works, but I’m willing to bet you have no chance if you accept the prognosis and simply wait for it to happen,” I said.  Neither disagreed.

On New Year’s Eve seven years ago I received the worst news I’d ever gotten.  I’m hoping years from now, John, Teri and I will look back and say that this past one was ‘the best one I ever had.’