66. Dealing With Cancer: Part I
A little over six years ago my sister-in-law underwent a mastectomy and had begun the requisite chemo and radiation therapies. Our entire family was consumed with care and concern for her and my brother. During that same time my father’s colon cancer was also diagnosed.
My father had been confined to a wheel chair for a couple of years prior, which was the major cause for his depressive state of being. Keep in mind that my father had always been a robust, physically active person; dealing with a loss of mobility was devastating for him. When he opted to not have any cancer surgery, we all understood and no one argued with him, except maybe my mother. He was 79.
My father also opted to not have any chemo or radiation therapies. He had experienced the living hell some of his friends had gone through and decided that his last days/years would not be spent confined to bed feeling like shit. (Excuse the usage of a four-letter word, I couldn’t think of another word that is as all encompassing of thought and meaning.) My father had no physical sensation throughout his body, due to calcium spurs covering his vertebra and the eventual fraying away of his nerves over a long period of time. He felt that any possible physical pain would not be an issue.
My sister-in-law was rapidly losing her hair, her weight, and experiencing nausea that was totally incapacitating. There was little any of us could do except to offer moral support. I recall wondering what I would do if I were to one day be diagnosed with cancer myself. It wasn’t long after that I was given the chance to actually answer my own questions.
On the morning of April 14, 1996, my fifty-second birthday, I lay in bed contemplating my life and loves. As I studied the sunlight streaming through the clerestory windows and listened to the sounds of nature, feeling somewhat euphoric, I began to give myself a breast exam. I discovered a lump in my left breast and was surprised at how large it was; I routinely examined myself and had never before found anything remotely suspicious. I clearly recall remaining very still, taking several deep breathes, and then to no one there, said out loud, “okay, so this is it then!”
I made an immediate appointment with my gynecologist. We went through the regular routine of a yearly exam, which included a manual examination of my breasts. Imagine my surprise when he made no mention of my breast lump. After I had brought the lump to his attention, he expressed his alarm and ordered an immediate mammogram. Mind you, I considered this incident as a gross oversight on his part.
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