It appears as if Cancer runs in the family.
My maternal grandfather had throat cancer for a while. It was found and treated when he was in his mid to late eighties. His voice changed, but he still had a voice when he died, short of his 93rd birthday.
My mother died of throat cancer when she was 86.
My father died of a melanoma that lodged in his brain. He was only 71 when he passed.
I’m 69.
My first go-round with cancer occured when I was 67. I am about to go to the second round of the journey.
My immediate goal is to make it to at least the end of June 2025. I will at that time pass my father in age.
My long-term goal is to be shot by a jealous lover at the age of 102. Preferably while I am “In the saddle.”
It wasn’t until I had a colonoscopy in May 2021 that I put some of the dots together to conclude that cancer runs in the family. I had heard that there is some correlation between cancer and genetics but never thought that I would be susceptible to the dread disease.
Cancer and tobacco use – I get it. I quit smoking when I was 39… at about the same time my father was under treatment for the melanoma that killed him nearly eight months after I quit. My mother quit smoking when she was about the same age. Her father used tobacco quite literally until the day he died. Mom’s sister was hooked – died of a stroke while she was fighting cancer. Uncle “Mike” was a heavy smoker – he had a massive heart attack after pulling off the side of the Interstate on the way back from the hospital to visit his granddaughter. I have at least two friends who were heavy smokers – one barely made it to 63, the other didn’t make it to fifty… had a backache for most of a summer that was finally diagnosed as lung cancer. He was told to get his affairs in order as he would likely last only four weeks. Ironically, he was a Probate Court judge I saw standing outside of the courthouse in all types of weather feeding his addiction.
Now, colon cancer, in my case, rectal cancer, is one I hadn’t thought of. I took precautions, including a high-fiber diet and regular use of Aspirin, thinking that I was home free. My primary care physician was a bit crazy, in my way of thinking, to suggest that I undergo a colonoscopy. “What could possibly go wrong?” I thought. So, I dragged my feet for several months while he twisted my arm until I finally relented.
There was a night of horror when I ingested a series of pills and large amounts of water while camped out on the toilet… followed by at least three enemas and more cleansing before being wheeled into an operating room where I was given some happy gas to put me asleep for about an hour.
I was barely awake to hear the doctor tell my wife that he found something and was sending it off to the lab to be analyzed. A few days later, the phone call came. I was referred to a surgeon and to physical therapy for what might lie ahead. A worst-case scenario was outlined, involving multiple surgeries along with chemotherapy, lasting at least nine to twelve months.
The surgeon was more optimistic. After undergoing an MRI, she concluded that the mass found in my rectum was localized and had missed linking up with my lymphatic system, meaning that there was little to no chance that the cancer had metastasized. She went ahead and scheduled a resection just to make sure.
On the day of the surgery, my wife and I had a pleasant conversation about the procedure. It would be a robotic surgery performed by a machine nicknamed “Karen.” Apparently, Karen was occasionally fussy to the point that she would “Demand to see the manager!” We had a good laugh about Karen before I went into the operating room.
When I was in recovery, I don’t recall how long after going under, my wife and my surgeon were discussing, among other things, if I would be able to perform sexually when all was said and done. She was assured that I would have no problems, given a few days’ rest.
I had to stay overnight in the hospital, getting little sleep due to irritation in the urethra caused by the tube stuck the wrong way down the one-way street to my bladder. Breakfast the next morning was pleasant – and since it was taking time to get a release, I was offered lunch.
I declined lunch, hoping that the staff would take pity on me and send me home sooner.
There was little pain post-op, other than what I mentioned previously. The dog Filbrix was glad to see that her daddy was back home.
There were follow-ups with the surgeon involving rubber gloves and KY Jelly, as well as follow-ups with an Oncologist and my primary care physician.
My PCP was quite happy with the success of my minor ordeal. He made a point of saying “I told you so” on every succeeding visit.
There were follow-up visits involving blood tests, and sessions with the MRI and the CAT scans. The Surgeon eventually quit examining me, relying on MRI scans every six months or so to check my progress.
A little more than two years since the ordeal of my rectal cancer, my second brush with “The Big C” was about to begin.
bdharrellauthor 