This week’s installment is shorter.

Shorter is not intentional – rather, it just turned out that way. This past week (11/21-28/2023) straddled the Thanksgiving Holiday, posing a challenge that will be covered later. Another challenge that came up was in the form of a book sent to me by my sister and her husband. Reading it last night, there was something came up that caused me to do a quick re-edit… having to do with the privacy of the patient and doctor(s). Instead of naming the names of the professionals involved in my care, I will be referring to them in terms of the care they are giving me. I may change the edits later.

Starting Out

The second round started on the 19th of July 2023.

As I mentioned before, I was upbeat about my appointment with the Oncologist. After all, my appointment with my Primary Care Physician the previous Wednesday went well, and there was no news from the surgeon who did the resection from the MRI she had ordered less than a week earlier. My presumption was that no news was good news, so, my visit with the Oncologist would provide me with a medical “Trifecta” that would make me feel really good about myself and my long-term prognosis.

It had been a little over two years since the initial colonoscopy and follow-up surgery. The Oncologist kept me “under observation” with visits every quarter, sliding to visits every six months after a year of quarterly visits. Six months prior to my July visit, I was handed off to a Nurse Practitioner with the promise that my visits would alternate with the good Doctor and the Nurse Practitioner for the remainder of the five-year observation period.

Fine by me.

Just after my visit with my PCP on the 12^th, I went to the cancer clinic for a CAT scan at the Oncologist’s request. It was a simple visit. The tech and I had met on several previous occasions. We both knew what needed to be done and the visit was over almost as soon as it started. The only problem I had was with what is called the contrast. There was a newer tech being trained and she had some problem finding a vein. She managed to get me my first bruise from either giving or taking blood. I excused the tech trainee on the basis of lack of experience.

The week between my visit with my PCP and my appointment with the Oncologist went well. Nothing unusual. Took care of some bills, coped with the heat, went shopping, you know, the usual. No word from the surgeon from the MRI she ordered for me, so I presumed that when I went to see the Oncologist on the morning of the 19^th at 9:40am that we would have a pleasant visit and I would walk out with a Trifecta.

Missed it by that much.

The Oncologist told me that when looking at the CAT scan, she and the tech had noted a 3cm growth on the edge of my liver.

Now, three centimeters isn’t very much. Just a little over an inch. But those three centimeters are enough to cause concern. We’re talking in terms of a vital organ. While the Oncologist spoke of possible treatment options, my head was trying to wrap around the fact that the cancer I thought I was rid of had made an encore performance.

The good news that morning was that the offending cancer was small and likely excised with little or no problem. The not as good news was that there would definitely be some additional treatment involved. Radiation was mentioned. Chemotherapy was mentioned. There would have to be a biopsy and the involvement of another surgeon. The Oncologist mentioned several choices of surgeon. I asked her which surgeon she would trust. She told me. I told her that if she trusted the surgeon she recommended, I would trust her judgement.

The choice was made. Orders were sent.

All I had to do was to wait for the call to see when I would see the surgeon.

If you are following or thinking of following this thread, good news. I have decided to publish chapters on Tuesdays. Hopefully without fail.

Here’s the second installment:

Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Bruce, although I have had several monikers attached to me by myself and others.

For instance, someone on my high school yearbook took a picture of me playing my cello with the legend, “It’s Harpo! It’s Chico! It’s Groucho! No, it’s Bruco!”[1] I adopted the moniker a couple of years later when I was on the radio as “Bruco in the Nighttime.”[2] Radio was one of several career stops along the way. We’ll get there in just a bit.

When asked where I am from, I tell people that I was born in Maryland, weaned in Pittsburgh, went to elementary school in the Cleveland Ohio area, and to high school in Chillicothe Ohio. As this story unfolds, I have been living in what I refer to as my little corner of the DFW Metromess since 1998. This current location marks the second time I’ve lived in Texas – I lived in a corner of Houston back in the early ‘80s.

I am the oldest of six and the furthest flung. Three of my siblings live in Ohio, the other two are in Indiana and Maine.

My parents were the younger siblings of their respective families. Dad had an older sister living in Houston. Mom’s sister lived in West Virginia, less than fifteen miles from where she and my mother were raised.

Mom, her sister, Dad’s sister, and one of my own sisters were nurses. When it came to my health, they pulled no punches. That’s why I appreciate my care team. I can ask questions and get direct answers.

As you probably guessed from the previous entry, I am married to a woman named Carol. She’s a nurse, too.

Carol is my second wife (and I am her second husband). My first wife, the mother of my two children, is seldom mentioned by me. There’s a certain amount of enmity between us that isn’t helped any by my referring to her as “The Previous Regime.”

My second wife is nicer.

Like many “Baby Boomers,” I’ve had more than one “career” in my lifetime. Radio, for instance, was something that I was sort of born into. Robust, distinctive voice, and a penchant for trivia helped me to maintain my own in the medium. To this day, I encounter people who remark about my voice, asking if I’ve ever been on the radio. I admitted so to a couple I was in the process of selling at a well-known home improvement store here in the Metromess[3] that indeed I had been on the radio in southern Ohio. The woman immediately told me what radio station I worked in Ohio (much to my surprise), revealing herself to be the older sister of one of my running buddies.

Small world.

While performing on the radio may seem attractive, the downside is that wages suck. I’ve borrowed the term, “Minimum wage and all the records you can eat.” With the current state of the art, there are no longer records to eat – only what’s blowing around in this ether called the internet.

I had a six-year hiatus from radio in the eighties. Three years each working as a roustabout on an offshore oil rig, three years attempting to run a business I had purchased. I lost he money I saved working offshore running the business.

When I went back into radio for the next six years, the way radio did business was starting to change. I managed to make more money than I did previously, but still not enough to support a family.

There was a short time when I worked in the circulation department of a local newspaper, followed by what I consider to be my second real career selling major appliances for three “Big Box” stores.

Enough of my work history.

I believe I covered my personal history, too.

After “retirement,” I took up writing for fun and losing money. When this second round of cancer came about, I put aside some of what I was writing, to write about this new phase of my life.

Can’t wait to see how this all works out!

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Two things should be noted here.

For one, this book, or guide, or whatever this turns out to be, follows notes I made on my Facebook page and on my WordPress site – bdharrellauthor.com

For the other, not everyone’s journey is the same. These are my impressions and may not be what you would expect if you are on this journey yourself.

Let’s hope you don’t have to go on that journey. If you do, let others know. You won’t believe the amount of support you’ll get.

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[1] Pronounced – Brew-So, following the Marx Brothers’ theme.

[2] Not to be confused with “Cousin Brucie” AKA “Cousin Bruce Morrow” or with Don Imus’ “Imus in the Morning” which was being broadcast at the same time.

[3] A friend of mine used the term “DFW Metromess” a couple of years ago. I decided to appropriate (steal) the term to use as my own. After all, “Plagiarism isn’t stealing, it’s merely recycling!” – Professor Peter Schickele

Be Seeing You!

This is the first installment of many having to do with my ongoing treatment of a dose of cancer discovered this past summer. It is a work in progress – and it is as of this date, nowhere near complete.

Prelude

Cancer is a disease no one wants, but people end up getting it anyway.

Not everyone gets it. But at the same time, the disease seems to make its rounds. When someone gets it, usually he or she will find out about others who either have it or had it. Like going out and buying a car. My wife, Carol and I went last year and purchased a used Chevrolet Spark – a car I have dubbed “The Roller Skate.” Until we made the purchase, I hadn’t noted the things. Now, they’re popping up everywhere.

Is it all psychological, or is that psychiatric?

Back in May of 2021, I learned by way of a colonoscopy that I had rectal cancer. There wasn’t much there. The person doing the colonoscopy removed the mass and referred me to a very good surgeon who made sure that I was clean as a whistle by doing a relatively simple resection of the offending part of my rectum.

My concern at the time centered on what might happen to me. I was sent to Physical Therapy to pump me up with what I needed in the way of strength so that I might withstand what might actually happen when the surgeon cut into me with her scalpel. Words like “Radiation” and “Chemotherapy” were paraded around me with possible timelines that would mean a year taken away from whatever I thought I might be doing in that time.

News of how well the surgery on my rectum went – despite part of it being conducted by a robotic surgeon nicknamed “Karen” by the surgical staff – came from Dr. Palanisamy, an Asian woman who was quite thorough with her evaluation of me. I appreciate her being forthright about what was or would be happening to me. I also very much appreciate her cheery disposition.

It was after the surgery that I started to note the number of people I knew who had been affected by cancer. My parents and both of my aunts had it. Several classmates had lost the battle or were still battling the disease. My stepdaughter’s ex underwent treatment. The same stepdaughter’s new fiancé was diagnosed and was gone within a month.

I came to understand and appreciate that the battle I fought in the summer of 2021 was short, sweet, and successful. As a precaution, Dr. Palanisamy insisted that I have regular check-ups with her and/or her Nurse Practitioner over the next five years. For the first year and a half, those check-ups were quarterly. In October 2022, the check-ups were moved to every six months. Dr. Novosad, the surgeon who worked with “Karen” did regular exams as well, involving KY Jelly and a rubber glove.[1]

All in all, my little bout with “The Big C” was short, sweet, and without incident.

That is, until July 2023.

From July 5 through July 19 I had a series of “Labs”, CAT scans, and MRIs followed by consultations with Dr. Sarver (my Primary Care Physician) and Dr. Palanisamy. By this time, I had been spared the regular exam from Dr. Novosad, although she had ordered the MRI just to keep track of her work.

I met with Dr. Sarver on the 12^th, followed by the CAT scan for Dr. Palanisamy later the same day. The MRI came about the next day.

Dr. Sarver was impressed with my attitude and my bloodwork. He sent me on my merry way.

Since Dr. Novosad said nothing after the MRI, I presumed that everything was peachy-keen with her, too.

My appointment with Dr. Palanisamy was on the 19^th. I was all ready to declare a Trifecta of good health and had all but lined-up a weekend with Carol to celebrate my good fortune.

“It looks as if there is a small growth on the edge of your liver. About 3cm. Not big, really, but we need to find out what it is. The sooner the better.”

So much for the Trifecta.

On to round two.

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[1] I could have said something about the exam being degrading, but in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t, as most women would testify after having visited a Gynecologist. I had an exam of my testicles done by a young woman many moons ago. I thought that I might have been embarrassed but found that I wasn’t.