That Word (That Fucking Word)

Let's catch up.

I have had a recurring growth on my nose for around six months. Decided to get it checked out. Saw a dermatologist on 08/18.

She decided to biopsy the nose thing. She also found a growth on my back. Biopsied that too.

On Tuesday, 08/23 I spent the night with my son Keith and my brother Ed. Keith and I motored down to Nashua to watch my extraordinary brother, who is 61 years old, play baseball. Real baseball. Hard ball. Fast pitch.

A night does not get much better than that. My brother and my son on a beautiful summer night. The only way it could have been better is if it included Carol, Craig, Karen & Emily.

Got home at 11:30 and Carol was still up. What was this crazy woman doing waiting up?

Waiting to tell me I have cancer.

The dermatologist called while I was out. Told Carol the nose was squamous cell, a form of cancer but not too scary. Told her the back was melanoma. Stage I-A. A little scarier.

We talked. Carol went to bed. I had not had supper so I made myself a sandwich and poured myself a short whiskey.

Ate a little. Thought a lot.

Slept late Wednesday morning. Fifteen minutes after I crawled out of bed the phone rang. It was the plastic surgeon's office calling to tell me he had an opening at 3:30 on Thursday, needed to see me for a consultation.

I told them I work afternoons, how about a morning appointment. The woman said to me:

"This is cancer. We prefer to act immediately."

That, ladies and gentlemen, was a punch to the face.

I had not had a lot of time to think about it but apparently my brain skipped over the cancer part and believed they would dig this shit out of me and then decide what was going on.

They dug it out of me yesterday. It's on its way to California, which pisses me off. This diseased thing that was attacking my body gets to travel to California while I am still stuck in New Hampshire.

Here are my thoughts.

Cancer is a frightening word. It all happened so fast; my brain is still trying to sort it out, trying to decide how I will react. Which way I will go.

Dr. Feelgood told me 95% of people who have what I have at the stage I have it are cancer free in that spot five years down the road; five years being the magic number.

Those are pretty good odds.

Yet my brain keeps wondering if this is the beginning of the end. Maybe my life will be a lot shorter than I want it to be.

I called my brother to give him the news and got through the call all right. I called Keith and Craig and cried like a little girl.

I was so mad at myself. I wanted to tell them they had nothing to worry about and here I was crying. Not very convincing.

Giving in to the fear.

Fuck that.

Carol and I have warriors in our families.

Carol's mother Dolly fought breast cancer for many years. She was a very tough customer. Sarge fought cancer as hard as anyone possibly could and he kept a sense of humor about him. Cori had a chunk taken out of her leg and is still kicking ass. Carol's father was diagnosed with melanoma years ago and is still dancing. My Uncle Carmen was attacked by bladder cancer and is still making the world laugh at the age of 85 or so.

My point is that compared to what these warriors had to deal with, my cancer is like cancer on training wheels.

I am still working on this. Still a bit surprised. A little shaky.

But I know what I need to do.