Checkup

Three months ago, I was waiting for the results of my first post-surgical PSA test.  Unfortunately, prostate cancer can recur many years after apparently successful treatment, and requires lifelong followup.  For the next few years, I have to get a blood test every 3 months to see if the PSA rises, and at least annually thereafter.

The appointment was something of a moment of truth, to determine if the surgery had really been a success.  In the weeks leading up to it, I was highly anxious.  Particularly because the pathology report, and the surgeon, had left some doubt about whether the surgery had gotten all the cancerous tissue.  By the time the day itself rolled around, I had half convinced myself that the news was going to be bad, and the results would show that I still had cancer.  More than half, in truth.

At a teaching hospital like KU, you have to wade through the residents before you actually get to talk to the doctor.  Mandy and I met with the resident, but I barely heard the questions he was asking.  At the end of his exam, he looked at his file and told us the doctor would be in to see us shortly.  Then he suddenly asked, “Has anyone told you what your test results were yet?”  We were caught off guard, and just shook our heads, when he said, “Undetectable.”   

The relief was startling after all the thinking I’d done about it, the nearly endless loop of hope, then uncertainty, followed by a little fear.  To a certain extent, I wished for the person I was before I learned I had cancer.  A certain innocence had been lost, and my own mortality was no longer an abstract idea. I feared the cancer.  For while, every little pain made me remember, and wonder if cancer had returned or spread.  This may fade over time, but probably never leave me completely.

I don’t want to sound like I’m making more of this than it is.  I got off easy, as far as cancer goes. I didn’t “fight” or wage some heroic battle against cancer.  I was sick, the doctors fixed me, and now I’m better.  There are many people who are facing much more serious struggles, and wish they had only to deal with the problems I did.

During this period, through some people who reached out to me and through common contacts, I started following several stories of people affected by cancer - some my age and younger, some not that much older.  One just died today, and another was told that hospice care was the only thing left to try.  I’ve read their blogs from the point at which there was hope and determination, through the fear, and finally to the stage where they had to face the realization that they were not going to survive their disease, and even tell their kids about it.  

While I can’t relate to dealing with it at that stage, I do know what it’s like to think about leaving a vibrant wife and two young sons, to think about what could have been if things had turned out worse.  

I didn’t write anything about it at the time of the appointment, maybe for fear I’d jinx it, but I’m a different, calmer person this time.  Tomorrow, I go in for my second checkup.  

Silver lining

There aren't many benefits of recovering from surgery, but there is one.  I'm getting to see my boys much more than I normally do, and even though I can't do much with them, it is enjoyable just talking and listening to them.  And occasionally I get to do things I can't do because I'm at work.

This morning, I took Noah to school, and walked him to his classroom.  He showed me where he puts his backpack and where he sits, and hugged me when I left.  It was a little thing, but I loved it.  He looks like such a big boy going off to sit at his table.

Later, I played with Elliot at the park.  In between work calls, I "chased" him around the playground.  It's a little sad because I can't run yet, or even move very fast, so he gets mad, sits down and cries because I'm not chasing him.  He took my hat, and wouldn't give it back.

Great Prostate Cancer Challenge

Even before my surgery, Mandy signed us up for the Great Prostate Cancer Challenge 5k run.  She wanted to do something to contribute to getting the message out about prostate cancer.  I thought it pretty optimistic at the time, coming only a couple weeks after my scheduled surgery date, but things progressed better than expected and we were all able to turn out.   Both boys woke up extremely early for some reason, and Noah came downstairs and said "Happy race day, daddy!".  He had been excited to run it.  We were joined by Mandy's mom, and our friends Jacob and Jenni on a great morning.

We ended up walking 1.7 miles.  I wanted to walk further, but I wasn't feeling it and the kids were getting tired as well.  But I was glad I had been able to get out and participate.  I had several men who had been through the RP procedure ask how on earth I was out there just two and a half weeks after surgery.  Noah and his friend Liam ran off and on the entire way, and when we approached the finish line, they hauled ass towards it.  They were running so fast and hard they ran past the turn off towards the finish, and had to be redirected by the cops.  We hadn't yet turned the corner, and the last we saw was them running full speed together.  While we couldn't see them finish, we could hear the crowd erupt in cheers as they made it towards the finish line.  Fortunately, the event photographer captured some great pictures of their finale.

We stuck around and played a few games, had some pancakes and donuts, and I even got my picture taken with a Jayhawk mascot.  It goes against my Mizzou blood, but what they hell - they did save my life, I suppose, so I'll give them a pass this time.  Elliot also won a $50 gift card to the Capital Grille.  Sorry, little guy, but you're going to have to miss out on this one - mommy and daddy will be taking care of spending it on our next date night. Mom says you owe her.  

All the way up to this morning, I wasn't sure I would participate.  My recovery hasn't been linear, but more up and down.  I'll feel (relatively) great for a couple of days, then really struggle for a while.  I was walking several miles a day, but I was sidelined almost all of yesterday, and except for this morning's walk, I've been cooped up inside resting.  It seems like as some part of me gets better, some other part of me starts having more issues.

When I had absolutely no choice but to be patient, I was pretty good about it, but yesterday I let the pain and frustration and limitations get to me, and I turned into a bad patient.  I undeservedly made Mandy's life miserable the last day and a half - the one person that is bearing more of the brunt of this than me, and doing her best to keep me, the kids and the house all going.  I apologize sincerely.

This up and down is all part of the healing process.  It can be a little concerning at times, but it's all normal (repeated calls to the doctor keep assuring me), and there are some indications about long term effects that are very promising very early on.  I have been much more physically active than many who've gone through this surgery can expect to be at this point, and I have to remember that relatively, I'm doing extremely well.  I'm an impatient patient, but I have to remember that's not anyone else's problem.  This is a 4-6 week recovery, not a two-week one and in the grand scheme of things, this will be just a blip on the timeline of my life.  I'm down about 15 lbs since the surgery, mostly due to diet, but partially due to loss of muscle mass I'm sure.  It won't be that long until I'm at full speed again.

  

The crowd cheered as he and Liam ran the final few feet.

Bringing up the rear

Liberation

Yesterday was a milestone day in my recovery - I was freed from the catheter that has been my painful companion for the last two weeks.  It was like being let out of jail.  Adding to this, the weather has been absolutely ideal. 

This morning was crisp, and I took a nice leisurely walk to the coffee shop with Noah to get a muffin for breakfast.  He had really missed me these past couple of weeks, and I had missed him.  We spent a good hour and a half just chatting about all sorts of things.

After we got back, I tagged along as Mandy took the boys to the park.  It was nice to sit outside in the sun and watch the boys play. 

Elliot digging into lunch

This evening, I watch the boys play tag in the back yard before bath time.

Good times

It was about 6:45 AM, and Mandy and I were sitting in Starbucks having a coffee.  She was anyway, since I had to stop drinking liquids after midnight.  We were up early - neither of us had expected to sleep well anyway - and we decided to take advantage of it.  My phone rang unexpectedly, and I saw KU Med calling.  My first thought was hoping they hadn’t cancelled the surgery for some reason.  I didn’t think I could psych myself up for this twice.  The nurse on the other end asked me if I was still planning on going through with it, and when I said yes, she asked me where I was.  They’d called twice before, incorrectly telling me to be there at 7:30, when that was actually the scheduled surgery time. Damn, the last thing we needed was any thing more to stress about this morning. 

We rushed right over, filled out some paperwork and were met at the elevator to take me back to pre-op.  There was a ton of people all working on me at once.  They weighed me, prepped me, I.V’d me and hooked up monitors.  Every few minutes someone would ask me my name, birth date and what I was there for.  I hoped it was a test of some kind, and they weren’t really wondering.   After asking several times, they finally brought Mandy back for a couple of minutes.  I took off my wedding ring, handed it to her, and off we went.  In hindsight, the rush eliminated any opportunity to sit around and get nervous. The surgery took about four hours, and they kept Mandy and my dad updated about how I was doing.

That first night post-op, I was fine.  No real pain, since I wasn’t moving, and mostly dozing in and out.  Mandy stayed to make sure I had a good nurse for the night, and then went home to sleep around 8:30.  Except for nodding off a few times, I stayed awake the entire night.  It didn’t bother me, I just didn’t seem tired.  

The next day, I had to get up and walk, with Mandy helping me up and down the hallways.  I was still just eating liquids, but that was fine with me since I could barely take a full breath, much less eat a big meal and I had no appetite anyway.  I had six holes in me around my midsection from the robot, and a bruise on one side that was about one foot by six inches. I was sore; it felt like I had done a couple thousand situps.  

The doctor came to check on me around noon, and we decided to go on and check out since I was feeling relatively good.  Five minutes after he left, I had a spasm so excruciatingly painful that I couldn’t move, or even speak to tell Mandy what was wrong.  I may know what it feels like to be Tased now.  The doctor later told me it was a bladder spasm, and the pain is on par with giving birth.  My hat’s off to you ladies.  I’m amazed we have so many babies running around. Unfortunately, I would continue having these on and off for the next 10 days

The first night home was painful, messy and uncomfortable and I could not fathom how I would make it through the next two weeks.  I wished I’d stayed another night in the hospital, but it was too late now.  Mandy took Noah to a party he’d been begging to go to, and my mom took care of Elliot.  After I finally got situated, I did sleep a little bit.  The next day, I got up walked around the house a little, but mostly napped.  Three days after surgery, and four days after I started my liquid diet, I finally ate a little real food - mostly fruit and soup.  I was already going stir crazy.

The next morning, Mandy got up with me at 5:30 AM to go for a walk.  This is the essence of the recovery right now - no lifting anything, just walking.  I walk mornings and nights, in the dark to avoid neighbors, about 3-4 miles a day.  I overdid it early, and I was painfully slow, but it was good to get out of the house.   Sitting around reading books or watching movies might sound like a pretty good gig, but it gets old in a hurry, especially when you can’t concentrate much anyway.  

I had a really comfortable La-z-boy to sleep in, but it felt like a prison after the first day.  So did the house after a while, and when the temperatures hit 103 I couldn’t even sit out on the patio without being uncomfortable.  After a week, I finally ventured out with some friends who came by and took me out for lunch.  It wasn’t comfortable, but it was amazingly liberating to get out. Funny what a little change in perspective can do for you when you’re life is reduced to the fundamentals.  

The first few days, I tired pretty easily and there were a few ups and downs along the way, but about five days after the surgery was the absolute low point. I was tired of dealing with the pain and discomfort, and it started to get a little overwhelming.  I also got a call from the surgeon explaining the pathology report, which was good, but not what we were expecting.  He said he was "shocked" by the amount of cancer involvement, given what the biopsy led us to believe, and especially in a man my age.  And the as for the surgery, without getting too scientific it was sort of like the difference between “We got it all” and “We’re pretty sure we got it all.”  

But as I’m writing this, I’m enjoying the most beautiful fall-like day we’ve had this year, out on the patio listening to my favorite music while the breeze blows.  I’m feeling good, and it almost feels like I’m going to get through this. Tomorrow is the first post-op visit, and I get the catheter out - it will be a banner moment for me, and allow me to be much more mobile.  

Our family has had a great deal of support from family and friends during this time, and it would be impossible to adequately thank them.  My mom stayed the week and helped tremendously with the kids and letting Mandy take a break.  Mandy’s mom came over frequently to help out with that stuff too, and many of her friends got us meals, or took the kids for awhile, or other things that made life easier.  There was a local TV news anchor that’s been through this before, and he was outstanding in his support, both before and after the surgery, with both of us.  On several occasions we would get Facebook messages from him during the commercials of the newscast.

Mandy was the absolute best.  She took on taking care of me when I needed it, and the kids and the rest of the house when it needed it.  During all this, she was laid low by a combination of allergies, sinus infection and virus all at once, and managed to keep going through some pretty miserable days for her.  She’s my favorite nurse.  

Now I start from scratch, and get back into fighting shape.

Surgery was a success

Paul went back to the OR shortly after 7:30am.  About 11:15 I talked to his surgeon and he said things went very smoothly.  It's been 2 hours and we are still waiting for him to wake up.  They woke him up, treated his pain and he's sleeping again.  Anxious to go back and see him, but surgery is behind us, now we move on to recovery.  Will update later tonight.

Ready

We've been busy lately, trying to get ready for a few weeks away from work, and a few weeks of single-parenting.  Since our summer plans came to an end, we've both been getting edgy and anxious, simultaneously wanting to get this event behind us, and not wanting to face it.  Mandy described me as not being "present".  She was right.  I was a million miles away.

As I put the finishing touches on work on Tuesday, and drove to meet Mandy out on an impromptu date, I realized I felt more relaxed than I had been in weeks.  With getting the to-do list done as best I could, and the inevitability of what was next, I was now just along for the ride.  We had a great time out, and talked about the next few days.  We're pretty ready at this point.

This morning, I got up early and went for a ride. I left the house about 5:00 AM and headed north, with no particular destination in mind.  I don't usually ride much in the dark anymore, but I enjoyed it.  I like the lit-up skyline profile of downtown Kansas City, and seeing the stars once the city lights dim and you're in the country.  I ended up in Kearney, where I grew up, and drove by places where many of my early memories were created.

I headed back home to enjoy a day off with the boys, stopping to watch the sunrise from the riverfront.  Only Elliot was up when I got home, so I sat and played "cars" with him - he likes to crash these two cars together over and over - until Noah got up.  I made pancakes for the boys while Mandy went for a run.  They wanted to go to the park afterwards, so that's what we did.

It was hot, but Noah insisted on playing tag and hide-and-seek, and swinging in the sun.  We brought food for a picnic.  I was on a clear-liquid diet, which is about as fun as eating grass.  I've had a jello cup, a couple of popsicles, some chicken broth, and one of the powder packet from a pack of ramen noodles. I must eat out of boredom a lot, because I kept catching myself opening the refrigerator looking for something to eat before remembering I couldn't.

It was pretty relaxed day, and we had fun with the boys.  Noah asked me a few more questions about going to the doctor, and told me he would bring me an entire box of popsicles.  All on his own, he made me a hand-lettered card that said "I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER.  NOAH".  He asked me whether I wanted it at the hospital or at home.  I said, "home".  He told me "No, I'm going to tape it to your bedroom wall".

They're now in bed, and we're waiting for tomorrow.  See you in a little while.

Sunrise on the Missouri River.  No one was around, so I just drove up the sidewalks near the riverfront and sat for awhile.

Sliding at the park

Playing tag

Riding bikes

Noah hauling ass around the playground.  Not sure why he wasn't wearing his helmet

Sweating like pigs, but having fun.

Trying to get a good picture with both boys is, in fact, impossible. But we tried.

Cancer update

I thought I'd go ahead and update about the latest in Paul's fight against cancer.  After meeting with a third surgeon, we finally felt confident about scheduling it with him, and did so before even leaving the office. We feel very lucky for having such an early stage cancer that was caught when still curable.  At age 43, it is just not routinely screened for (screening routinely begins at age 50).  Producing no symptoms usually until it is in later stages, prostate cancer has been called a silent killer.  It is very common.  One in six men will be diagnosed with it.  Although, most men are older, it is not just an old man's cancer.  Paul's talked with a few other men who had it in their 40's also.  They also had caught it early.  I've also found a local guy from the blogosphere that was diagnosed at age 42.  With advanced prostate cancer.  Cancer sucks at any age.  But, when you are raising your children still, it is just devastating.  We are so blessed that we WILL beat this.  I want to recommend to everyone reading this to please get your PSA screening.  Or if you are a woman, make sure your husband/brother/dad gets screened.  It is a simple blood test.  If you are under 50, you'll need to be more proactive to get it done.  If you have no family history, your doctor may think it's silly.  Well if I have learned anything this past couple of months, it's that prostate cancer is NOT just an old man's cancer.  And it's almost always curable when caught early.  Don't wait!

We have booked surgery for August 25th.  While I was anxious to get it out asap, it is a slow growing cancer and contained so this wait is perfectly acceptable and safe.  This surgeon books out about 6 weeks in advance and does 5-6 of them a week.  Paul will be having a nerve-sparing minimally invasive robotic prostatectomy.  Those fancy words basically boil down to a doctor being able to see better (less blood/cameras inserted via robots) and be more precise.  It also means an easier recovery.  Paul will come home from the hospital the next day, but will need to be home for three weeks after the surgery to recover. The good (and bad) thing about robotic surgery is that Paul will be feeling pretty darn good pretty quick, bad because it is critical to his healing and long term recovery to take it easy for at least 6 weeks.   His surgeon told him he can fix a lot of things, but he can't fix stupid.  So even after 3 weeks when he is able to return to work, no heavy duty exercising or anything.  I think knowing what is at stake, Paul will, for once, have no problems following doctor's orders.

We are taking our annual hiking trip to the Rocky Mountains early this year - three weeks before surgery.  Paul also still has over a month of swimming with the boys, which is something they all really treasure doing together.  There is no good time to have your prostate removed, stay home 3 weeks and be a slug for 6.  However, we feel like we are able to get in a good amount of summer fun and some mountain climbing first.  So for that we are thankful.

We've had a lot of people wanting to support us in any way they can.  I'm going to let you know what you can do to support our family during this time, if you choose to do so.

- Pray for us (Paul, his surgeon, his recovery and all of our family)

- Help us out with the kids (We will need a lot of help that first 2 weeks especially.  The kids will have some special quiet time with Paul in bed eating snacks, watching shows, coloring, etc, but my kids are wild.  And they play rough with dad.  It's going to be a hard for them all to adjust and keeping them busy will help.)

- When around the kids (in particular, Noah) please don't associate the two words sick and death/dying ever.  Noah is in a stage right now where he fears death and losing his dad in particular (a friend of his lost her dad this past fall).  We will not use the "c" word.  We'll explain simply that daddy is sick and that a doctor removed the thing making him sick.  He will get better after some rest.  Even at his young age, the word cancer has some pretty negative associations. We don't need to scare him, because his daddy is beating this cancer and is not dying.

- Meals.  The first couple of weeks we'll gladly accept any help in the meal department.  While we enjoy good junk food every now and then, eating healthy, now more than ever is important to us.  

- Get your PSA screening.  Spread the word.  Prostate Cancer is crazy common and it sucks when it's not caught in time and spreads.  We don't want this to happen to you or your loved ones!

This journey has been an emotional rollercoaster for us.  We aren't looking forward to surgery, but we are looking forward to putting it behind us.  So surgery it is!  In the meantime we are going to have lots of fun being active with the kids.  Paul will also be focusing on going into surgery as healthy as possible.  Lots of fruits & veggies (especially those cruciferous ones) and exercise.  

Thanks for all your support.  We'll keep you posted.

Grateful

He came up to me, sobbing, arms in the universal please-pick-me-up position, and so I picked him up.  Slamming your finger in a drawer is heavy stuff when you’re two, and I did my best to soothe Elliot’s pain.  While I was holding him, rocking him, tears came to my own eyes, thinking about how much I wished I could protect him from all the pain he would feel in his lifetime, or at the very least, be there to comfort him.  It had been a long day.

Noah and Elliot were up early that morning, and I had gotten big hugs from both as I left for work, and yells of “goodbye” out the window as I drove off.  I got to work, and was immediately buried - the story of my work life lately.  I wasn’t really thinking about the call I missed from Dr. Emmott yesterday, but Mandy left a message on my voice mail saying she had called his office back, and told them to give him my work and cell phone number.  I was thinking about a lot of other stuff that day. Colorado. Climbing Everest. Taking a motorcycle trip. I was getting ready to grab something to eat for lunch when my cell phone rang.  I saw an unfamiliar number and got up to shut the door, knowing it was the doctor’s office.  

As soon as he started talking, I knew it wasn’t going to be good news.  He sounded nervous, which surprised me, and was talking faster than usual.  “Well, this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but there is a problem with your prostate.” For a split second, I was hopeful, maybe “problem” meant it was abnormally robust or something.  Then he told me what I knew I knew he would tell me when the phone rang.  I listened, asked him to backup a few times to repeat and simplify some of the things he was saying and after he started rambling a little, thanked him for calling.  He told me, “Let me leave you with something to think about before all the other things that will soon fill your head.  We won’t let this thing kill you.  We will beat it.”  I didn’t know what else to say, but “Thanks.”  I was pretty calm up to that point, and I’m glad he was ending the call because my voice was getting a little unsteady.  Prostate cancer.  At 43.  

I hung up, and sat there for a few minutes staring out the window, not seeing.  It’s a jarring feeling, when your priorities are suddenly shifted involuntarily, and perspective is thrust upon you.  The phone rang again, and it was another number I didn’t recognize.  It was the new mayor of Kansas City, asking me to consider relocating one of our offices.  We had about a 10-minute conversation, all the while I was thinking about my previous phone call.  I hung up, and after another phone call, I just turned the phone off and shut the door. I didn’t want to face anyone right then.  

It wasn’t life flashing in front of my eyes, it was like watching two movies, rolling forwards and backwards at the same time, gaining speed and mass as my brain worked through both the things I wished I’d done, or not put so much thought into, and the things I still wanted to do.  Every time I thought about my kids, my eyes brimmed with tears.   I struggled for an hour, trying to figure out how I should break the news to Mandy, not knowing how to even begin.  About an hour later, Mandy emailed me to ask me if I’d heard anything and, unable to voice it, I sent her an email about my conversation with the doctor.  She called me a little bit later, and we had a brief, factual discussion.  I was holding it all together until she was getting ready to hang up, and asked me one more question.  Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t speak, even to say goodbye.  I felt like I would have broken completely if I even started to talk.  After a few seconds, I wiped my eyes, managed to say goodbye and got back to work.

I turned and stared at my inbox, where I had at least a hundred emails waiting for a response, and a hundred more that I intended to think about.  Looking over them now, many of them looked ridiculously unimportant.  I briefly debated whether to just up and leave, and go for a drive and think this thing through.  There was clearly no compelling reason to continue working as if nothing had happened.  I decided that I did want to think about things, but I couldn’t do it with a bunch of obligations staring me in the face.  

I turned to my email again, and if it didn’t require a response, or or an urgent answer in the next few hours, I simply deleted them.  I answered several I should have probably made a decision on days ago.  Feeling the sand running through the hourglass gives you new urgency.  Frankly it was liberating. There are times when I agonize way too much on the perfect decision, and making a few as best I could, with a what-difference-does-it-make attitude was probably long overdue.  

I spent most of the afternoon with my door closed, suddenly unable to deal with any of the petty bullshit my job had so much of lately.  I kept thinking of what my wife and kids were going to face if I was gone, and how little I had in place to anticipate that scenario.  While I felt for my wife, my heart was really with my kids, and how this could impact them.

Noah called me late afternoon, and asked me if I wanted to come home and taste the pineapple souffle he and Mandy had made together, cobbled together using hot dog buns and whole wheat bread.  They’re nothing if not resourceful.  I told him I would, and Mandy later told me he and Elliot immediately went to the back door to wait for me.  

I felt bad, but I had to clear my desk a little first.  On the drive home, I had the radio tuned to the BBC, listening to stories about war, deaths in different countries, and thinking that maybe cancer wasn’t so bad.  Maybe I should feel lucky.  I was torn between feeling bad for myself, and feeling guilty for how light I had gotten off, thinking my feelings were a little dramatic considering the people who’d received much more immediately terminal diagnoses.  I started thinking about God, and if it praying more now wouldn’t be a little obvious.  I thought about my mom and dad, and wondered what they would think as parents.  If it got bad, would I sit around and wait to die in a hospital, or go out with a bang doing something fun and dangerous?  I just renewed an online subscription for three years yesterday.  Should’ve waited.  A million incongruous thoughts ran through my head.  

As I rounded the corner to my house, I thought about my kids again.  The one thing I didn’t want to do was walk through the door with a sad face, and I managed to pull it together long enough to walk in like it was any other day.  Noah was waiting for me to try his souffle, and I laughed at the proud look of anticipation on his face; he could barely wait for me to try it and tell him how good it was.  After tasting it, I walked into the living room to see Elliot.  “Daddy!!!!” - my favorite words, and he’s in that stage now.  I said “Hi buddy”, and he said “Hi buddy!” right back. “I’m watching ‘Wonda Pets’, and the penguin”.  

It was Friday night, and our regular “date night”, so I didn’t get much time with the kids. After calming Elliot down after shutting his finger in the drawer, Mandy and I went to Cafe Trio near the Plaza and talked through some of our next moves.  I was sad, she was anxious.  As I tried to explain all the stuff going through my mind at the news, it was clear that there was a huge component of me thinking about the past, where she was simply thinking about the future.  

When we got home, the kids were already asleep. I had missed them more than I normally do.  I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes, then stood in Elliot’s room and stared at him.  There is nothing more promising and hopeful than watching a child sleep.  He was laying on his side, with both his stuffed penguin and his teddy bear clutched in his hands, with the most relaxed, peaceful look on his face. I walked into Noah’s room, and got the same sight. I immediately regretted not being there when they were being put to bed, but I didn’t think I could have done it. Not on this night.    

I woke up early, as usual - around 4:15.  But it was harder this morning, because I hadn’t gotten to sleep until midnight, unable to turn my brain off.  Laying there thinking, I want nothing more at the moment than to wake my kids and play with them. I listened to Noah on the monitor; with a cold, he was breathing just as loudly as he did when he was a baby.   My mind starts recalling the litany of friends I’ve had, and let drift away over the years.  I ponder the speed at which the 25 years since high school has passed, and the time - years, really - that I’ve wasted on worrying about unimportant shit.  A few days earlier, I was thinking about how best to give my kids advice on how not to worry about the little stuff.  I suppose everyone has to find out for themselves. I start thinking about my mom and dad, and my brother and sisters, and how little attention we pay each other until something happens.

I finally got up, with all of this running through my mind.  I started cleaning up the kitchen, including Noah’s “crafts” table, which usually involves just gathering crayons, paint brushes and other detritus from the days’ activities when I came upon a folded piece of paper.  As I unfolded it, and read it, I just lost it.  The tears came again, hard this time, and I just pictured him writing it - “DAD I MISS YOU CAN YOU COME TO MY HOUSE”.  I was still thinking about the possibility of me not being there for him as he grew up.  A few minutes later, I heard him waking up on the monitor.   I went up to his bed and laid down with him, trying to get him back to sleep.  He said, “Dad, is it time to get up yet?”  “No, why?” “Because playing is more fun than sleeping.”  What else could I say - I couldn’t sleep either.  OK, let’s get up.

The rub of this is, I was changing. Back in December, towards New Year’s, I started thinking about this hamster wheel I’d been on.  I started thinking about the last couple of years, when some stunning setbacks and tragedies had taken place all around me, yet leaving me unscathed.  I started really appreciating how grateful I should be.  I wrote out some things to remind me of this, put it in my wallet, read them everyday, and really lived it.  The surprising thing about it was, it really worked. It brought peace. It released the stress.  Not only did it make my life more enjoyable, but those I dealt with.  I wasn’t sweating the little shit.  I had a whole list of people I wanted to write, to tell them how much they meant to me, and why.

What I didn’t prepare for was, what happens when one of things happens to me that I can no longer say, “Thank goodness, that wasn’t me.  I’m grateful”.  I was changing, but I did so with the status quo in mind, not thinking about how I would continue to be grateful if that changed.  I knew it was a process, and I wasn’t perfect everyday, but I was getting there. What I didn’t count on was this wrinkle.  It was a blow to me, and my wife.

That was the first couple of days, before I knew much about the disease, the treatment and the outlook.   At my age, chemo and radiation therapy weren’t really options.  I couldn’t wait this out, or minimize it, and so surgery is the only viable option.  The good news - and it is good - is that it’s likely only Stage II, and surgery should take care of it.  

Unbelievably, at first I spent a little time in sort of denial, just ignoring it, and Mandy has been instrumental in getting us educated on it, doing research and reading, and prompting some of the next steps.  This isn’t easy for her either - this is just as much her fight to deal with as it is mine. Among other things, the finality of not having any more kids was a bigger issue than either of us had thought.  

There have been some light moments: Mandy picked up copies of my medical file, and laughed as she read part of the doctor’s notes on the phone:  “He could not tolerate an exam well.  If he needs a biopsy, it will need to be done under anesthesia because of his inability to tolerate rectal examination” - the technical medical terminology, I guess, for the patient’s discomfort in having a finger jammed up his ass.  I eventually did the biopsy, sans anesthesia, which was no picnic.  If you’ve ever been bent over, had a staple gun stuck up your ass and fired off about ten times, then you know what I’m talking about.  

A few weeks in, Mandy expressed her concern about how I was dealing, then booked a hotel on the Plaza for a night away, a night to talk it through, regroup, and reassess our game plan. It couldn’t have been more perfectly timed.  I hate dealing with health issues, and I was at a low, not sure of how to proceed, and she reminded me again how lucky I was to have married such a strong and loving woman.  This is a long post, but it’s my way of letting her in on my thoughts of these past few weeks, giving her some sense of where I was on those days when I just walked around looking glum, but not really talking.  

So, we’re finally in a position, mentally, to fight this thing. We’ve been to a couple of surgeons, with one other left to visit, and then we’ll decide who, and when.  The outlook is fantastic, and in light of the possibilities and alternatives, I have nothing to complain about. I’m grateful.