April 1, 2009. I was supposed to be flying to Texas that afternoon, but instead I found myself on the phone telling my friends Fleet and Don that this was not an April Fool's joke, but that I had been diagnosed with advanced abdominal cancer, that there was no treatment and that instead of coming to see them I was going to die. Downright rude.
I was diagnosed with peritoneal carcinimatosis due to mucinous adenocarcinoma, which is a fancy way of saying "appendix cancer". "Why can't they just cut out your appendix?" my Dad wanted to know and its a good question. The only problem is that it had spread to something called the omentum. That's the lining in your abdomen wall. It's supposed to be pretty thin and mine is now about 3 inches thick. In addition, my abdomen is full of probably several liters of fluid all of which contains cancer cells that are actively infecting all the other internal organs that are susceptible to this kind of cancer. Apparently, not all organs are. This is so rare that one estimate is that there are fewer than 1000 cases active worldwide at any one time. The doctors here told me that it's generally fatal, but that a few places do an operation that can extend your life a couple of years. Without coming out and saying it, they let me know that it really wasn't a good idea to do this surgery, but that they didn't really know that much about it either.
My wife Sharon and I began to slowly inform friends and family and in general try to absorb the blow. I began preparing to die. It's amazing how much there is to do. I had decided that the surgery option was really not for me, but I left the door open a crack and added to my now growing list, "decision on surgery".
I haven't ever wanted to associate with any formal religion and in fact, I wouldn't want to be part of any religion that would have me. I think they're all pretty much full of it. However, times like these will test you and make you question yourself. You do find yourself naked and alone asking "what the fuck is this all about?"
Which is exactly where I found myself; in the shower, naked and alone. I had just come from an appointment with an oncologist who had explained the assisted suicide law to me. Folks it just don't get much more grim than that. Talk about nothing left to lose. I decided that to try and get my arms around the surgery question I would just offer up the question to whoever or whatever was out there, be it God in a flowing robe, space aliens, or Jimmy Swaggart on drugs. Amazingly, I think I got an answer, although I'm not sure who from.
I had an overwhelming rush of what I can only call a "raging will to live". It wasn't what you think, it wasn't me breaking down and saying I wanted to live because, really, I was and still am ok with the idea of dying. In fact, I'm planning on doing it, I'm just not sure when yet. We'll all die, how can you not be ok with it? This was something way more primal. It felt like the essence of the primitive "will-to-live" force that must inhabit all of us and everything around us from my little chihuahua, Pepper, to the trees in my yard to the tiniest lichen that gains a foothold on a windswept mountain top. It got my attention.
The next day I called up my local doc and told him I wanted to talk about surgery.
More to come.
I was diagnosed with peritoneal carcinimatosis due to mucinous adenocarcinoma, which is a fancy way of saying "appendix cancer". "Why can't they just cut out your appendix?" my Dad wanted to know and its a good question. The only problem is that it had spread to something called the omentum. That's the lining in your abdomen wall. It's supposed to be pretty thin and mine is now about 3 inches thick. In addition, my abdomen is full of probably several liters of fluid all of which contains cancer cells that are actively infecting all the other internal organs that are susceptible to this kind of cancer. Apparently, not all organs are. This is so rare that one estimate is that there are fewer than 1000 cases active worldwide at any one time. The doctors here told me that it's generally fatal, but that a few places do an operation that can extend your life a couple of years. Without coming out and saying it, they let me know that it really wasn't a good idea to do this surgery, but that they didn't really know that much about it either.
My wife Sharon and I began to slowly inform friends and family and in general try to absorb the blow. I began preparing to die. It's amazing how much there is to do. I had decided that the surgery option was really not for me, but I left the door open a crack and added to my now growing list, "decision on surgery".
I haven't ever wanted to associate with any formal religion and in fact, I wouldn't want to be part of any religion that would have me. I think they're all pretty much full of it. However, times like these will test you and make you question yourself. You do find yourself naked and alone asking "what the fuck is this all about?"
Which is exactly where I found myself; in the shower, naked and alone. I had just come from an appointment with an oncologist who had explained the assisted suicide law to me. Folks it just don't get much more grim than that. Talk about nothing left to lose. I decided that to try and get my arms around the surgery question I would just offer up the question to whoever or whatever was out there, be it God in a flowing robe, space aliens, or Jimmy Swaggart on drugs. Amazingly, I think I got an answer, although I'm not sure who from.
I had an overwhelming rush of what I can only call a "raging will to live". It wasn't what you think, it wasn't me breaking down and saying I wanted to live because, really, I was and still am ok with the idea of dying. In fact, I'm planning on doing it, I'm just not sure when yet. We'll all die, how can you not be ok with it? This was something way more primal. It felt like the essence of the primitive "will-to-live" force that must inhabit all of us and everything around us from my little chihuahua, Pepper, to the trees in my yard to the tiniest lichen that gains a foothold on a windswept mountain top. It got my attention.
The next day I called up my local doc and told him I wanted to talk about surgery.
More to come.
Love your writing, Rick. The force, it is strong in you!
ReplyDeleteMore proof that you don't have to be organized OR religious for God to talk to you.
ReplyDelete