Better days ahead
I could tell at the beginning of my tonsil cancer treatment that this was not going to be a fun experience, much in the same way that having root canal is not a fun way to spend time with your dentist.
My oncologist laid out his proposed plan of action. This plan had been agreed upon by a tumor committee who had reviewed my case. I had never heard of such a thing as a tumor committee; it just goes to show how bureaucracy has crept into every facet of modern life.
Anyhow, the oncologist recommended chemotherapy combined with radiation treatments. His chemotherapy drug of choice contains platinum, which means I was probably worth considerably more after each infusion.
The good doctor gave my wife and me a document that delineated the many side effects that this drug could have. Down toward the bottom of the list was “infertility.”
I pointed at that word and said, “I don’t know. This could be a deal breaker. What if my wife and I decide that we want to have more kids?”
My spouse of 43 years rolled her eyes in a manner that I know so well, the one that means, “You idiot!” If she had rolled her eyes any harder, they would have gone clear across the room.
“If you want to have more kids, you’re on your own!” she exclaimed.
I later discussed this troubling development with our youngest son. He agreed that it would be neat, at age 40, to have a younger sibling and that our four-year-old grandson would probably welcome the prospect of having a baby uncle.
Oh, well. Life is full of disappointments, both large and small.
Each of my chemotherapy infusions took five hours. This was due in no small part to the fact that in addition to the drugs, they ran two liters (I think that equals seven Imperial gallons) of saline solution into my veins. Everything that goes in must come out, which meant several trips to the bathroom during those five hours.
Instead of unplugging myself from all the plumbing for my restroom visits, I was shown how to unplug the IV device from the wall and wheel it along with me to the biffy. A battery in the infusion machine would provide backup power for up to half an hour.
It takes no small amount of coordination to push an IV pole and its associated machines and hoses to the privy. The main hose was long enough to use as a jump rope, although I didn’t see anyone using it in that manner. I have a feeling that the staff would have frowned upon it had I tried.
Each of my many medications came with a laundry list of possible side effects. Some of them even had side effects that, in theory, should have canceled each other out. For instance, my chemo drug listed both constipation and diarrhea as possible outcomes.
I paid scant notice to those warnings. My digestive system has always been as regular as Big Ben. You could operate a railroad based on my bathroom habits.
But I learned the hard way that even the most dependable things can turn on you. Even Big Ben needs to have its gears oiled once in a while.
I went a day without any boom-boom action. No big deal. Then a day became three. Before I knew it a week had gone by.
I sought relief in the form of over-the-counter remedies. Nothing. I became increasingly uncomfortable and desperate. I would have taken rocket fuel had it been offered to me.
Blessed relief came at last, but with a price. Let’s just say that I now have deep empathy for women who choose natural childbirth. Especially those who gave birth to babies that were the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.
All of my treatments are behind me now and it’s just a matter of waiting and testing to see how effective they were. I was told that my cancer has an 85% cure rate. My wife and I are extremely hopeful.
These days I’ve been thinking a lot about the Johnny Nash song “I Can See Clearly Now,” a tune that topped the charts when I was in high school. Its lyrics go, in part,
“I can see clearly now the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright (bright)
Bright (bright) sunshiny day.”
That sums up how I currently feel. Because look all around, there’s nothing but blue skies. Look straight ahead, nothing but blue skies!
— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.