My Journey with Cancer, Etc.
In the beginning…
October 13, I awoke at 1 pm with abdominal pains. I had them earlier in the day, and even went to ER, but there were several people waiting and the pain went away. So I went home. Ten hours later I was back again and mercifully, the waiting room was empty. Before I could change my mind, I was back in a cubical waiting on the doctor.
Not much happened for the next couple of hours until about 5 am, I was taken for a CT scan. Once back in the cubical I waited. Sometime after 8 am I called Kayla and told her where I was. By 9 she was at the hospital and all I could think of was to ask her to get Rusty out of the car and take him for a walk. Sometime after 10, she took Rusty home with her and I waited in my cubical.
Before the morning was over, I was in a room up on the second floor with a young man who conducted all of his communication with friends and family over speaker phone…which meant I got to listen in. Unfortunately, he was/is married to a bi-polar wife who had a vocabulary limited primarily to four-letter words. Much to my dismay and his great distress she called in several times over the next few hours to vent her anger on him for disserting her by going into the hospital. (While I never heard, I am sure he was hospitalized for stress related illness.)
In the early afternoon, the nurse settled me in, then figured out why I looked familiar. I am a part time chaplain at that hospital and she had seen me walking the halls, visiting patients, on several occasions. Being in the room during one of the tedious diatribes by an unhappy wife, she looked at me and all I could do was simply shrug my shoulder. The young man, any visitors and me would all be listeners to the woman who believed her husband was simply hiding from her by going to the hospital. By 5 pm that evening, shortly before she went off work, the nurse came in and announced I was moving to a private room across the hall. Before my fortunate move, other conversations revealed that my beleaguered would not be going back home once he was released except to retrieve his clothes and tools.
Three doctors visited me that afternoon: a hospitalist, a vascular resident and a urologist. The first talked generally about the what the early morning scan had shown, briefly mentioning Diverticulitis and warning that other doctors would follow. The vascular resident expressed great concern about aortic aneurisms in my groin area. Evidently, they had grown over the last few years to become a major concern: “They really, really need to be repaired!” The office of Dr. Paulinsin, a vascular surgeon, would be contacting me after I was released.
The third doctor brought even more dire news, there was some mass in my bladder and it needed to be biopsied soon. This was a Thursday afternoon and I was scheduled to leave on a trip to Italy, Sicily and Malta on Monday. He strongly recommended I rethink my plans.
Earlier in the afternoon, Fr. Tom Nenneau had stopped by and anointed me. Later in the early evening, an ultrasound was performed on my kidneys, bladder and urinary tract. The next morning the urologist was back to find out what I had decided about the trip. He began by telling me whatever was seen in the CT scan was not visible in the ultrasound. “Go on your trip, but when you return we’ll do a cystoscopy to find out what’s happening.” The procedure was set up for the Wednesday after I returned from Europe.
The procedure took place as scheduled. The ultrasound had lied. November 2, All Souls Day, at the follow up visit with the urologist I was given the diagnosis of a cancerous tumor in the bladder.
The next day, Thursday, I had two more doctor appointments.
The first was with my cardiologist to follow up on some bad news he had shared with me in September. My heart, which had a 10 year history of atrial fibrillation was operating at a 35% infraction rate – not good. In the early fall, he started me on two new medications to strengthen the heart and then ordered a monitor that I was to wear for a week. The first week in October I had a cardio-conversion to correct my A-fib. It worked…for about a minute and then went back into what had become my regular rhythm. (My lack of rhythm helped explain why I can’t dance.)
My cardiologist suggested seeing an electrophysiologist at Henry Ford for an ablation and promised to set that up. At that November 3 appointment. we talked about what needed to be done and we agreed, it would be best to tackle the heart first, so that I was better able to deal with the cancer.
The second doctor appointment that day (the third of the week) introduced me to a new primary doctor located in Goodrich. Relatively young (remember I am getting to an age when most people look younger) he was a good listener. He suggested seeing a local oncologist and set me up with a new local urologist. (Unfortunately, we have since parted ways, since his office refused to take my new insurance. I suspect his office didn’t want to deal with the paperwork it entailed.)
Weeks passed and I began to send my cardiologist texts reminding him I had not heard from Henry Ford Hospital.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t keep the doctors busy. Before and after Thanksgiving I had two procedures to successfully repair the aneurisms. Another phone call to the cardiologist finally gained a response from West Bloomfield, and an appointment with the electro-cardiologist was set for January 3.
Over the month of December, I found myself getting increasingly tired and easily winded. Poor Rusty was often disappointed that our walks were curtailed more and more. Before Christmas, I convinced myself that I was in cardiac failure. Looking back I am wondering if I had Covid? With only fatigue and breathing difficulties, which are also symptoms of cardiac failure, I am left wondering.
In any case, fatigued and somewhat breathless, I met the urological oncologist at University Hospital in Ann Arbor. When I mentioned my heart related difficulties, he suggested my heart was not strong enough for chemo, which is the usual protocol before surgery. Instead, he suggested we do surgery within the next two months at the latest. My bladder cancer was stage 2/3 and aggressive. He suggested removal of the bladder, the prostate and nearby nodes. A second appointment was set up for January 12, a week after my appointment with the Henry Ford cardiologist.
During the Octave of Christmas, I did two things.
On Thursday, December 29 which would have been my older sister’s birthday, I fulfilled a promise I had made to two parishioners earlier in the fall: we made a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Blessed Solanus Casey down in Detroit. They prayed I would have a miraculous recovery from my heart and cancer issues. I prayed that God would give me whatever I needed to use my days and even years ahead productively and fruitfully. While I would like good health, I really didn’t want to be “Solanus’ second miracle”. That would bring too much attention and I prefer the quieter life I live at St. Mark, near the Village of Goodrich.
The second thing I did that week, was write an article in the parish bulletin to inform the parish what was going on. At that point there was a major surgery looming which meant I would be in the hospital and then off for recovery. I had told several people what was going on with me, but I wanted to let everyone know. Most of all I asked for their prayers, but I also came here to share my life with them and this detour through health issues is a part of that journey. Hopefully, my journey is one made in faith and trust and sharing it with others may prove to be useful and even a blessing for them.
The week of Jan. 19, Session One
A HEALTH UPDATE
Thursday, January19, I begin chemotherapy with the first of eight infusions. The first three will take place in Ann Arbor at the Rogel Cancer Center of University Hospital. The pattern will be a seven-hour infusion this week; a two hour infusion the next week and the third week off. Then repeat the cycle three more times until the end of March. The last five appointments will be at the U of M Health Center in Brighton, which will be half the travel time and far less traffic.
Over 45 years of ministry, I know that there is no way to predict how the chemo will affect me, though I am sure I will be much more tired. I hope I will be able to function as close to normal as possible.
The reality of what lies ahead became very real last weekend. On Saturday afternoon, the scheduler called and we set up the dates, times and locations for the eight sessions. Then on Sunday afternoon, I picked up the two anti-nausea drugs from the pharmacy. It all became real.
Thursday, Jan 19, I began chemo: blood work at 7:30 am, education/information with the nurse at 8:30 and chemo at 10. It was a 7-hour session. First, hydration, then the anti-nausea drug, then the first drug, a flush & more hydration and then the second drug and then two hours of hydration.
The staff was wonderful, constantly checking in to see if I or my driver needed anything. Lunch was ordered and delivered about noon. I was placed in a cubical with a hospital bed, so the setting was great and even the drive home had very few problems. The biggest problem was boredom (and having to use the restroom every hour or so).
A REFLECTION
Questions, Too Many (Damn) Questions
I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and see. I just don’t know.
Perhaps one of the hardest things about this journey so far is all the questions. Almost everyone who asks me about my heart or my cancer diagnoses, is what’s going to happen? How will your body react? Will you be able to do whatever it was that I was doing before?
The answer is: I have no answer. I just don’t know.
Usually, I take the questions in stride, but last evening, after answering similar questions from several people throughout the day I found my frustration level rising as I tried to respond to the questions from another friend on the phone who kept repeating many similar questions over and over.
There are so many things I don’t know. I don’t even know how I should dress for the first infusion this Thursday. I know they will use a vein somewhere on my body, but where? Should I wear a short sleeve shirt? A T-shirt? A hoodie? Jeans? Sweatpants? Will I be too hot, too cold? Who knows. I will have to wait and see.
How will my body tolerate the chemo? Will I be able to celebrate the Liturgy on Friday morning? How about Saturday evening or Sunday morning?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know.
There have been times of uncertainty in the past. Moments when I entered into the tunnel of uncertainty without knowing whether the light I vaguely saw in the distance was the other end of the tunnel or another car headed in my direction.
Those other moments have included going away for high school, then off to college and graduate school. I began a deacon internship with little idea of what ministry would be like. I have moved from one assignment to another. Each time I brought along boxes and boxes of questions and uncertainty.
I survived them all. Some of those situations enabled me to thrive.
As I approach this one, I need to trust that the God who saw me through all the other “tunnels of uncertainty” did not bring me this far to abandon me. “Though I walk through the valley of darkness…´ God will walk with me through this one, too.
It would be nice if he could give me a few answers. But in the meantime, I will need to live with questions. (Please, Lord, help me to live patiently with questions. Amen)
It’s Sunday afternoon and so far none of my fears have come to pass. Friday was a good day, but the steroids and anti-nausea drugs were still working. The nurse said they would wear off on Saturday.
Saturday came. My traveling partner, Fr. Jim MacDougall had told me to call if I needed help for the Saturday evening Liturgy, so I had back up. But I didn’t need to call in “the cavalry” because I felt fine on Saturday, too. I was even feeling well enough to go out to dinner with a couple of parishioners. I didn’t have much of an appetite but I feasted on good company!
I realize that this is the best I will probably feel for a while, but I am grateful for a good start. I have fewer questions and a little more sense of how I will get through the next seven sessions of chemo.
Probably the most humorous part of this is that the health care people suggest I drink a gallon of liquid daily, so I don’t wander too far away from a facility….