A Bear of a Tale About Learning the News

On July 25, l985, I learned I had incurable cancer. The news did not come all at once, so I can't say when I actually knew I had cancer, but July 25th I got the word, the whole word, in spades--cancer, the crab, the big C.

Over a period of six months two small growths had been removed from under the skin in my abdominal area. The first time the surgeon had looked rather quizzically at what to me resembled the inside of an oyster. In response to my question as to what it was, he to my surprise said he didn't know. I had fun with that one.

When a second growth appeared and was excised, the fun was over. It was time to find out what was happening to me. My second oyster, or at least a portion of it, began to travel around the state searching for a name. I had blood tests, x-rays, and Doctor Washington, an oncologist. No one was saying I had cancer, but I did have an oncologist. I also was able to figure out from the tests some of what the doctors were looking for. My inferences and research suggested multiple myeloma, an especially painful form of bone cancer.

So it was with all my fears and suspicions mounting that I went to see Dr. Washington on July 25, this time with Sarah along for what I was sure was going to be an important conference. It was.

Dr. Washington is low keyed. Sarah feels he is bored. I find him articulate and clear and patient. He is gentle and unlike a lot of doctors, he treats the nurses with respect. He does have one drawback. He is not forthcoming with information. If you ask him the question, he answers, but you are left with a feeling that if you don't ask questions, you won’t get the information. I am used to that sort of treatment from some administrators. I find no problem with it when I feel confident that I am knowledgeable to ask the right questions. But with cancer, a disease which defies simplification, with cancer, a catch all word that covers so many types of diseases, with cancer, a word used to encompass something like l7 different cancers of the breast alone--what's a good question?

The conference went something like this:

Dr. Washington: We have finally determined what has been causing those growths in your abdominal area. You have almost beyond doubt Waldenstrom’s Macroglobulinemia. I will write it down for you later. It is a form of cancer. Fortunately it is slow growing, and it is treatable.

Me: Treatable? But is it curable?

Dr. Washington: No, it isn't. But as I indicated it is rather slow growing, and you should have a number of good years left.

Me: I know this must be rather hard for you too, but can you tell me about how long I can expect to live.

Dr. Washington: You never can predict these things. You are young, and you are showing no symptoms other that these plasmacytomas in your abdominal area and a high IGM protein count in your blood. Probably you can expect to live between four and eight years.

Me: Will it be painful? How will I die? What will finally get me?

Dr. Washington: No, it won’t be painful. It will be rather gentle. You will become increasingly weak and more susceptible to disease, but it is not like multiple myeloma. The treatment is a mild form of chemotherapy without any serious side effects.

And so it went. It was terribly matter of fact. I didn't break down or get hysterical. Nor did Sarah. Dr. Washington could have been discussing puts and calls for all the drama he put into his announcement. I will always wonder whether he would have told me Waldenstrom’s was incurable if I hadn't asked him. Do other patients ask that question? Does he just leave it hanging? For all the times he has been through this type of encounter, he must have some tricks for breaking the news to people who I am sure are not so controlled as Sarah or I.

And, of course, was I better off for having asked the question and gotten the answer? My tears came later.

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Note: The 4-8 year life expectancy turned out to be way off. It is almost 16 years now and still counting. It was a bad question to ask.

PART II

BLOOD CHECK AT TWO MILES UP

I was puffing a little bit but feeling pretty good, so I said to Mark, "I guess we're beginning to acclimatize to the altitude." After all, there we were hiking in Yosemite two miles up as part of my birthday gift from Todd and Mark.

"No, we’ve just gotten used to breathing a little differently. It takes two days for the system to begin manufacturing more red blood cells." And so mark unwittingly triggered thoughts of blood cancer. But what thoughts! There I was hiking six, eight miles a day at 10,000 feet and feeling fine. The body was working; the legs were moving,

The blood was circulating, doing its work, so what if Dr. Washington said I was borderline anemic.

I think from the very first time I heard the proposal for the trip, I had thought of the experience as a test, though not necessarily a blood test. For my fiftieth birthday Mark and Todd would take me back packing for the first time in my life.

They would pack, and I would walk. But just the same I would be taking on a new experience and a little hardship at age 50. It would be a special challenge, even if at this point I were not feeling especially mortal. I had always encouraged the boys to seek the adventure rather than the easy, safe path in life, and now here at age fifty they were offering me an adventure.

And what an adventure it was. Glorious scenery. The thrill of putting under foot mile after mile, each turn bringing new vistas. Stars at night like I have never seen. Food tasting like it never tastes at home. And just the idea of Todd and Mark there packing for me, sharing the adventure, being such wonderful sons, and giving me this gift out of their love.

If there is such a thing as battling cancer, maybe this was it, and the boys were helping me do it. I have had a good life, and I am still going to have many more special moments and experiences, but nobody ever had a present like this one.

All this makes it sound as if I was thinking about cancer for four days, but the opposite was true. Yes, certain things triggered thoughts as they always do, but the experience in its entirety was absorbing, and relaxing, and exciting.

This would be a good point to tell our bear story, but bear stories belong in another tale.

Steve L.

(Note: Steve also sent in the poem by Phillip Larkin, included in this collection.)