The Story Of My Illness

11/26/06

Aloha all, Y’all,

Just in case the news about me might have been sent with a slight twist or two, I thought I’d provide it smoothed out a bit and suitable for dinner-time reading…

On October 25^th at about 1am, I awoke with an urge to visit the bathroom. I did--in the dark as was my custom—I mean, why blast my eyes out of a perfectly good sleep by turning on the lights and the exhaust fan? I was a little puzzled by the dark color of the toilet bowl water before I flushed it away but I attributed that to my using just one eye to find my way around in the night. Not an hour later, I was nudged out of bed by another urge for a toilet visit and the same dark water appeared before the flush. Hmmm, I thought, sewer backing up? Oops, now just 20 minutes later on, I went again to the toilet only this time I turned on the light and, as I watched the liquid emanating from my orifice I was stunned at the color: like a fine burgundy. I had never seen anything like it. I was used to clear amber most of the time. But, being the stubborn (stupid?) man that I was, I decided that this was just a passing event and went back to bed. Not 20 minutes after, I again rose to head back to the toilet and the scene was repeated—burgundy wine issuing in great volume from me to the bowl. Now that got my attention big time; this was no one-time event. I was in some kind of trouble for sure. I called my doctor and reported in. He had been treating me for the last ten days for a flare-up in diabetes that had me missing work for seven of those days. Now, we reasoned we had an urgent situation on our hands and a trip to the Emergency Room was in order. I called my friend, Steve, for a ride and we left at 7am.

After the usual paperwork at the hospital, the nurse, Mike, asked me for a sample of what I’d been bringing forth most of the night and I obliged. He thought it was the color of a fine “merlot” though I was by now too worried to argue. What in the world was happening to me? I hadn’t taken any kidney punches recently or been in any fisticuffs that I could remember. I was in no pain anywhere on my body. Yet, virtually pure blood was coming out of me and I had no idea what this was all about. Just then, an Emergency Room doctor came on the scene and announced I would be going in for a “cat scan” to pinpoint the source of my troubles and I should get into one of those backless hospital robes. I did and was placed on a “gurney” for the trip to the machine.

They told me to relax for the few minutes this would take; that was easy. I hadn’t slept most of the night so I dozed during the session. I was back in the Emergency Room, in my personal curtained-off area, in a half-hour or so and awaited the verdict of the scan.

Imagine my surprise when that same Emergency Room doctor came back after reading the scan when he said, “We’ve found something fibrous in your bladder that may be causing the problem. Usually when we find something like this, it usually means cancer but, we’re just looking at the preliminary readings though we’re usually not wrong.”

To say the least, no matter that ambulance sirens were outside, no matter that accident victims were moaning as they were being wheeled into “ER,” no matter that wheeled trash cans were noisily moving about at the direction of their cleaner-workers, silence fell on my ears with this pronouncement. Cancer… The BIG “C…” The death sentence for so many people, even for some of my friends; recently, too… No cancer on either side of my family and now it had settled in on me. What had I done? The ER doctor asked me if I had ever smoked and I said yes. He said that the tar from cigarettes when painted on laboratory rats caused cancer and maybe that had done it. I was in disbelieve having only smoked for a short while in these past few years; that couldn’t be the reason. I believed that we were responsible for everything that happened to us in our lives, good and otherwise but, how had I brought this on myself? I didn’t have a death wish that I knew of. Why would I want to bring cancer into my life with all the concomitant trauma and drama at this time of my life? I was also thinking about the plans I’d made for myself, about how the job I had was paying me enough to save up for so many things I had to do, about my daughter… Now, the thoughts screeched to a halt and I choked up and started crying. Mike, the nurse, a body-builder himself, took the hand I extended to him and held it gently as my tears ran down both sides of my face as I lay on the gurney. I couldn’t say a word and he didn’t either.

Later on, the urologist stopped by to tell me it didn’t look like bladder cancer though, if it was there were a few things done to take care of it. He went over the procedures--all of them unpleasant-sounding. He went on to say that more than likely we were looking at cancer of the prostate but we couldn’t be sure until we got up in there with a scope and scraped a few cells from the mass and had the lab take a look. He explained how a catheter worked and how that would need to be inserted right now to drain and flush my bladder. I signed all the papers for an exploratory operation scheduled for the next day and waited for Mike as the urologist departed.

I am resolved to the fact that childbirth is probably mildly uncomfortable for women. There is no pain, however, that reaches the intensity of a catheter insertion into a penis, sorry ladies. No matter how smooth Mike tried to be, I “butt-walked” up to the pillow end of that gurney as he tried to get it in. Somebody actually closed the door to my private emergency room I was groaning so loud. Apparently, I scared most of the emergency workers and all of the patients with my noise. Please don’t try to correct me on this: pain is catheter insertions, everything else is mosquito bites. Sometime later, while still in the hospital, a clot formed at the entrance of a catheter draining my bladder after one of three prostate operations cutting off the drainage and that, my friends, raised the intensity of pain to new levels as the bladder distended and even my kidneys began kicking me in the back.

I was in the hospital for almost three weeks as various and sundry things were done to me including a final “roto-rooter” exercise that made room for my bladder to empty more easily.

Cancer… The BIG C… This was supposed to happen to other people, surely not me but, it had. Prognosis was six months initially. Then, the doctors raised my hopes by saying. “Hey, could be a year, even.” The best news came from others outside the medical community. Some were survivors, like Phil Olsen, who’s been going now for six years after his treatment began. Others were from totally outside conventional healing programs, like “Reiki” masters who pronounced me livable for at least 20 years so long as I fully participated in my own healing.

I’ve started searching the internet for answers and advice and others to talk to—what a great time to be alive what with the web to provide surcease during this illness. And, what a way to find out who my friends are… People like Jim Branchaud who, with his wife Michelle, organized a “recovery” effort to handle my bills for a while, even seeking out monetary donations from other friends of mine; Russ Hoylman who got me a bed to replace my year-old futon; Don and Donna Maxey who stayed in touch almost daily for support and who brought me home after my hospital stay along with groceries; my daughter Melissa, who, along with my former wife, Shelley, organized all my federal and state paperwork by taking a day off from university classes and work; to the many contributors to my financial situation now that my job is gone, like Jim, Russ, Gary and Nancy Murfin; Dr. Jack and Donna Scaff and Curt and Cindy Holmes. My landlord, Sam Uy, brought me my favorite Filipino foods while I was enduring hospital meals. My sister Nancy and her entire family are in touch even working on creating a fundraiser—a 26.2 marathon footrace in my name. Gracia, Che-Che, Al-Al and Rory of Ozamiz City, Philippines, were in constant contact, expensive though it was…

To say I’m grateful for all this overwhelming kindness would be gross understatement. To say “thank you” to these wonderful people and others stops in my throat as I choke back tears even as I write these words. We’ve known each other for many, many years, through many events, parties and when we were able, footraces of many kinds from simple weekly get-togethers to full-on 26.2 mile marathons and ‘round Oahu relays. As we gracefully aged, we’ve buried some of us, thoughtfully pouring out a beer or two in their honor. We’ve seen our children grow to man and womanhood from babies we sat. We’ve never forgotten each other and what passed between us—all love and never a dastardly deed among us, well, okay there was that painting foisted from the Queen Kapiolani Hotel (later returned) and that old Coca Cola cooler unplugged from that Japanese restaurant by Waialae Avenue (the police convinced us of smarter thinking)…

As I reflect on the meaning of all that’s transpired what with this sentence that’s been laid down on me I can tell you, I am happy at heart. I’m convinced all this happened for the right reason. I’m sure that “way has opened” (as the Quakers say) for my aspirations to be realized; that of becoming a world-famous artist. This event has focused a lot of thought and stirred much emotion to say the least. Now the energy that once was directed into answering phones, resolving customers’ issues; selling vitamins and minerals; tagging checked airline baggage; writing rules and regulations can be redirected into healing and creativity. The healing began with the realization that so many people closed ranks around me to help. I owe my healing to them and, of course, to me.

The creativity is already here and getting better. Soon, it will be world-worthy. See for yourself at dherotica.com

This is a precious time, I realize. This is a beautiful world, I know. I’ll bring both together. Join me won’t you?