A long day

Me and my younger brother Tim. 
Oct. of '78 on the left (I'm 5, Tim 2) Two years later Tim in the tux. 

With only one test on Wednesday, Thursday arrived and brought a number of exams.  This would be one of the toughest days of the week for my mom.  Results were coming back and I had malignant cancer.  The prostate tumor biopsy was positive. 

I don't remember when they told me that I actually had cancer.  It was held from me for a while during the first week. I think I was told Friday, the 16th of January, so I still had a day of unknown.   My mom and family were informed though and the hope continued that it was contained to my prostate.

The middle of that week was much better for me than was the beginning.  My entire family was there, letters from my school were pouring in, I could eat all the ice cream I wanted, and my bladder didn't feel like it was going to internally erupt.  The hard part of the day was when they would take me back for surgery and tests.  I had never spent time in a hospital prior to this week, let alone go under general anesthesia.  As a seven year-old you just don't get comfortable with it and it's a scary deal.  Again, I had the advantage of my mom who, as a medical professional, was given extra access.

Over the entire course of my treatment, every time they wheeled me back, my mom walked me back as far as they would allow.  She would hold my hand telling me she loved me and that she would be there when I woke up.  There were a lot of tearful goodbye's, especially in the beginning, and her face was always the first I saw in the recovery room. 

The emotional toll she had to shoulder was great.  Had I been older, I would have been able to handle some of my emotions better, but it just wasn't the case.  The reality was she had to deal with her own, mine, my dad's, and try to take care of my little brother (who was only four).  During this first week she found my brother upset and crying.  Asking him what was wrong, she learned he thought he made me sick because he tackled me playing football.  Life had taken quite a change for her.  Three weeks ago she was a 29-year-old happily married mother of two healthy and active boys celebrating Christmas.  Turn the calendar over from 1980 to 1981 and a bomb explodes on our family.

After the tests were concluded on the 15th, more hope came crashing down.  I had a chest x-ray, biopsy of my bone marrow, and they changed the super pubic catheter.  By early afternoon the doctor met with my mom to review the results.  I believe the doctor communicating the results was Dr. Sauer.  The presentations were different than usual because she understood everything going on.

Over the years my mom and I had many conversations about this first week and the hardest moment for her was about to happen.  She went into a meeting room and the doctor came in with the results.  Instead of sitting down and updating the family member with what they found and what it all means, he walked up to the x-ray view box, stuck my chest x-ray on it, and turning on the light, left the room.  The x-ray revealed 22 golf ball sized tumors, 11 in each lung.  My mom said, "I looked at the x-ray, laid my head on the table and sobbed."

Jan. 15     chest x-ray, Biopsy bone marrow, new superpubic cath.