Let's do this

Now what do we do?  Who do we tell?

My oldest son, Alex, who is living with us was first on the list.  If to battle is where we are going, he would be by my side and that would be just fine with me.  The twins are at school in Abilene and we talked at length about keeping it from them for a little while.  They are problem solvers a lot like me and I could only imagine how I would feel if they had a problem I couldn't help them fix.  We hoped to spare them those feelings for a while.  My parents.  My wife's parents.  For better or worse, freaking Facebook made it impossible to control how the news was spread.  It took on a life of it's own.

We soon received a phone call from the oncologist Dr. G had recommended and set up an appointment.  Robin and I waited in the lobby of Las Colinas Cancer Center and noticed we were the youngest people there, and not by a little.  I wasn't very nervous as i thumbed through a couple of copies of AARP Magazine and RV Monthly.  When I finally got called back I was weighed and a simple health history was taken before meeting Dr. E.  This guy needs no sound reinforcement.  He talks LOUDLY.  He also came off just a little cocky.  I liked him right away.

I had spent years trying to teach my boys the difference, subtle though it may be, between confidence and cockiness.  Cocky people had always just rubbed me the wrong way.  It was weird that I felt comforted by Dr. E telling me so matter-of-factly that he knew how to kill this thing and that's what we were going to do, but I did.

Before I continue, I want to make something very clear.  I will forever be in the debt of the fine folks at Las Colinas Cancer Center.  There was not one person or one event that gives me even a moments pause in suggesting them to anyone I know who finds themselves in a similar position (God forbid!).  I am about to talk about what seemed at the time to be mis-information or a lack of information given to me.  I now have the luxury of hindsight and at every opportunity they gave me as much information as I could take in and process and no more.  Whether accidental or on purpose, it was the proper call every time.  These folks know what they are doing.

Dr. E described my cancer "Base of tongue squamous cell carcinoma that had  metastasized to the lymph system on the right side of the neck".  He told me a PET scan would be scheduled to get the remaining information required for staging the cancer.  He introduced me to Dr. K who would be in charge of the radiation portion of my treatment.  I was told this would consist of 7 weeks of radiation, 5 days a week.  She told me pretty much what to expect such as fatigue, difficulty swallowing, loss of hair, burns on the skin.  Dr. E said I would need a feeding tube as head/neck cancers are particularly difficult on the patient because of the damage to the throat.  He also said in addition to the radiation therapy I would concurrently recieve chemotherapy.  It was about this time I mentally checked out.  I think they could tell.  I left with an appointment to meet Doogie Houser, my chemo oncologist who is 16 years old.  Not really, but he looks it.

At some point I may write about my dad.  He and I spent a great deal of time estranged.  He was a very interesting man.  He was also a cancer survivor.  Sometime in early March, we spoke about what lie ahead for me.  He insisted I come to Houston and go to MD Anderson.  That was very good advice but I had already decided to try my hardest to continue working through treatment.  The rest of his advice I took to heart.  I will paraphrase:

"There were two groups of people going through treatment with me.  One group pulled their blankets up under their chin and curled up in a ball.  Sometimes they sleep.  Sometimes they cry.  The other group cussed.  Sometimes they cry.  Most times they paced the room or spit on the floor.  They were PISSED.  Those people all left before the first group.  This disease will beat you down and keep you down but only if you let it.  If you get mad enough to fight, you WILL beat it."

Doogie spent a little time telling me about himself including an anecdote ending with a statement of extreme hatred for head/neck cancer.  I like this guy, too.  He layed out a few options as far as my treatment, a newer drug erbitux and a drug discovered in the 1800's cisplatin.  I chose cisplatin.  I started getting a little cocky, too.  My dad was right.  I will not just lay down for this thing.  I AM pissed.  I don't have time for this crap.

"I''m not doing the feeding tube thing."

Doogie smirks.

'My veins are awesome.  Don't think I will be needing a port either."

Another smirk.

I had been cancer boy for less than two weeks and there I stood telling Doogie (who is brilliant, by the way) how this thing is going to play out.  The fact he didn't bust out laughing speaks to his amazing amount of self control.  What else could he say?  "Ok."