A Great Start to 2019

This was shaping up to be a fabulous year. One of my long-standing clients decided to bring me on as a full-time employee. Great career shift – doing challenging work I love and with people I love working with.

On the home front, Sue is making a positive mark in all the work that she is very passionate about. Atticus is doing well with school and he just found out he has a summer job as a camp counselor – a job he loves and does very well.  Treva is settling into high school. There are a few growing pains with a 14-year-old teenage girl with special needs. Given the challenges she has come through over the years, even when she is blasting me, I still see a miracle.

The Lump

Nearly 2 years ago I noticed a lump in my throat. I was very diligent in getting it checked out. Over the course of a few months, I went through a number of tests: biopsies, an MRI, ultrasounds and whatever else. Every test showed that the lump was not cancerous and that it was merely a cyst.

I spent way too much time on the Internet in those early days researching cancer, specifically lymphoma. Like all “Google-researchers”, I went through the process of experiencing something that I didn’t actually have. Emotionally and mentally I lived through having cancer.

The ENT (ear, nose and throat) doctor decided to wait and see what this cyst will do over time. No worries, no problems.

Let’s Get It Out

Early in 2019, I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Jackson, my ENT specialist. I could still feel the lump, but it wasn’t big enough for most people to even notice. Dr. Jackson suggested that he remove the cyst, just to minimize any future challenges. This made sense to me.

The surgery was scheduled for March 8th. I did the pre-op process a few days earlier – all health signs such as blood pressure and heart tests were very good. March 8th was a Friday, so I figured I’d have the weekend to rest and be back to work Monday.

At least that was my plan.

Day of Surgery

The surgery was scheduled for 2:30 and I was to arrive at 12:30 for processing. The plan was for a one-hour surgery, some recuperation time from general anesthesia and then home by 6:30 or so. Just some fine-tuning to the plans for the day.

The hospital staff wanted to ensure I had someone responsible to take me home after surgery. Sue decided to come with me and stay at the hospital while I was in surgery. I told her that she didn’t really need to stay and that she only needed to be back to the hospital by 6:30. She insisted that she would stay, which turned out to be a better decision than we even realized at that moment.

When I arrived at the client I was told that Dr. Jackson’s prior surgery was a no-show, so they were able to get me in as soon as possible. Great, I’ll be home even earlier!

I was guided back to the prep room where I changed into an unflattering gown. The little sheet I had on top of me was my thin protection from pure humility.

After meeting a couple of doctors, joking around with the nurses and kissing Sue, I was taken to the surgery room. I was transferred over to the surgical bed which felt more like a padded balancing beam. After a few minutes, they told me I was going to sleep now. Not this time, I thought. There is no way that I am going to fall aslee…

Waking Up

When I awoke, things seemed too foggy. I had minor surgery a few years prior, but I recall being very alert quite quickly. But not this time. It was hazy and dark. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t read the clock just outside the recovery room. I wasn’t panicky, but I was eerily uncomfortable. Then a doctor (let’s call him Dr. Recovery) came into the room and although I don’t recall the exact words, his message was very clear:

“The surgery took much longer than we thought, Mr. Bassett. We found cancer in your neck.”

Even with a drug-induced stupor, my head instantly filled with questions. How can this be? What did they do in surgery? Where is Sue?

I asked for a mirror – I wanted to see what was done. I was shaken to see that a large portion of my neck was gone from one side. Simply gone. I was in disbelief. When the day started, I expected a small incision to get the cyst out, but not what I saw. Within hours of its discovery in me, cancer had already made its mark.

Dr. Recovery then proceeded to explain a lot more stuff than what should be explained to a patient in my mental, post-op state. This information would be clarified the next morning by Dr. Jackson. The most pressing issue to me at that moment was “where is Sue?”

Through Sue’s Eyes

As I slowly started to come around, Sue was eventually allowed in the recovery area. Although she held it in, I am sure she was shocked to see my condition. Between that evening and the next day, I found out her journey through the surgery.

She was in the waiting room, doing what you are supposed to do – simply wait. But this seemed like a longer wait than she anticipated. After a long while, Sue was asked to meet with the surgeon in a small room. This is rarely a good sign. He explained to her that they found cancer and that they needed to do additional surgery right then. Through tears and with shaking hands, she signed the necessary forms.

Having this bomb fall upon her, she quickly decided to call closest friends and family, thereby triggering the start of the support network. One of her closest friends came to the hospital to sit with Sue and comfort her. It was exactly what she needed.

That First Night 

Sue joined me in the recovery room and shortly thereafter they took me a semi-private room, telling me I would be in the hospital for a day or two. Knowing I needed some rest, Sue left shortly after I was moved upstairs. She needed to get home to rest as well. It was a long, emotionally-draining day for her.

The nurses did their routine checks on me. As much as I needed and wanted to sleep, I only slept a couple of hours that night. Between lingering anesthetics and the news of the cancer, my mind was spinning and it kept spinning for most of the night. Plus the wires, monitors and catheter hanging off me made comfort elusive.

And then there was my neck. I used the selfie feature on the phone as a mirror. Swollen, distorted and with an incision running from below my neck to the middle of my neck. I discovered a puzzling combination of pain and complete numbness. There was a dull, throbbing pain throughout my neck that sharply spiked whenever I moved my head.

Yet I was more concerned and mystified by the numbness. I could feel absolutely nothing on my neck, especially under my jaw where stuff was removed. I touched my neck and the only sensory feedback I got from that poke was from the tip of my finger.

Things were changing and I had to start adapting.

The Next Day

The night was long, but it gave way to a new day of hospital activity and the opportunity to find out more. After the nurses did their shift-change routine someone brought me breakfast. It wasn’t prize-winning, but since I hadn’t had anything to eat for nearly 36 hours, I happily ate it all.

Dr. Jackson, the surgeon who performed on me the day before, stopped by my room. He has a wonderful sense of humor, which I connected with when I first met him 18 months prior. He asked me, “What happened, Mr. Bassett?”.

I jokingly replied “You tell me. I just came to get a cyst out and all this happened!”. After a brief light-hearted exchange, he explained briefly what he did. When he went into my neck, he was concerned about what he saw – cancerous cells in the lymph nodes. He conducted a “neck dissection”, which I soon discovered meant he removed glands, lymph nodes and other tissue from my neck. Samples of the tissues were sent away for testing and I would have a follow-up with him in a couple of weeks.

Although the ability of my mind to absorb anything was better than the previous night, it was still limited. We had a short discussion which was just about what all I could take in. Then, with a comforting beam of his smile, Dr. Jackson left.

Going Home

Dr. Recovery stopped by and I voiced my desire to go home. I didn’t think there wasn’t anything more the hospital could do that we couldn’t do at home. He wholeheartedly agreed.

Sue returned to the hospital, bringing me a fresh set of clothes. After a few hours of removing wires, catheters and making sure my bladder was working, Sue wheeled me to the car to go home. She drove home slowly, doing her best to avoid bumps along the road. The pain in my neck was amplified with any change in the direction of the car. I didn’t care – I was going home.

When we pulled up to the house, I slowly wrestled my way out of the car and shuffled up to the door. I have always loved our home. Over the years, all the serene moments and the wildly hectic moments have worked together to weave a blanket of warmth that I cherish whenever I step in the door. When I walked through the door this time, I felt that comforting warmth. But there was something subtly different. This was day one of this unfolding cancer journey…

What’s Next?

Quite simply – I don’t know.

There will be follow-up tests and appointments with Dr. Jackson. At that time I will find out more about the cancer and the suggested treatments, if any.

Writers like to create outlines whether they are for books, poems or blogs. Outlines give the writing process structure and guidance. I cannot write an outline of this cancer story. I don’t know enough to even try. I barely even know how the story began.

As this story reveals itself, I will share it. I believe there are lessons to learn about the journey with cancer and there is a purpose for me to be on this path. But these lessons and purpose will not be served with a silent pen. I know I will have some bumpy moments upcoming, but I feel a driving need to share the story – not to garner attention, but to help others better understand what a cancer patient goes through.

Even though I do not know the details of the story, my belief and faith are unwavering:

I will be around to personally write the final chapter of this cancer story.