Why this blog?

Around 25 years ago, I convinced my grandmother to write a memoir. Naturally, it was in pen on (gasp) paper. That, of course, would never do. I was blinded by new technology. I was an idiot. I convinced (read "paid") my daughter, Miriam, to type Bubbie's manuscript up on my Commodore 64. Then, to make matters worse, I edited the typescript. Then I printed it out and had it copied and bound.

Now, the actual original manuscript, what Bubbie actually wrote with her own hand, is lost forever. It's probably somewhere in the house, but that pretty much counts as lost forever.

Now, I'm at that age. My kids have not asked me to do this, but I'm doing it anyway. I'm still amused enough by technology that I don't want to do a handwritten manuscript. I also don't think I can achieve the kind of dramatic impact that Bubbie managed with a formal autobiography. So, instead, I'm doing a blog with random memories from the past and the present scattered in a disorganized way.

This blog is linked to my two other blogs.

http://henryandcarolynsecondhoneymoon.blogspot.com/ is the blog I started when I came down with cancer and pretty much stopped when Carolyn died.

http://henryfarkaswidowerblog.blogspot.com/
is the blog I started after Carolyn died; when I decided to continue blogging.

For what it's worth, there's a search engine attached to this blog right below this intro. That won't be worth much initially, but if this blog gets long and stays disorganized, then my kids and their kids will be able to use the search engine to find stuff if they're interested.

Search This Blog

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Cancer Sucks

Acting "As if" means choosing a reaction that seems beneficial and then acting as if that's the way you actually feel. For today's essay, write about a time when you did that. How did it work out?
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Acting 'As if."

We cancer survivors experience acting "As if" all the time. Here's the first time I acted "As if."

The day I got my cancer diagnosis was Sept. 5th, 2006. It was morning. I'd just finished my night shift in the ER, and I'd strolled into the radiology suite to convince the radiologists to slip me into the CT scanner schedule because, two days previously, on the Sunday of the Labor Day weekend, one of the other docs on the medical staff had heard me cough and had gently suggested (all right, not so gently) that I should get a CT scan because my cough sounded to her like the cough you get from lung cancer.

The radiologists re-assured me that as a non-smoker, I had a very low chance at having lung cancer. I pointed out to them that in my part time job as a hospice doc, I'd cared for a few non-smokers who died of lung cancer. So, to placate me, they asked the technician to slip me into the CT schedule.

After the CT, I went into the office of the radiologist who was reading CTs that morning to get my result. He and I were looking at the various views, and I noticed that he wasn't saying anything for a longer time than it would normally take a radiologist to read a negative chest CT. So, I looked more closely, and then I saw something I didn't think was normal. I pointed it out to hem and asked, "Is that what you're looking at?"

"Yes."

"Could it be something else besides cancer?"

"Probably not."

This is where the acting "As if" kicked in. What I wanted to do was yell, "Oh shit."

But I restrained myself and pretended to be calm and rational because that's the way doctors are supposed to be, right? Right.

Well, that worked. Everyone thought I was being calm and rational because I never said, "Oh shit" until, well, just now. Meanwhile, in my head, I was visualizing the hospice patients with lung cancer that I'd been caring for during the previous twenty years.

Getting cancer really is the pits. It changes your whole life around. Some people like to say that finding out you have cancer has a few good points since you re-orient your priorities and re-direct your life toward things that are really important.

Well, that's true, but it's not worth it. Anything good that comes from having cancer is completely outweighed by the bad stuff, the surgery, chemo, sickness, death.

Cancer sucks. There, I said it, and I'm glad.

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