Subtitled

Terrible Words

He showed it to me. It was seemingly not larger than my smallest fingernail. He made the comment; it seemed as if it was merely a piece of fatty tissue but none-the-less, erring on the side of caution, would send it in for a routine biopsy.

Life was good the spring of 2001. Esther Ann, my wife and myself were working two separate jobs--the money was good, we were in love, we loved life and celebrated it every day. Everything was right, we knew it and felt it would last forever.

Around noon on July 30th, I received a call from our family physician--a call, with words no one ever wants to hear. A tumor had been discovered in my wife's pancreas. I was working nearly 300 miles away from home but within the hour I was racing back to Esther Ann with dreadful thoughts plaguing me the entire way. The car would not go fast enough and the world would not stand still long enough.

The following day, after conferring with our physician, Esther Ann was admitted to Kansas University Medical Center. She was tested every way a human can be tested--then they operated. The operating surgeon saw me immediately following surgery and told me I should take her home, make her comfortable and simply wait for her to die. Again words no one wants to hear.

We arrived back home on August 14th and she died on September 23rd. It was a very short 55 days from diagnosis, to death, yet the longest 55 days of my life. I was devastated. During those few, but painfully long and sad days, she had gone from a vivacious, alive, outgoing and very beautiful woman to appearing as if she were a hundred years old, the cancer emancipating her body to mere bones with very little flesh to cover them.

Our earthly world together ended, it was over. Every plan we had made together was shattered with the stopping of her heart. Her last breath, when exhaled, contained every hope we had for the future.

As my mental fog from her death was slightly lifting, I was showering one morning and noted a small knot under my right nipple. Even after what I had gone through with Esther Ann, I did not connect the dots of small knot and cancer. It still did not enter my mind I might have cancer. After all, any cancer to do with the breast was experienced by women, not men. Right? Wrong, and as I found out, terribly wrong. I took it seriously enough and called immediately for a medical appointment. I was fortunate enough to be seen that very afternoon.

Three days after the "fatty tissue" was sent in for "routine" biopsy, I was called on the phone and told I had cancer.

My children lived far away. I was totally alone, scared and nearly paralyzed with the revelation that I was to be the next in the family to die. It was too soon. I was not ready, having too much yet to do--too much would be left unfinished.

I was sent to K.U. Med Center in Kansas City, Kansas. This was the same place that had operated on Esther Ann. I was afraid of what was about to happen after I had seen what transpired with her.

I was on the gurney on my way to the operating room when I took a deep breath and said, " Jesus, let your will be done." From that point on, I was ready. I was at that precise moment at peace. I received the peace that passes all human understanding. I knew I would be fine no matter what happened. I knew I couldn't lose. I had read the book and already knew I would win. Christ had promised that to me and I knew He was good on His word.

I received a mastectomy of my right breast. As I was waking up in the recovery room, the operating surgeon was standing near my bed. I asked him what they had found in the lymph nodes. He told me they were clean. It had been discovered in time. For the next several hours I cried. I could not stop it. I was being cleansed, for the moment, internally and it felt good. Everything that had occurred that year came crashing down on top of me. God was being good to me by allowing me to release what I could of all the hurt and pain.

For the following years I traveled back to the Med Center to get mammograms. Yes, men can and do have them. Problem is, men usually have mammograms after suffering breast cancer, not before.