This is supposed to be an important post,

[DFW]

99. Like an old bedtime story, I'll briefly tell you this one again

Six years ago, during a routine checkup, which my wife gets because she already had cancer in 2001, she was found to have a rare form of cancer that only strikes elderly or very slender women. It is always fatal—statistically, anyway—and has the nickname “the murderer” since that’s what it usually is. She was fast-tracked into a cancer clinic here that specializes in women’s ailments. The surgeon told us up front that this was about the worst diagnosis she could have, BUT: he had never seen the “murderer” in such an early stage before.

A long operation was scheduled. It took nearly six hours. Eighty-four lymph nodes were removed and taken for biopsy. For the first couple of days, she was hooked up to a spinal morphine drip for pain, and she only had to push a button to get increased flow, which she never hesitated to use. To avoid addiction, they begged her to stop using it as soon as she thought she could handle the pain, which she did after three days. Then came the waiting on the 84 biopsies. That took days. Finally, we got the call. I drove to the clinic, as spouses were expected to be present for support. The surgeon came in and said, “well, I have never seen this before, EVER.” ALL 84 biopsies came back negative. Our next question, obviously, was: ok, what does that mean for us? He said it was her choice to do a round of chemo or not, but for the first time ever, he recommended against it. My wife remembered her first round of chemo, and how she suffered, so she said she’d take her chances foregoing it. I said that whatever she decided was what I decided. That was six years ago, and there has been no hint of a recurrence. Just about all the women in her family have had cancer twice, including her mom, who will turn 95 this month. They all lived well past 90.

I haven’t yet had the “honor,” but both my parents had cancer, and so did ALL of their siblings. With me, it’s not “if,” but “when.” I only hope I can face it as bravely when the time comes.

But modern medicine is always making progress, and a diagnosis that used to be terminal thirty years ago is not necessarily that now. These days, the chance of a worst case scenario is far lower than it was a generation ago. The cigarettes have got to go. Yours and your husband’s. I realize that sawing off your own leg might be an easier task.

There are always the stories about that uncle who smoked 14000 cigarettes a year (2 packs a day) and lived to be 101. My wife lost a girlfriend who smoked like that to lung cancer at age 36. I had a great friend decades ago. He was 22 years older than I. He was from Paris, but had Dutch ancestors, and bright blond hair, which saved his life as a teenager. At age 14, he was considered a model “Aryan” schoolboy by the Nazi occupiers of France. They never suspected that he snuck out at night and fired machine guns at them after dark. Even decades later, when he had a travel agency in Paris, knew and adored my wife, still would never visit us in Germany. He said there was no way either of us could understand, but he could never set foot in “that” country. His travel agency was a small office, and everyone in there smoked. He was the only non-smoker in there. I lost him to lung cancer in 2002, when he was 72. Despite the age difference, he was one of the best friends I ever had. Don’t saw off your leg, but don’t hesitate to ask your husband to quit, either. Maybe that post about meditation had some good advice. I know a woman in Paris who kicked it at age 72 with acupuncture. Anything! Just be thinking about the advice you’ll be giving people on DU five years from now!! The longest journey, as they say……