Today is my father’s birthday and so starts my blog. Granpa passed away just under two years ago, after a terrific life to the age of 89 and sharp mentally all the way, as he had wanted to be. Granpa was ever proud of his grandchildren, and our sons Chuck and Max had the blessing of being with their Granny and Granpa since they were born. Our sons are both tall, measuring at 6-feet 5-inches. Granpa, ever the proud grandfather, would often tell friends that they were even taller than that, a measure of their stature in his book not only in physical terms, but in his love and pride in all that they did and have accomplished.
The term “6-5” took on new meaning for us on July 11, 2014. That week a routine urine sample showed slight traces of blood, so my internist sent me for a CT scan of the kidney. The next day she called me into her office, looking unusually serious for her. The kidney was fine, but the scan had incidentally also showed a mass on the pancreas, about two centimeters in diameter, or about an inch. She told me she was not going to sugarcoat this, that she was thinking cancer.
I didn’t want to tell my husband Hal that day because, as a long-suffering Cleveland fan, he was elated that morning that LeBron James had just announced that he was returning to the Cavaliers. I’m afraid my news would trump that. As we walked around downtown mid-day so that I could tell him the news, Hal knew that I wasn’t catching the impact of the diagnosis. Little did I know until later that day when I researched the Internet that pancreatic cancer has the highest mortality rate of all the major cancers. It is the only leader cancer killer with a 5-year survival rate still in the single digits at 6%, and that survival rate has not improved in the last 40 years. Pancreatic cancer is predicted to become the second leading cause of cancer-related death in the U.S. around 2020. I did know it had to be bad when the American Cancer Society site says that if you don’t want to know the survival rates, don’t read on.
After Hal and I picked ourselves off the floor with the news, we began to process our next steps and a future that we could never have imagined. Family is so important to us, and as God would have it, our sons Chuck and Max, along with Chuck’s new bride and our delightful daughter-in-law Jenny, were all going to be home in a few days for a planned vacation together. While Hal and I hemmed and hawed as good parents about protecting our children from bad news, as soon as each of them arrived, we knew that we had to tell them the news. It was a great blessing that gave us several days to process the impact together. As our boys said, we will get through this as a family.
Each family member had their own distinct, vital role: Max was the researcher, putting his career skills to work to navigate the many sources of information and help us to make sense of the prognosis and next steps; Chuck was the cheerleader, providing that ever-needed positive perspective and keeping us looking forward with hope and action; Jenny was the fashion consultant, ensuring that I would be the ever good looking patient wearing the most hip of hospital attire; Hal was the manual labor, doing whatever it took to make sure I got well, and becoming an expert in making smoothies that would settle my stomach in the coming weeks and months; and my Mom the no-room-for-wimps manager of getting better.
Armed with the love and support of a close family that would become even closer, we all moved forward together into the unknown.
Next: The Medical Journey
Beyond Six Five 