I have colon cancer. I found out Wednesday, August 6. I went to the emergency room with abdominal pains and came out of SURGERY with a scalpel wound from my chest down to my crotch along with, soon thereafter, the knowledge that a significant amount of my colon had been removed on the right side of my gut (Bingo! Malignant Tumor Exorcism Time!), as well as my appendix (which was attacked without provocation by said Malignant Tumor), and I was in nasty, nasty shape. Things didn't look good.
Today they look even worse. Three weeks after the surgery, today, I went to see the oncologist (translation: CANCER specialist) and he informed me that my cancer has spread beyond the wall of my colon, a veritable sea of lymph nodes and cancer cells had been released and the nasty little CANCER fuckers are swimming around looking for another organ to invade, via the vast lymph node superhighway. And they may get away with it! I joke, but I am pissed off and very afraid today. I have Stage IV (4) COLON CANCER. In cancer staging terminology, Stage IV is the FINAL STAGE. My oncologist said there is but a 20% chance of a cure. LESS than 5% of Stage IV colon cancer patients survive 5 years. So unless a miracle is out there, I'm pretty much dead meat walking.
I don't even know how I feel about this yet. Sad, yes. Afraid, yes. Angry, yes. But a lot more. I'll try to work it out. This is where I will work out. I don't want your pity or anything else from you, whoever you are. This is going to be my place to work out, to get things out, to deal, to cope, to bitch, whatever.
Oh, and I DO NOT have HEALTH INSURANCE, and I need chemotherapy, which is $3,000-$4,000 PER TREATMENT, and I need a treatment every 2 weeks beginning in late September or early October. I could hit a hundred grand real quick with all the other charges and doctors and nurses and clinics and medicines. I have pretty much exactly zilch. I don't know what I'm going to do, I honestly don't. Things look pretty damn bleak right now, and that's an understatement.
I am 54 years old, I like Led Zeppelin and movies, and I may not reach 55 next June. What a dictionary definition of "sobering".
I knew a man once who found out he had cancer, and he drove out into an idyllic cow pasture and swallowed a gun. I always admired the courage of that. The purity of it.
But I'm not going to do that. I'm going to try to live, because I've discovered (and it WAS a surprise; you'd have to know me) I WANT to live, as long as possible. Plus I need to live as long as possible for someone I love. So if I have to be declared "indigent" and beg and plead on my knees, I'm going to get that CHEMO and shoot for that 20%. By God I am!
But here, I work out. For me. As long as I can. But I'm fucking sick of the subject of CANCER for this day at least.
So that's the name of that tune. (Baretta; Killed his wife and got away with it.)
