Friends of Dave #428: 🪝hooked on velcro 🪄
The Life Changing Call -- The Battle
NOTE: this story is coming to a finish. If you missed the previous chapters, here was Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 of this preamble story. The next, likely penultimate chapter, is below. Thanks again for reading along.
Part 4
I sat on the hospital bed in November 2023, phone pressed against my ear, dumbfounded.
Did I hear it right?
“Dave, the doctors are telling me I have a tumor the size of a softball on my bladder,” my Dad reported matter-of-factly.
“They don’t know for sure right now, and they still have more tests to run, but they do believe it is cancerous.”
The hardest thing to comprehend was that he was the picture of model health for a man of his age.
Very few vices, had been proactively taking great care of himself, exercised regularly and had zero indication that he could have this serious a problem. A few weeks before the call he started having some mild, nagging back pain, but thought he had tweaked it doing work around the house.
It turns out it was the tumor on his bladder that was causing the problem.
WTF.
I had so many questions.
Unfortunately, as my Dad kept patiently reminding me, he didn’t have a ton of answers as the doctors needed to run more tests. He didn’t sound down about it, but he didn’t sound optimistic either.
It sucked and we just needed to take one step at a time to determine what it all was and what it was going to mean for him.
I was handed my discharge paperwork from the hospital for my own 🐂💩 just as I wrapped up my call with my father. And just like that, I thought I was a free man.
But all I could keep thinking was that my Dad was not….and we were about to enter a bigger, unexpected Battle that no one in my family thought we would be waging...
The drive back home was a blur. I called my wife to let her know the good news about my situation — and about the disturbing, ill timed news from my father. I got interrupted by calls from my two sisters who also were receiving the family news in succession…happy that I was okay, but concerned about what was ahead for our Dad.
In true fashion, he jumped right into things in the days and weeks that followed. He synthesized the results of every blood test, scan and doctor’s note to better understand what exactly he had and what he needed to do to battle it.
For him and his analytical brain, this was very much about the science and the numbers — there was no time or space for emotional reactions. This was a problem to be solved and he would figure out a way to get it done.
On his terms.
With a calm focus, discipline and a precise plan.
He was determined to control the outcome as best as he could.
We came to understand that his form of cancer was Stage 4, muscle invasive, small cell, metastatic carcinoma of the bladder. It was rare and had small odds for long term life expectancy. It had also already shown signs of spreading to his liver and his lungs.
Bottom line: this was not going to be something he could defeat.
We all had to quickly accept that fact. And for someone like my Dad who liked to negotiate deals, this adversary was going to drive the hardest of bargains.
Removal of his bladder was not an option — both by my father’s choice (he didn’t see the benefit given his long term prognosis) and by the fact that the cancer had begun to spread. He was determined to try to find a way to battle it as long as possible and hopefully get lucky with his treatments and minimize the hassle this was going to cause him and all of us.
He found an oncologist he really liked — someone who matched wits with him, could answer all of his questions honestly, and respected his deeply analytical approach to both the world and a condition that had bleak odds. She would prove to be a trusted ally and partner throughout his battle.
Radiation and his initial round of chemo and immunotherapy seemed to make strides. The original tumor on his bladder shrunk to almost nothing — the best part being that it alleviated the back pain that had been the warning signal that something was wrong.
The trade off was seeing what the treatment did to him — he had been fortunate to keep his full head of hair well into his 70s. That was no longer the case. His skin became almost gray and ashy during this round. He also would get “brain fog” after his treatments (common side effect) — exposing a lack of mental acuity that would last for a few days that we had never seen from him.
He approached it all clinically and kept a relatively positive outlook during this first phase. While it was hard for us all to watch, he felt it would help him learn more about how his body would respond to treatment so he could continue to plot the best course of action that could extend his runway and allow him to live on his terms.
It was admirable, but all we could think was F^CK CANCER.
Seriously, F^CK THIS — F^CK IT for doing this to someone we loved who did all of the right things to be healthy and did nothing to deserve this sort of treatment in return.
Friends, if you have had anyone close to you deal with cancer, you know the feeling — and how it hangs over the process like a dark cloud throughout.
Despite all of that, my mother approached her role as my father’s primary caretaker with an amazing level of focus, energy and commitment. Of course my father had the foresight to marry the captain of the high school cheerleading team — and if there was anyone that could will a small victory when it was needed, my mom was going to make it happen.
📣 He’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can! 📣
She was there during all of his dark times that he didn’t show anyone else, lifting his spirits and making sure he kept his weight and strength up so he could continue to go into battle strong.
After 6 months, the battlefield shifted to trying to find a way to stop the cancer from spreading. The next round of treatment just made him feel like 💩 with no real benefits. Two months of feeling crappy without any measurable return. He stopped that.
The funny thing about this stage — he actually looked pretty good and was pain free. The color had returned to his skin, his hair began to grow back and to the untrained eye, you would not even know what kind of internal battle his body was waging. It was also now summer time — so the warm weather and sunshine were also doing wonders for his psyche (and for all of ours).
We all got together to celebrate his birthday in July. This time was probably the “best” part of the Battle.
It didn’t last very long.
As the blast we were having from the summer lovin’ gave way to Fall, we all knew that as it turned colder without some sort of treatment the runway would quickly get shorter. Unfortunately, unlike more common forms of cancer, for this type there weren’t a lot of known, FDA approved avenues my Dad could pursue at this point.
Shortly before the one year anniversary of his prognosis, my Dad was referred by his oncologist into a clinical, immunotherapy based study at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute — it was a long shot, but if his body responded favorably to the trial and it reduced the spread of his lesions, they would allow him to stay in the program.
After some initial trepidation about having to be a “guinea pig” and a “lab rat,” my father quickly rationalized that this would probably be his best shot at extending his runway on terms that were most acceptable to him.
It also meant we would get another Thanksgiving and Christmas together as a family. We weren’t sure how many more there would be.
The answer would end up coming the day after Christmas when the results from his scan would show the trial’s effectiveness. Until then, all we could do was hope Santa would bring good news in our stockings.
TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK……..
XOXO
Dave
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