I have no idea, really, where or how to draw the line between spiritual belief and science. I am in my seventh decade, and I have heart disease and diabetes, and I could die or be stricken at any time – I do glance at obituaries once in awhile.
And I seek a spiritual life.
The greatest fear I ever carry in my heart is about keeling over with a heart attack and leaving Maria alone with all of these animals and lunatic politicians running the country.
She can take care of herself, but I can’t help the way I was raised – taking care of her is also important.
I practice radical acceptance. I was a street reporter in some rough cities and a hospice volunteer. For all our divisions, we will all end up in the same place.
I accept death as being a part of life, but like most people, I’m not quite ready, not that any of the fates care.
I do hear the word “cancer” a lot in our culture; it is one of the most feared words in the language.
Just the very mention of it changes hearts, souls, and minds. Th0se who suffer from it are a powerful community; many get through it; many don’t.
Cancer opens up the soul and gives love a very particular meaning.
The only good thing I hear about it is that it draws people closer together more intensely, perhaps than anything but combat.
In between my two catheter heart procedures, I got a phone call from my primary care doctor, a/k/a “Primary,” who rarely calls me up first thing in the morning, or ever.
She usually has a nurse call or waits to see me in her office; I’m there a fair amount. So when she called, I didn’t think it was a social call.
I’ve come to love and trust her – she is a rare human being, but I also know here well enough that she doesn’t call up early in the day to check. And I was conscious of the fact I had just had some tests.
She got right to the point, there was some microscopic blood in my urine, and she said we needed to find out what it was doing there. It wasn’t supposed to be there, she said.
I’d heard about this.
I tried to dodge it. I was in recovery, I was sick of doctors and procedures. She paid no attention. “We just have to figure out why the blood is there,” she said. She had a good doctor in mind.
“Is cancer one of the possibilities?” I asked. “Yes, but it could be a lot of things. We need to find out.” I tried a joke about whether I needed to have the heart procedures if I could get cancer. Neither one of us laughed.
Is there anything sadder or more transparent than a man pretending not to be scared? I went online and read about the 50 things this blood could be – including cancer.
I waited a day or two to tell Maria, and when I did, I made it a point to sound confident: “I feel excellent,” I said, “I just don’t think I have cancer.” She nodded. “Well, I don’t think you do either.” What a bunch of doofuses, I thought, each one pretending to know things neither could know.
Who does want cancer?
I knew more doctors were coming soon, and more tests, and I was right.
I had an MRI, various scans, and ultra-sounds and gave more blood and urine. I meet a new and important person in my life, my new urologist, a friendly, open, and easy to like (for a male doctor) male.
He gave me a detailed and illustrated presentation about the “plumbing” in my body’s lower and middle parts. I had no idea.
I came to love him when he opened up by saying he was “essentially a plumber; I work on the plumbing.” He asked if I had any sleeping issues, and I said the only thing I would not do was wear one of those Darth Vader masks for sleep apnea.
I waited a long time to lie naked in bed with a beautiful woman, and I wasn’t undoing that with a Darth Vader mask.
“So could it be cancer?” I heard myself asking.
He laughed. “Well, first we have to make sure it is not cancer,” he said, which I thought was an interesting answer. He said he doubts very much that it is. But we’ll know soon enough, he said, smiling.
I admit to a few daydreams about long walks in the evening sun, new and dear friends, and gobs of sympathy (yuk).
He also said several awful things he also had to do to check “my plumbing,” as he put it so graciously.
He explained the prostate in greater detail than I ever wanted. He said it is a useless thing; it is in the body only to create semen and good for nothing else but getting older men to pee a lot. He also talked about kidneys.
I went home with a fistful of maps, charts, daily forms to fill in, revealing the most personal details. Women are used to invasive and uncomfortable medical procedures. They are fairly rare for men. I’m about to catch up.
This might or might not involve more “procedures,” a/k/a, or surgery. Oh, screw it, of course, it will, they are already scheduled.
My primary says we might as well get everything fixed at once; after that, she said, I should have a long and peaceful time away from doctors.
He took out a poster with all of the organs involved in my plumbing and explained how we would be exploring every one of them.
“Bring it on,” I said, “more people have handled my body this year than in the past 30 years of my life.”
Doctors, I find, stick to people they meet, like a rolling stone picking up leaves. Each one brings new co-pays, more forms, regularly scheduled visits, procedures, e-mails, “portals,” and another prescription or two.
“I have wonderful doctors,” I said, “I am fortunate.” I’ll do what you tell me.”
I worry about spending my old age in just the way I feared the most – running to the pharmacy and seeing doctors.
But I doubt very much that I have cancer. That would have a different feel to it, I know enough to know that. Maria insists I don’t have cancer, she is most often right.
My new doctor has a pretty good idea of what is causing that blood, and it wasn’t cancer or anything he couldn’t handle.
I want to stop and think of people who do have cancer, especially those with aggressive and untreatable kind. I’ve met a lot of them in hospice. Their stories are full of love, friendship, and grace. I wish them well and bow my head to them.
Everybody has it worse than I do.
I told one of the nurses about it. She’s been around. “You don’t have cancer,” she said almost instantly. “Look at the good color in your face.”
So another chapter in the life of my body, another step on the journey, this one will go fast and will not involve major invasive surgery. That’s a refreshing change.
Watch out; I’ll keep you posted. You know there are no secrets here.
Wishing you well, Jon. You are doing so much good in the world and are needed here to continue. It will be fine. We all go through these scares once in a while.
That’s an interesting tale on a lot. Yes we do hear about cancer a lot. No Dr. Tyo ( me) doesn’t think you have cancer either… you may like reading Dr. Christianne Northrups stuff on health and cancer. Some of it I like, some not. She is the leading woman’s Dr. in this country, out of Dartmouth. She’s world famous. Her belief based on science, that mammograms MAY spread cancer cells and are seen as harmful, is controversial, but I tend to agree. Her studies included women who had donated their bodies to science, they ALL had cancers in their breasts… some died from it, some died WITH it. I like to picture my body having all kinds of cells that all get along. Northrup is not just a woman’s Dr., you may want to check it out. I think you’re doing pretty good Jon, the path has been bumpy. Check out Louise Háy she is a huge voice in health, was, but good stuff. Go with what rings right for you, keep posting! It’s interesting… you’re doing GREAT. Look at yourself in the mirror every morning and say to your pupils, “ great job job”. That’s Louise Háy.
Northrup’s science has always been dubious (undermining women’s credibility) then she recently revealed legal ignorance saying, ” … wearing a mask is strangling your sense of free speech…” urging cynically that the disabilities laws be exploited to justify not wearing a mask.
Dear Jon
I am a long time reader of your books and blog. Your book , Going Home , helped my family when we had to let our Abby go.
I was so touched by your recent post as my husband Tom at the age of 62 is battling stage 4 renal cell cancer. We have been together since we were 17 and 18 yrs old respectively. Our deep love for each other is guiding us through this difficult time.
Thank you for your kind words to those going through cancer. I wish you and Maria good health and much love.
Patricia
I know all about the “it could be any number of things” speech. At 61, my mother had her cancerous bladder removed and began using a urostomy bag. She is now 82 and went through a period of finding small amounts of blood in her urine bag. It happened a few times, was very slight and never lasted more than a couple of days. I can’t begin to list all the tests she had, all to no avail. It was finally determined that one of her prescriptions was having a blood thinner effect on her system which caused the blood. The prescription was altered and the problem solved but I came to the conclusion that while medicine is a science, it certainly isn’t an exact one. There’s no point in worrying until there’s something to worry about.
Jon,
Thank you (again) for sharing with such an open heart your many journeys. I continue to learn and plant intentions to do and be a part of a community that is doing more good!
in peace,
Carol
Having had breast cancer 20 years ago, I know from experience that the “wait and see” phases are the worst part. The phrase “tomorrow is promised to no man” kept going through my mind then as it does with every serious health problem I am assigned. Even surgery, chemo and radiation are not as hard as “wait and see” because one is at least doing something … inherently a mood enhancer.
In this period of time, I wish you the comfort of who and what you love. Those are the only balm I found. I visited with friends but even with the most loving intentions they didn’t understand watching and waiting. They thought it was like holding your breath underwater. It isn’t. It’s the opposite. It’s feeling one’s vulnerability, one’s desire to have many more luscious days filled with the small events of life.
At the time I had a blue toy poodle, Ashley, and she was THE BEST friend possible. She put so much energy into into being there. I recovered even though there were times I wondered if the cure was worse than the disease; Ashley got me through by being by my side every moment possible. She died a few years later. I was able to keep my promise to be her forever home which was the single most important thing to me through it all. I will never forget that after hearing the news that I had cancer, I broke down in tears not about my dying but about the possibility of leaving Ashley alone, possibly in a family that didn’t treasure her.
While I never felt I gave Ashley what she gave me during that year of treatment, in Ashley’s honor I have helped out other dogs, one in particular. I spent enormous amounts of money on CeCe that I could ill afford because at 4 years of age I was sure we could cure her if we found the cause. And because I had only had her for eight months. However cancer was the winner that time.
I am praying you turn out to be the winner this time. With luck and love it is certainly possible.
Jon…
You are a very frank man. I do not feel comfortable discussing such medical issues. But unfortunately, I have a history of prostate ailments.
I wonder why a med student would choose urology. The urologist is avoided until he is needed. Urologists don’t get the recognition of a heart surgeon or cardiologist. The specialty’s focus is not glamorous, nor are the organs of its purview. Their malfunctions might not be fatal, but they can make life miserable.
What you feared for your old age has happened to me. But running to the pharmacy and seeing doctors are small prices to pay for health and wellbeing. And I’m thankful that quality alternatives exist. Some of these solutions were not available until recently.
“Doctors, I find, stick to people they meet, like a rolling stone picking up leaves.”
I fully agree. With age comes new aches and pains – and medical visits with more specialists. So, line up some good calendaring software. For us, entries for doctors, labs, and prescriptions have exploded, to where it’s almost impossible to keep up. Since many appointments get re-scheduled, a change management discipline is needed to help determine which entry was the most recent.