Somebody back East is saying, 'Why don't he write?' Timmons (Robert Pastorelli), Dances With Wolves, (1990).
It's been a couple of months since I've visited these pages to add something new. There is a reason.
In early October I took what I thought would be a routine screening "Tube Ride" - an MRI - to mark five years since diagnosis and treatment for ocular melanoma. It turned out to be anything but routine.
"Concern for metastatic disease" read the first line of the radiologist's report. The cancer has apparently reappeared, this time on one of the bones in my spine. Additional tests confirmed this concern.
This cancer is rare and unpredictable, usually spreading to the liver or lungs. Not mine. There are no statistics for prognosis because things don't usually happen this way. Even the clinical studies from specialized cancer institutes don't mention eye-bone transfers.
They will treat this disease with radiation first (the process is fascinating), followed by some form of immunotherapy, chemotherapy or something new if I'm the right kind of mutant... Or, something. There are so many unknowns that the only thing I know is that I preferred the years when the radiologist's report was clear sailing.
I have no real symptoms, just the occasional twinge in my back - one might expect something similar for a man in his 70s who grew up playing hockey. This will change as the radiation treatments take hold, followed by whatever glories chemo brings.
I'm writing this for a couple purposes. First, as a writer, it is often important to get things out of my head so I can sleep at night. This is one of them. I also find this a comfortable way to let friends know what is going on, introvert that I am. Then you can feel free to reach out, say a prayer, or silently revile the fates that visit this malady on too many of us.
Speaking of that, it is the holidays and many of you will be engaging the prayers of the season. If you are so inclined, how about offering up something for the members of my family. As I told the oncologist in a recent conversation, I have done what she asked because I have a personal stake in the outcome. But, my family can only watch, hope and wonder why this, now.
But, don't feel sorry for us - our sense of humor, at least at this point, is intact. Discussing the possibility that I would become ill enough to require emergency services, a strange and horrifying thought led to:
"Please don't let Joy bite the paramedics."
