Cancer diagnosis has me kicking myself

By Steve Christensen

When I was 55 I had a stroke. That was nine years ago.
Actually, the images of my brain showed I had eight strokes. Each one of those spots on my brain is a place where my memory is gone.
Most of the strokes were small, some were during sleep and some I didn’t even know I had. Seven strokes led to the big one. One I couldn’t deny. But, other than some memory issues and a social anxiety, I got to the hospital quick and came out pretty much unscathed.
Medically speaking, that’s the worst thing that has happened to me, until now.
I was recently diagnosed with bladder cancer. I’m going to have surgery this week.
I’m not writing this to make anyone feel sorry for me, but I thought it might be interesting to some of you to hear an honest assessment of being told you have cancer. I’ll spare you the gory details.
It may be worse than it needed to be. In October last year there was blood in my urine.
I went to a urologist who prescribed antibiotics. He wanted to do some tests. I took the antibiotics for two days and everything cleared up. I didn’t do the tests.
I assumed the problem was a result of the anti-coagulant medication I was taking due to the stroke. That may have been a serious mistake.
Recently the problem re-appeared. I went to another urologist and this time agreed to the tests.
The first test revealed I had a growth in my bladder, a growth that is almost always malignant. Given the scenario, surgery is always the first treatment.
The growth must be removed. The goal is to cut it out—all of it. If the surgeon can get it all, then I’m cured, at least for the time being. If he doesn’t get it all, well then there is a bigger problem.
That’s where neglecting the tests the first time around comes into play.
If I had taken the tests at that time and the growth was found, it would have been much more likely the surgeon would be able to remove it all. The cancer has now had 10 months to grow.
I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be good.
I have always said (and believed) that death doesn’t scare me, but sitting in a wheelchair slobbering on myself scares the living (you add the expletive) out of me.
Now I know something else that scares me.
The stroke left me with cerebral vascular disease. I have sticky platelets. Basically, that’s thick blood. Sometimes I get really bad headaches due to lack of blood to the brain. Debilitating headaches. All I can do is hole up somewhere, drink lots of water, and wait it out.
This is what led me to early retirement. At the end I wasn’t very good at my job. I was director of Carbon County Recreation for 25 years. I’m lucky I had a good staff.
On good days no one would know anything is wrong. On bad days I just stay home and drink lots of water. Well, I try to. Sometimes it’s difficult to gag anything down, even water.
It’s difficult for anyone to depend on me. There are times when I can’t do anything.
That’s where I was.
Now I face cancer. I’m in shock. Perhaps I shouldn’t be, but that’s the best way for me to describe what I’m feeling. I spend a lot of time staring at the wall. I’m not angry. I’ve had a good life. And the outcome is far from determined. I spend a lot of time thinking, if I had only …
But, I didn’t.
My choice, my decision. All I can do is accept the consequences.
My advice to you (as I sit here staring at the wall) is to have the tests when they are first recommended.
Oh, and drink lots of water.