My wife of 25 years, Scherer died on July 29th,
1995, slightly less than 16 years ago.
Our children are now 36 and 38 and she has missed so many of the moments
she yearned to witness and share. She
was an incredible woman who loved her family and was an unusually loving and
naturally devoted mother. I am an OK
father, but I have struggled with every step of the way not knowing what to
expect, not knowing what to say. Scherer
was a natural; she was the hearth of our family and the cement that bound us
together.
I never expected that I would outlive Scherer. I was shocked when she discovered the lump in
her breast; somehow I knew this was not something that would go away. The next four years were not all hell; she
had a second year remission that lasted about a year. I was with her from the
beginning to the end during which time the cancer transformed her from a
vibrant woman, wife and mother to the inevitable visual stereotype of what you
would expect to see after cancer and chemotherapy have eaten away at you,
robbing you of your life.
The effect of Scherer’s illness and death has never left me. I am still too disturbed to look at some old photo
albums and her possessions that remain in my house. Passing time has benefited my composure and the
desire to live my life as she would want me to do, but I still struggle to see
the glass as half full. In these times
of global news casting, I wonder how other families cope with the misery in the
world, their loved ones being killed in war, ravished by disease, and displaced
by natural disaster. On any given day,
so many tragic things happen and so many lives are lost before their time that
I feel a common bond with those suffering and mourning their losses. Indeed, I
pathologically gravitate to embrace those who have suffered or are still suffering
some personal or family tragedy. This
may also reflect in part my career of 30+ years as an intensive care doctor
dealing with death and disease.
Which brings me to the present…..I have had several personal
scares in my life, the most recent one occurring, eerily, this last week. My PSA had been increasing over the last year
but the level surged even higher in the last two months. It was time for a prostate biopsy; all of my
medical friends and urologist agreed with the decision. I had to prepare with clear liquids on
Thursday, I sat at home alone feeling sorry for
myself, drinking lemonade and fumbling unsuccessfully trying to make
jello (OK, I realize this is pathetically funny) in between a succession of
Netflix movies – desperately attempting to ignore the reality of what was to happen
at 8:30AM on the next day. Thursday took
forever but Friday finally came. The
procedure itself was neither eventful nor painful. I was robbed of the misery I was prepared to endure
but embarrassed by how much time I had spent anticipating the worst. There was a temporary elation that lasted some
of Friday realizing that the procedure had gone without incident and I was on
the path to mending…….. the effects of my prostate gland being jabbed by 9
needles sucking tissue for microscopic examination…….. looking for those
dreaded cells with a mind all their own that would, if allowed to, divide aggressively and brazenly
spread out of control while clearing a path, invading normal tissue and
destroying everything in their way.
My parting words with
my urologist were that he would call me Monday after the results came back. At
first he said Tuesday but his nurse corrected him and told him the biopsy
results would come back sometime on Monday.
I assumed by his lack of awareness that this was not his common routine
and that others not so fortunate would have to wait until the next office visit
to get the news of their results. I was
forever grateful to be treated like a colleague and I felt my doctor’s sympathy
in understanding what I must be going through and the realization that he could
some day be sitting in my place and want to be treated the same.
The weekend did not pass quickly. I was in pain from sitting too long in one
place and having my neck and back muscles progressively tense with fear and
anxiety. These could not even be
relieved by two messages, Jacuzzi heat, or Tylenol. The weekend was pretty miserable as I tried
my best to think positive thoughts about the biopsy results. In fact, I was exhausting myself in the process.
Monday came and so did the inevitable call from my
urologist. I feared his first few words
looking for the tone of his voice as a clue to what he was about to tell
me. His voice was somber and did not
give away the positive message that the biopsy was normal. I don’t remember anything else from those
words as I was focused for at least this moment in time with the realization that
I would not have to face any further worries about cancer, how bad it is, the
treatment options and how it would affect my short and long term lifestyle and life
expectancy. However, I am no fool and
know that the story of my prostate does not end with a negative first
biopsy. I hope to live to longer than my
father who died at near 102 so I will expect more trials and tribulations from
this gland as well as other parts of my
aging body.
I was expecting to rejoice and celebrate the good news. My friends wished me well and were relieved with
my good fortune. Thank God for all of my
friends and family who kept me sane during this latest of challenge in my
life.
But, somehow, I have not yet found myself spirited or
revitalized. Rather I am deflated and
exhausted. Sleeping more and weak, my
neck and back still tense from overwork, and now with some upper respiratory congestion
and infection due to the inevitable let-down which commonly follows overcoming some
major life challenge. I suppose I have
underestimated how much life was drained from me during the days preceding the biopsy
and after - waiting for the results. Perhaps I could control my conscious life,
but it was clear that my subconscious was on overdrive, intruding on my sleep
cycle, awakening the fears and feelings of the past, all perhaps guided by some
genetic predisposition to worry and fret like my mother did all of her life
without cause or reason.
Well, nearly a week has passed and its time to reconsider this
melancholy. I am almost 65 years old, but
I am healthy, in good shape and not overweight,
I take only one oral medication…Vitamin L (Lipitor), I have wonderful
children, three supportive sisters, accepting friends and even one who loves me. I have a beautiful and caring dance partner
and other friends to dance and practice with.
I have no financial worries and I am free to do what I want whenever I
want with whoever will tolerate me at the time. I do not have cancer of the prostate. I am a
lucky man and I should revel in the reality of my good health and good fortune.
Still life feels incomplete and uncertain; its forward or
backward momentum hanging by a thread - ready to reverse in direction with
little if any notice….one phone call, one abnormal mass felt, one fall on the
pavement, one wrong turn on the highway.
I have been given a free pass, now
several times in my life, and have emerged adversity unscathed. I am a decent person, but my wife was a much
better person. And she believed in me
and her children and lived and died with a certainty about life that was
grounded in her belief in God - which gave her boundless courage and comforted
her during her life, particularly the last years. I believe for some reason, my good fortune is
not fortuitous. I believe Scherer’s
spirit is still somewhere in the heavens looking down at me and our children, caring
for us, and keeping us safe and healthy…….. something that she unfortunately could
not do for herself. There is no other raison
d'être for my good fortune, and I have to admit that this explanation comforts
me in a way I cannot describe or even want to share.
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