Radioactive

The Tuscaloosa Years

Medical Update-

So, I have had my head bandaged for a week now.  Today, the Kat Lady and I are off to do all things medical.  While she sees her dermatologist at USF, I will scoot over to Moffit to have my bandages removed. Originally we were supposed to handle that ourselves, but we had a call asking me to come back and let Dr. Harrington, or someone on his staff, remove the dressing and check the healing progress of the wound.  Whatever. 

Then, I will return and pick up Kath and drive her to Naples to see her rheumatologist.  Her meds have not been effective and her doctor needs to see her in person to make the proposed changes. Rules, apparently.  Someday FaceTime will be enough, but now a 3 hour drive to get there is required for insurance purposes.

So, I am posting now, as, depending on the weather and traffic, it has the makings of a long, long day.  I was slow to post last week due to a long drive home from North Carolina, and I don't want to do that again.

On The Radio: Love Has No Pride, Bonnie Raitt
In My Bloodstream: Old folks drugs - the regular stuff

                                                       I looked too good to be that sick.

Last week we left Dr. Salter and  introduced you to the treatment options which were ultimately recommended at UAB.  Here is the inside story on the events which landed us, inevitably,  in chemotherapy.

My first encounter at the University of Alabama Comprehensive Cancer Center in Birmingham was with Dr. Marshall Urist, a surgical oncologist.  We reviewed my history of melanoma in Toronto from January of 1993.  According to those records, "tissue from the scalp represented the desmoplastic variant of spindle cell melanoma, which is commonly seen in the head and neck, and can be quite aggressive in behavior".  We all know that, right?  Two weeks later the surgeon had excised the melanoma from my scalp.  The pathology report had revealed no further evidence of malignant melanoma.  The margins were clear.  The operation had been deemed successful.

There had been a follow-up with Dr. Starr in March , 1995.  Four biopsies had been taken then, and the resection margins appeared free of tumor.  Four basal cell carcinomas had been removed successfully at that time.  It had certainly appeared, then, that I was home free.

In our initial meeting, with that as a foundation, Dr. Urist  re-examined those sites on my scalp and upper back.  Biopsies confirmed  an unfortunate recurrence of melanoma, essentially on the same sites as before.  The belief that my cancer had been beaten in Toronto was indeed premature.  So in the spring of 1996, Dr. Urist excised the new lesions and ordered a computerized tomography scan, with contrast, of the chest.  It revealed two nodules in the left lower lobe.  The diagnosis was metastatic melanoma to the lung.   I was referred to Dr. Donald Miller for further treatment.

The meeting with Dr. Miller was somber, to say the least.  He explained that our situation was not at all good.  Melanoma had continued to hound me relentlessly.  This new site appeared to be the last straw.  The doctor was addressing my situation in a cautionary fashion.   I guess discussing one's demise is difficult, even for oncologists.  With treatment, he was still not expressing much optimism.  However, he proposed a protocol that, hopefully, would delay the progression of the disease.  I would begin Mastrangelo chemotherapy, beginning in early May.

Our drive home from Birmingham was mostly quiet.  Neither of us knew quite what to say and any conversation was stilted and mundane. My mind, however, was still racing - filled with "what nows?"

Finally home, and inside, we began to uncoil our emotions.  I said to Kath that our job was to do whatever we could.  We would enter into the proposed program and fight with all we could muster.  If that did not work, life was in God's hands.  We do our job.  He does his.

Now, what about our kids?  I chose not to tell them the circumstances.  I was worried about the disruption to their lives.  They would know about the chemo, but we would not mention the sunset clause which seemed more probable than possible.  The only person whom we felt we could trust with the real situation was Bob Keith.  He had brought us to Tuscaloosa to run the business, and now, the commitment which we had made was going to be broken.

I shared the news of my illness with Bob, and offered to help him find my replacement for the business. His reaction was not what I expected.   He said firmly, that I was not going to be replaced because he would fight with us and we would  all beat this cancer.  He would have it no other way.  His faith in God and me could not be bent.
My faith in me was not as steadfast.

                                                             Edith and Bob Keith

Next week a short break from cancer.  I know our topic will be divisive.  We will  talk about faith.

Within our circle of family and friends we have a massive chasm separating  those who deeply depend on religion and those who overtly mock those who believe in God.

I  love each and every one of them, no matter what they believe.  My job is not to judge, but to be tolerant.  The marriage of science and faith is oft times tricky, but not impossible.  There are questions in religion, but so too, are there discoveries in science.  Miracles do happen.

In my story, science and faith have been intertwined again and again.  I am not asking you to believe, only to consider.   And reflect.

Next week.