The start of a new day…

The start of a new day…

September 1, 2006 – the start of a new day in my life. I write this as I am sitting in the waiting area at the MD Anderson Cancer Center Clark Clinic, 10th floor, Clinical Center for Targeted Therapy. Yes I know, that’s a mouth full. But considering the size of this place, it takes a mouth full to know exactly where you are in a sprawling maze of buildings, parking decks, and hallways. In addition to MD Anderson, there is a Heart Center, a Children’s Hospital, a Women’s Hospital, a Shriner’s Hospital, and on and on and on. The entire complex of facilities is enormous, beyond description. Yet at the same time it’s a well organized, easy to get around mouse maze.

I am excited and heartbroken all at the same time. The excitement part is easy; I have so looked forward to this day, and something in my gut is telling me this is going to be a trip well worth the time and effort. MD Anderson is world renowned. If there has ever been a place that can help me, this has got to be it. There is a tremendous amount of clinical research conducted here (read: guinea pig). My experience with the staff here to date has been nothing short of amazing. Instead of simply relying on the data collected on me to date, they are going to conduct their own tests, do their own evaluation, even review the tissue samples from my surgery in March 2005. One of the clinical nurses I spoke to on the phone explained that 25% of all the pathology reports they have seen contain some type of error in them. Yikes! I’ve often wondered if the scans, lab work, etc., a truly accurate. Think about it; someone is sitting in a room, looking at a computer screen for hours on end, review my clinical data. How often does that person misread a scan, or overstate a situation, or completely miss a tumor or cancerous spot? We are all human, it’s bound to happen. Yikes….

The heartbroken part is simply looking around me. There are folks that have masks over the mouths, something that I had to do when I was in the worst times of treatment, when you body is susceptible to infection due to the damaging affects of chemo. There are still others lying down on recliner chairs, unable to sit up due to the lack of energy. A lot of folks don’t have hair. Some people cannot walk without the assistance of a loved one. Chemo is ruthless when it comes to the damage it does to the body. These are painful reminders of what cancer is really like, of how cancer does not discriminate, of how cancer attacks with the force and fury of a hurricane, wiping things out in its path. Cancer is cruel, evil. Being here and seeing this makes me want to fight even more, to beat this damned disease.

As a cancer survivor, you learn to "hope for the best and expect the worst". This mantra was a painful reminder for a gentleman I met today, Truman. Truman lives in Lake Charles, Louisiana, and he and his wife were at MD Anderson today for a checkup. Truman is a black man with skin that goes beyond the color brown, approaching the color of the darkest coffee bean you have ever seen. His skin however was marked with pink and white splotches, scars from melanomas that were surgically removed and the ensuing radiation. I asked where they were staying, not knowing exactly how far Lake Charles is from Houston. He explained they were in Houston only for the day; Lake Charles is a 2 hour drive away. We exchanged conversation for about an hour, enjoying our company as we waited to see the same doctor. I was called in first to see the doctor, so I told him good luck and God bless. He said the same and that was it. Two and a half hours later I heard someone yelling at me down the hallway as I approached the elevator to leave for the day (it was well after 5PM by now). It was Truman, walking slowly with the assistance of a cane, his wife helping him toward the elevator. "Is dat him?" he yelled down the hallway. I laughed and told him to come on, I'll hold the door for you. As he got on the elevator he said, "Well, we be here fo' another 6 o' 7 weeks". You see, Truman's checkup turned into a discussion that his cancer had returned. You hope for the best and you expect the worst. Dammit, this disease is Satan at his finest. Just when you think you have it whipped, it rears its ugly head again and SLAPS you across the face. I can't wait to see Truman again. We are about as opposite as it gets from a societal standpoint, but we are brothers in Christ fighting the same, ugly battle. You hope for the best....

This place is overwhelmed with patients waiting to see doctors! Today was basically an introduction to MD Anderson. I learned more about what they do, they learned more about me and my condition. I’ll be getting a call from them on Tuesday to set up appointments for next week (Monday being the Labor Day holiday). It sounds like a lot of tests and lab work is in order next week. My oncologist did mention a clinical trial that is opening up soon, but it’s too early to tell if I will qualify for it. The tests will determine what the next step is.
Check in next week, and have a great holiday weekend. Till next time, Brian….