Another Way to Beat Cancer!
The very sweet
Michael Di Gesu is hosting a special hop for fellow blogger,
Melissa Bradley, who is in the midst of a fight with cancer. You can help support Melissa by making a donation to her
Go Fund Me account that has been set up to help cover medical expenses. Contributions to today 's hop will be included in an anthology which will be sold to also help raise money. Micheal and Melissa have my permission to use this post however they see fit.
I must add some prayers and hugs for Melissa. She's kicking cancer in the pants...so you go girl!!!
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I wanted to write my brother's triumph story, because cancer isn't what it used to be. More and more people are survivors. That's the story I wanted to tell. A story about how he battled cancer. And won.
The story would begin with my brother admitting he had the flu. He was tired, run down and finally willing to see a doctor. X-rays showed a mass. And when I say mass, I mean a football-sized tumor situated between his heart and lung.
Surgery was scheduled and a very unhappy Grub (my family has a tendency toward odd nicknames) was trying to wrap his brain around his rapidly changing world. He didn't have the flu. And he couldn't be fixed with rest and an antibiotic.
He had cancer.
He was only 46. A paramedic fireman with four little kids. He had a good life. He was happy and funny. He was the kind of guy who would let his girls paint his nails and add rollers to his hair and then "forget" they were there and go to the 7-11 down the road to get a cup of coffee while his kids hooted with delight.
This wasn't fair. He didn't have time to be sick; no time to battle cancer.
But he would do what he had to do. He checked into a local hospital. They were going to see about removing the tumor. We prayed the tumor was growing from the lung...people live all the time with one lung, right?
But fate wasn't cutting him any slack. His surgery was a fail. The tumor was growing from the heart, and if they cut it out...well, not too many people are living without a heart.
The local hospital recommended transport to the Cleveland Clinic, but we were warned- he'd probably not survive the ambulance ride. He was in bad shape. They were honestly amazed he'd lived as long as he had with the tumor. It was huge.
He did survive the ride, but Cleveland Clinic offered no more hope. It only got worse. He was diagnosed with
Angiosarcoma, a very rare, very aggressive form of cancer. Basically, anywhere he had blood flow, there could be a tumor.
My brother, still naive to this whole cancer business, asked if he should stop smoking. The doctor told him not to worry about it, if he found it relaxing, there was no need to add stress to his life by trying to quit.
I knew then, he was screwed.
The story of triumph was going dark.
How much time? The tumors were highly vascular and could break off or rupture and he could go at any time. But the internet said a year, maybe five...I couldn't help but argue. The poor young doc just shrugged and nodded...I suppose he wasn't going to complete rob us of hope.
Now, I won't lie and say my brother didn't have his moments of anger and sadness. He had a good life- kids he was crazy about...a wife he loved to taunt..a job that he looked forward to going to. I mean, come on...it wasn't fair!
Where the hell was the triumph?
My brother lived for months, not days. And in that time, he entertained friends. When visitors came, my brother made the coffee insisting that even people with cancer had to be gracious...no one likes an a**hole, not even a pitiful one.
He kept his sense of humor, though I found little funny about his "Dead man walking" line.
And he found deeper truths. People loved him. They begged him...name a place he wanted to go and they would send him, but he knew...no place was as beautiful as home. No event as spectacular as watching his kids come off the school bus.
My brother died in October 2006. His final evening was spent watching an episode of
The Crocodile Hunter with my other brother, Dennis. Dennis told me Grub watched the episode of Steve, the Crock Hunter, poking at rattle snakes and Grub told him-
no wonder the crazy bastard was killed by an animal...he was insane! Dennis laughed and told him the Crock Hunter was probably going to meet him at The Pearly Gates and bitch slap him for the comment.
Then Grub went to sleep. Simple as that. Closed his eyes and slipped away.
As I write this, I still get mad. I still wish my brother had been one of the many who call themselves cured. But he's not. But I long ago realized...my brother never lost his humor, his humanity, or his spirit.
He had cancer, but it didn't have him.
As my big brother explained to me-
I've lived my life on hot dogs, cigarettes, and no more than four hours of sleep a night. It's no wonder I have cancer. The amazing thing is I didn't get it sooner. How the hell can I bitch? Little kids get cancer. Now, those are the poor little SOB's you should feel bad for. People prodding them with needles and crap...and they don't even know why. No, I'm not happy about taking a dirt bath, but there are worse things happening in this world.
My big brother is my hero. He went through hell, but he came out an angel.
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My brother (Ken, AKA Grub) doing what he loved most...
spending time with his kids.
Tabitha, Taylor, Bart, and MacKenzie,
Summer 1999 |
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