THE BOGEYMAN

Most of my friends already know. I suppose I ought to announce it on my Blog as well. I found out this week I have cancer.  ...Breast cancer. When I look in the mirror I don't say, "why me?" I say, "Only You."

It's like the Bogeyman out of nightmares, jumping up and down shouting "Booga, Booga, Booga! Scared you, huh?" With a stroke, my summer is GONE. Two weeks more of waiting, Three weeks of surgical recovery, weeks of chemo-therapy (FINALLY I'll be able to use my Tonto, "What we do next, Chemo Therapy?" line without guilt.) And I'll need a lot of physical therapy to restore the surgically removed muscle mass from under my arm. I'm not sure if we're talking three months, six months or a year. Funny thing is, I'm not scared. I fully expect to ride it out and emerge victorious.  

It is operable. In fact its a completely normal "ductile" type breast cancer. I am scheduled for surgery on June 20th. The one scary thing is, though we caught it early, it is already in one of my lymph nodes. Apparently with men, who have less breast tissue, cancer makes its way quickly into the lymphatic system. The surgery will include a "dissection" of all the lymph nodes under my right arm.  Hopefully that will stop the cancer from spreading.

I am facing this with optimism and hope, trusting in the Lord to carry me through. I have confidence in my surgeon and, as always with Kaiser, they move quick with the BIG things.

Karen is afraid I'll lose all my hair. She thinks I might look cool and tough as a cueball. I'm afraid my head is too lumpy to look cool. I'm old, fat, and diabetic: my hair is all I've got.

I've already had several opportunities to share my faith in Christ. When the doctor made the announcement--which he did with great gentleness--he was obviously prepared for fireworks because he had "backup" in the room with him, just in case. But Karen and I simply exchanged a glance, as if we both expected it, and began to ask questions... rational questions. I think this was a good testimony.

Yesterday, I Had lab work done. When I sat down I saw the young lab tech reading a phone text and crying. Wisely, I waited until AFTER she had drawn blood before speaking. I stood and said, "it does get better."
           "What does?" she asked.
           "Life."
           ..."if you say so." she sniffed.
          I opened the door, turned back and said-- gently, I hope -- "I have cancer, I say so."