I have the Big C. Unfortunately, I do not belong to some exclusive club, to say the least. It seems like about half the people I know currently have or have survived the Big C.
My urologist diagnosed me with prostate cancer back in December. He said I have a small malignancy in a very enlarged prostate. I guess that’s considerably preferable to having an enlarged malignancy in a small prostate.
My doctor told me that I was going to live. The way he said it was one sentence too long, “You will not die from prostate cancer. You will die from something else.” He could have just stopped with, “You will not die from prostate cancer,” but for some reason had to add the gratuitous sentence, “You will die from something else.” I could have figured that part out all on my own.
The medical establishment is treating me with a combination of radiation and hormonal therapy. As I understand it, I will become radiant, and finally get in touch with my feminine side after all these years as exclusively male. I might even get hot flashes, which naturally reminds me of when my Mom was going through her “change of life.”
Dad would be driving our Dodge with Mom in the passenger seat and me in the back of the car. Back in the 1950s, cars did not have push button windows. You manually rolled the windows down or up. The conversation went something like this, “Dave, it’s hot. Please roll down your window so we can get some air in here.” About two minutes later, “Dave, it’s getting pretty cold in here. Please shut the window.” Mom alternated the requests every few minutes ultimately deleting the word “please.”
Dad was accommodating at first and then grew increasingly impatient. “Rose, I keep doing what you want. Make up your mind. I don’t understand what’s going on.” Well, if I actually do get hot flashes, I will be able to understand what my Dad never did.
The question one might ask is whether there is anything positive about my getting the Big C. You bet there is. I not only intend to play the cancer card, but if you were to see my hand, you would notice I have five cancer cards, which should beat a straight flush every time.
I can only imagine that were I to get stopped by a police officer, invited to a function I don’t wish to attend, asked by my bride to take out the garbage, my response would always be the same, “I have cancer.” I realize that avoiding my responsibility has nothing to do with my having cancer, but a man can always try.