I have bookmarked that blog page-and I am exceedingly jealous that no Condom Slushies were called for in my treatment (the name of them is almost as sweet as chocolate cake).

So let's discuss this over a dating game, I like to call Parcheesi...(by the way I loved Parcheesi as a child-maybe that is a clue as to who gets cancer).

Okay putting the funnies to the side. I was already in stage 2 moving to stage 3 and not in great shape. Extreme weight loss, constant pain, difficulty walking, none had alarmed me enough to get medical help earlier (after all men aren't just tough, many of us are total idiots).

Unlike you, I had the news given in person. My doctor called after all the test results were in and ordered me to meet him at the hospital. He was sitting there when I arrived at the waiting room and he pointed at the chair next to him. I refused to sit, he stood up and physically pushed me into the chair-I knew then that it was bad. He then informed me of what was going on, I nodded, shrugged, stood up and I walked away, headed towards the exit, intent on getting ice cream (yeah, go figure-'hey you're at deaths door whatta ya wanna do?' "I think I'll go get some ice cream!")

I reached the revolving door and just kept going around and around for what seemed like hours. Finally I went back to where the doctor still sat and he told me that he had already callled in and had the preliminary paperwork done for my admittance at St. Vincent's and that he had his car parked outside and would bring me down there. Still standing, I nodded grimly and collapsed right there on the damned waiting room floor of Roosevelt Hospital. Due to my behavior, I was then admitted for an overnight before being shipped to my ultimate destination downtown at St.Vincent's Hospital. The doctor did not get to drive me; however, I was brought in by two handsome ambulance attendants.

The next month and a few days involved radiation and chemo and then after 43 days I was deemed ready for surgery (my tumor had been large and in a space which although operable would have involved a lifetime bag and possibly a tube for nutrition so they opted to shrink it first-with my blessing and approval).

A specialist had been brought in at the start (I'd met him before for other digestive tract ailments). He was kind and gentle although always honest about what my future might be if I had one. He warned that even with the treatments I could be dead within a year and that the surgery itself could prove fatal. Naturally, I requested a rabbi, a priest and ministers from 2 different faiths before the surgery-I only got the Priest who looked dumbfounded as I rambled on about nonsense about my childhood, my cat, my American Tourister luggage and other silliness-I was on a morphine drip at that point. For some reason the priest never came to visit me after my operation. Which brings me to the next place-

After surgery-which began at about 11 in the morning-I lay hovering for a little more than a week, an infection developed and I kept bleeding and then the slow return to life began. There was more chemo-just to make sure nothing bad survived or could come back. Pain beyond belief-it made the earlier stuff seem like a picnic at times. The surgery was a success and then-Neuropathy! God that is a true torture and walking still is a bit off-however, I am alive which is what really matters.

(and here's a helpful hint-never try to rip out a breathing tube on your own)

One night as I stared at my mush-I was starting back to actual food instead of tube feeding- I saw my grandfather. The man was long dead; but, there he was sitting on the radiator. He smiled and and shook his head, indicating a 'No'. I was heavily chemoed and medicated with a pain killer at that point so I am unsure if it was real or not. A week later, a rather stunned doctor said the bloodwork was clean. They took several more tubes and all were the same. The doctor still tells me that the bloodwork normally takes a few months to reach the point that it did, when it did. Of course, given the gravity of my illness, he has also admitted he didn't expect me to live. Then again he didn't have my grandfather working on most of his patients.

After a few months I got to leave the hospital and friends took me home and took care of me for a while. Today, I am still touched by their loving kindness and if it were in my nature I might even get teary eyed about it. Oh, what the heck-pass the tissues...


So njqt466, we survied for some reason and although I am not at all sure what it is, I am glad that it happened.

As for the ice cream-I ate so much of it, that now I almost hate it (although it did help get my weight back).