ORDINARY
VALOR
How Prostate
Cancer Saved My Life
My journey
ROBERT
J MIGNONE, M.D., F.A.P.A.
INTRODUCTION
Slowly,
gingerly, I lowered myself into the passenger seat. Susan,
my wife, had pulled curbside at the hospital discharge exit.
She waited patiently for the strap-in ritual that was unusually
deliberate on this cool December morning of 2003. I was still
nursing my wounded genitals—they had been invaded the
day before with the implantation of some hundred-plus radioactive
seeds into my prostate. The cancer already should’ve
been on its way to smithereens.
I’d
been discharged just an hour previously, immediately upon producing
the anxiously awaited golden drops through my catheter. So
now it was on to the outpatient X-rays and, finally, home.
I
didn’t know whether I was more relieved at having cleared
the big hurdle or more apprehensive about the follow-through
ahead. I tried to relax with deep breaths, but my pulse wouldn’t
settle down.
With
that big intervention behind me, I reflected a moment on the
events that had led to the surprising diagnosis, chemical castration,
external radiation, and—just 24 hours previously—the
implanted radioactive seeds. I’d come through a crisis
of far more than a death threat. My view of life and of my
priorities had been turned upside down. But discharge day was
no time for such introspection. I’d already spent a lot
of time meditating in the past four months, and more would
follow. Right now, I would do well to concentrate on the moment.
After
the prior day’s final intervention, the rest of the game
was on and I felt like I was at the starting line for the long
marathon ahead. My head swirled a bit, and my breathing quickened
at such an image, especially since the course was only vaguely
mapped out and the finish line unclear.
“Take
off, Captain,” I barked, trying to appear lighthearted.
“Roger
that,” Susan retorted, ever ready for a spoof.
As
she pulled out into traffic, I made a promise to myself. I
knew that the years of recovery that lay before me surely would
pose mighty challenges and lessons—maybe no more than
those faced by any other man with cancer, but they were big
time for me. My life had been on the line for four months and
would continue to be for the foreseeable future; that was drama
enough. Anyhow, I was determined to make the most of the opportunity
and come out of it better off than when I went in. That was
my nature. So at that moment, I vowed to use the experience
to learn and teach.
“Sweetheart,
I’m going to write a book about all this. It probably
won’t be a thriller. After all, who am I? And who knows
what’s ahead? But I think telling my story might help
other men, let alone their wives…and maybe our sons.”
“OK,
sweetie, but first let’s get you home and settled. Are
you OK there?”
“Yes,
I’m fine, thanks. It’s just that I might as well
put this ordeal to some greater good. I’ll be damned
if I won’t come out of this wiser than when I started.”
“Of
course, Big Doc. But before you save the world, let’s
get your X-rays or scan or whatever and then take you home
to rest while I make you a nice cup of tea and some breakfast.”
******
Three
years later, I’m still jumping hurdles, still in the
race. The familiar cloud of fear hangs far overhead and I try
to keep it up there, as does the rest of humanity jogging along
with me. Many are limping, but they’re still hanging
in. I now realize that life will always be like that.
As
it has turned out, by some standards my story has been neither
glamorous nor amazing, nor has it been raw or juicy. After
all, I didn’t crash and burn and then rise from the ashes
to heroic heights. What I did accomplish was what people do
all the time: I faced being turned upside down, gathered myself,
and did the best I could to carry on with my life. The lab
tests say I’m ahead of the Grim Reaper. That’s
pretty good. And I grew up a bit. My understanding deepened,
and I lost the illusory innocence of a good boy who is rewarded
with his prayers coming true, with even getting a pass.
Because
my story has been ordinary, I’ve come to regard my experience
as remarkable (even spectacular) because I’ve seen how
it has reflected the marvelous journeys of gazillions of men
and women as they’ve worked and loved and managed their
lives as best they could—and all the while no one but
their intimates knowing anything of their heartaches. They’ve
attended PTA meetings, grooved at concerts, visited families,
and showed up at work every day with their game faces on—and
never received a medal or a news story. That’s amazing.
All over the world, people are quietly winning gold medals
of the heart. That’s the human grit, which more than
ever brings tears of admiration to my eyes. Celebrities or
even unsung heroes may be entertaining and sometimes inspirational,
but even more awesome is Everyman’s bouncing back. To
me, they’re all heroes and heroines. I’ve come
to be proud to be one of them.
In
short, I lost my innocence and grew up fast. I reinforced my
understanding that all we know is worthwhile only if we apply
it—and the application requires clearing all the smoke.
Only truth works for change. Even world-class scholars of self-care
and spirituality can get bogged down looking for pie in the
sky, unaware of what they need to actually do in order to grow.
I saw my own version of that folly and committed myself to
pass it on.
This
is not a textbook about prostate cancer or the psychology of
coping, although there are thoughts and information about both.
And it’s not a philosophical discourse on the philosophy
of faith or the existence of God, although I talk a lot about
my experience of the power of faith. Instead, this is an invitation
to walk through one man’s journey of coping with the
dark night. There have been neither guts nor glory—just
everyday triumphs over life’s mysterious fragility.
A
synopsis might read this way:
Another
cancer survival story, this one surprisingly by a man. Good
guy who thinks he has it made takes a potentially fatal hit,
goes down on one knee, wakes up, and bounces back to do his
best because he has balls , faith, a good sense of humor,
and a wonderful wife. That’s as good as it gets.
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For
further information, please send a message to rjmshrink@comcast.net
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2007 robertmignone.com © |
