It's been two and a half weeks since my last post to this blog. The week before last, Damaris and I traveled by train to Chicago to visit our eldest son Tim and our daughter-in-law Bret Nugent. We greatly enjoyed being with them, especially celebrating Tim's 30th birthday while we were there. We were blessed by fantastic weather the entire week. However, the 24-hour train rides in coach going and returning were a bit much.
The start date for my concurrent chemoradiation has been changed from Oct. 11 to tomorrow. I'm glad that my treatment is finally beginning, because we left Costa Rica to seek top-quality diagnosis and treatment for my cancer at Johns Hopkins two and a half months ago . On the other hand, I have some trepidation about the upcomng treatment, since I've been well-briefed by Hopkins staff, and read up on my own, about expected and potential side effects from my treatment. Some potential impacts, while rare, are very severe, but I have faith and commitment that a positive attitude and proactive measures will avoid or palliate them. Last week Damaris and I met with a Hopkins speech therapist who recommended specific exercises to strengthen the muscles used for swallowing. The day before, a feeding tube was placed in my stomach in case treatment effects on my ability to swallow inhibit my nutrition. I hope I won't need the feeding tube, but having it in place provides a level of insurance that I can avoid excessive weight loss during my treatment. On Friday I had a "dry run" on the linear accelerator (LAC) that will irradiate my tumors, during which the operators calibrated the LAC to ensure that the machine would precisely target the cancerous tissues programmed by my radiation oncologist, Dr. Quon. As far as I'm concerned, they can't be too careful!
Also on Friday, Damaris and I learned that a room is available for us in Hope Lodge, the American Cancer Society's facility near the University of Maryland medical campus for cancer patients from any of Baltimore's hospitals who are actively receiving cancer treatment and live more than 40 miles away. Since we live in Costa Rica, Damaris and I qualify hands-down on the latter requirement! Our lodging in Hope Lodge will be at no cost--please consider the American Cancer Society for your charitable contributions--they work with the National Cancer Institute and medical research facilities world-wide to find cures for all types of cancers. These collective efforts have produced treatment protocols such as the one I will be benefiting from over the next seven weeks. The Hope Lodge address is 636 W. Lexington Street, Baltimore MD, 21201 and the phone number is 410-547-2522 (http://www.cancer.org/Treatment/SupportProgramsServices/HopeLodge/Baltimore/index).
As I watch and sing along with "We Shall Overcome" at the end of the dedication of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial on the National Mall in Washington, DC today, I can't finish this blog without recounting my remarkable experience in the Kimmel Cancer Center the afternoon of Thursday, Sept. 29. As I left the elevator in the lobby following hydration in Outpatient Medical Oncology to help my kidneys recover, I encountered 30-40 doctors, nurses, other medical staff, and a few cancer patients seated facing a group of musicians led by a white-haired black gentleman with a microphone. I learned that he was Baltimore native Damon Harris, who had joined The Temptations as tenor in 1971. As I took a seat, Harris was recounting his experience as a 14-year Hopkins prostate cancer patient and survivor, having been told when first diagnosed that he would live no more than a year and a half. He began his performance with a Temptations song, accompanied by violin, bass, cello, saxophone, piano, and electric guitar, after which he asked his "brothers and sisters" to raise their hands. It took us cancer patients in the room a few moments to realize that he was talking about us. I raised my hand with the 4-5 other patients present. Harris then sang "Papa was a Rollin' Stone, which got us all clapping our hands to the rhythm. He then asked us patients to go up front to join hands with him, singing a more recent song he had written as we were holding hands. Finally, he commented that there was a Negro spiritual often sung in black churches, and that the congregations always stand arm-in-arm as they sing together. He asked all present to stand, hold hands, and sing along. The instrumental accompaniment began to play, and Harris began to sing "We Shall Overcome." I quickly overcame my shyness and joined him, along with others, holding back not at all as the new significance of the words to us cancer patients hit home, bringing tears to my eyes. It was an unforgettable experience.
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