Early morning thoughts

I thought about titling this, "Saturday morning, 3 am (with apologies to Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel)"

Hearing the words, "You have cancer" flipped my world into a new place. I had convinced myself that the what I perceived as a casual, no big deal thing, really was that. After all, when I saw the Uro, and she told me I needed a biopsy, and then the scheduler said that the schedule was 4-6 weeks out, somehow I thought that meant that this was just a screening tool, not something that was really important. So I relaxed.

When the call came, I was thunderstruck. I sat in the chair, and I don't think I moved for 2 hours.

Now, 10 weeks later, I'm awake in the small hours of the morning, thinking about life. No matter how often I remind myself that I'm in an eminently curable condition, the thoughts still come, unbidden, often at this time of the morning.

Have I loved enough?
Have I found love?
Who have I helped?
Who has a better life because I was in it?

These are the ultimate questions, with answers that are not clear.

Going in to surgery is the ultimate act of surrender, the ultimate loss of control. One literally puts their life in the hands of others. It's easy to consider the surgeon, and his/her team, to be nothing more than mechanics. They are in there to fix what is broken. And yet, I think we all hope that they are more than that. That we (I) are more than an uncovered square of skin and a damaged part to be removed. The best surgeons, in my experience, manage that for us.

"You have cancer"
Twice in my life, I've heard those words
First time, almost forgotten
almost a non-issue

"You have cancer"
This time
Stunned
Much to do, much to learn

"You have cancer"
How to decide?
Who to trust?
Where to go?

"You have cancer"
Slowly, the fog clears
People appear
Lessons learned

Encounters with a new brotherhood
a new club
real people, some I know

All of us on the path
Alone, yes, but together too
Isn't this what a team is?

Halbert .... Loved the poem.

Steve ... For me, painting the hall bath is getting back to nature.

Halbert, your comments hit home, I imagine with pretty much everyone here.yes. We are all in this together in a sense.
While you've been through this before, you are again being smacked in the face wth the realization that nobody is on this earth forever. We've always known that but I think I speak for more than just myself when I say that getting diagnosed with a potentially life threatening disease makes us focus on it more. All normal. Even though we know intellectually that it's highly likely that we won't die from this disease.

And regarding the thought of giving total control to the Drs. In the operating room, totally normal, I thought about that a lot. I remember saying to my wife, a couple of days before surgery, that I a, putting my life in the hands of a group of complete strangers.

Trust that you chose the right guys, and that yes, in the OR, you may be a square of skin under a blue cloth, but except for that two hour period, they are humans that care about you from the minute you hire them. That's why they do what they do.

Godspeed, you will be fine and amazed at how smoothly things will go and how quickly you recover.

Oh.... And Xanax, my friend, Xanax.

halbert said...
Prato: I've never taken a sleeping pill in my life.
Casper555: You're right, we don't have an artificial prostate (yet).
All: I went back to bed and slept an other hour or so.

Taking my bride on a V-day road trip this afternoon to a local winery or two, and then dinner.

Bravo halbert I hope that you both enjoy the Valentine weekend.

Andrew: I heard it this way once: reducing it to paper reduces it.

Good luck if I am not mistaken tomorrow is the day. See you on the other side.

You are in my thoughts today, Halbert.