The 25th Anniversary of My Cancer Diagnosis - 5/30/24

CONROE, TX -- The end of this month marks the 25th Anniversary of my Cancer diagnosis. If I had lived in a different time way before 1999, I would be six feet under. But God took pity on me. Cancer, if you survive, is a humbling experience. If you catch it early enough, it's not as bad as if you avoided the symptoms like I did, and then you get to the day where you can’t ‘avoid ‘em.’ And admittedly, I was still gung-ho, like most Veterans coming back from overseas. You have a feeling of invincibility surrounding you, and if you get hurt, you ignore the pain. Essentially that’s what I did, and it cost me. It cost me a summer of hell, unsure if I was gonna live to fall.

When I left the service in 1992, I had a physical exam, where they checked everything. It’s essentially the same as your entrance exam, where men are told by doctors examining their scrotum to turn their head to the left or right and cough. The doctor that held my manhood in his hand noted something about one of my testicles, but it would take 7 more years to manifest into cancer.

By Winter 1998/1999, I was beginning to feel back pain. I ignored it and went on about my life. As spring rolled along the pain was growing, but manageable, and then one day I palpated my abdomen, and felt something hard. And I still ignored it. The audacity. And by the last week of May ’99, the pain medication was no longer able to curb the pain. I went to a local ER doctor, who diagnosed me with an enlarged spleen. The next day I went to the VA Hospital in Houston, where I was examined. They sent me for an ultrasound of my scrotum, and that late afternoon, I was rushed into emergency surgery.

The next day after the surgery, in the late afternoon, I was released and went home. On Sunday, May 30th, my struggle with life and death really began. I was getting ready to watch the Indy 500, when I began to projectile vomit on my cover, So I went back to the hospital, and this time was admitted. You will be amazed at the amount of bile the human body makes in a day. I dang near filled a large basin multiple times before a Nasogastric Tube was placed.

Now NG tubes are very uncomfortable, and I pray you never have to have one; but in 25 years I’ve had dozens, from partial small bowel obstruction episodes. The doctor orders the tube when your digestion is blocked in some form or fashion. My initial blockage was caused by a tumor that cut off my digestion. The tube goes up one nostril while you are drinking something or chewing on ice, and it goes down into your stomach. Afterwards an X-Ray Technician comes and X-Rays your abdomen to check tube placement, just in case any adjustments need to be made.

I was confined to the cancer ward (prison) for the summer, with tubes coming out of my chest and arms. The doctors would come every morning, and chemotherapy was soon started. Of course, with chemotherapy comes the loss of one’s hair, which at the moment doesn’t seem as important in the overall scheme of things. I mean, your life comes first, then hair. The chemotherapy of course half-way kills you, but it's worse for the tumor(s). I soon started losing weight, even more than before; and for me seeing the pounds fall off reminded me of the Dachau Concentration Camp. Being skin and bones is no fun, and I still remember my father helping me get into the shower saying, “You ain’t got no ass.”

For the whole summer of 1999, I ate and drank nothing. I was fed through one of the chest tubes with a yellow, sticky substance called ’Total Parenteral Nutrition,’ which provides liquid nutrients, like carbohydrates, proteins, fats, vitamins, minerals, and electrolytes. I dreamt of food, and I began to empathize with Jews in a concentration or military prisoners of war, for I was starting to look like them, and more importantly feel the hunger of the ages. I thought about my sins, and found God again. I remember the first time a Catholic priest came in, huffing and puffing, cursing, telling me to quit feeling sorry for myself. I asked him, “Are you Methodist?” After that we got along fine, and I found laughter as much as I could.

I begged the doctors for the tumor to be removed everyday, but now looking at it from a medical professionals perspective, I can see their view. My body was in no condition for a major surgery. My lungs had been through the ringer, which is a no-go for surgery. Just walking was a chore. I was afraid to sleep flat in my bed for fear of suffocating. They pumped me so full of fluid that on occasion I would spit out loads of foam in slow motion coming from my lungs, which is an odd feeling. After months of lying in a hospital bed, the tumor relented, and I started to pass gas. Of course, accompanying the gas soon after was tons of, well, it felt like tons of, fecal material, of which was my now working intestines provided in a loose state. Think of it as the worst diaper change you ever did on your kid or grandkid, then times it by a thousand, well maybe a hundred. My Mother was a real trooper in cleaning me up, and soon after that I was able to start eating again, albeit a liquid diet, but at least something was passing my lips again.

After all the chemotherapy was nearly finished, I was able to visit home for a weekend. My father rigged a suction machine for my NG tube should I need it, but I was OK. The odd thing with my house, well, it felt foreign to me. Unfamiliar. I had grown so used to a medical setting over the past 90 days, the hospital in a way became my new home. After I finished my last round of chemotherapy I was readying to go home to fatten up for surgery. And an odd thing happened. I was prescribed medication that made me have a trance-like experience. I remember nothing of it, but the nurses reported me raising my voice to them. Also, I was making a checklist of things to do once I got back home. ‘Get a cheeseburger at McDonald’s’ was the #1 thing on my list. Also during the trance episode, I wrote ‘things’ multiple times all over my checklist. It was the oddest experience of my life.

I was able to regain weight (from my low of 110 lbs), and my lungs improved enough so I could have surgery in late October 1999. But it took years to recover enough to do something meaningful again, and even today I still get small bowel obstructions at least twice a year, with sometimes more in a given year. And when I see people wherever in Montgomery County that show signs of having had or are fighting cancer, I always approach and ask how they are doing, for I know what they are going through. The battle that it takes to survive is tough, and the toll on us and our families is great. Cancer can strike anyone. From the King of England down to Jeff the Homeless Guy in Montgomery. I just wish that everyone could see life through the prism of a cancer survivor. We all would be a lot nicer to each other, and not take life so much for granted.

Ruben can be reached at: ruben@montgomerycountynews.net