DEATH TO CANCER PART IV - Well, DEATH to CANCER!!!!!!!
And the ultimate battle begins, before daylight even, early in the cold morning of November 1st......
GAME FACE IN THE DARK!!!
Dressed in my most comfortable sweat pants and my favorite over-sized Camp Fife Staff T-shirt (I bought it in a "get-rid-of-the-inventory" sale, I've never been on Camp Fife Staff), I am ready to deal my cancer one huge butt-breaking blow and kill it soundly.
You just don't want to mess with me when I have that face on, especially this early in the morning. STUPID CANCER. It does NOT stand a freakin' chance. DEATH TO CANCER!!!
I check in. The check-in lady is confused by my name. They always are. "Is it Stewart or is it Longhurst?" "It's both." "huh??" She gets the paperwork in order. I sign a consent form thus giving the hospital the authorization to host this gruelest of all battles. She asks me about my Health Care Directive. "I don't need a freakin' Health Care Directive, THE CANCER DOES!!"
A pleasant nurse finally comes and gets me (asking for Gene, my middle name and my dad's name, I guess it is play with name day) and takes me to the pre-op room. She weighs me, jokes about my BMI, Apparently if I would just grow a bit taller, my BMI would go down. Right. The needle poking process starts, an IV is inserted into my hand.
The Anesthesiologist shows up, a Scottish bloke about my age. He is impressed with my name. Says I must be royalty. Stewart-Longhurst. He says his clan owns an old castle in the homeland and asks if the Stewart clan owns one. I tell him we were thrown out of Scotland because we kept overthrowing the kingdom. And if there was a Stewart Clan Castle, it was probably one we stole from some other clan. He thinks I'm funny. I AM. I've mocked and made fun of cancer, cancer treatments, doctors and pot dealers for nearly eight months. And now I just KILL the freakin' cancer. I AM FUNNY!
He asks if I have any questions and I ask if it is really general anesthesia because I once woke up during a colonoscopy and it was not a pleasant experience. I told him I thought they used the date rape drug so I wouldn't remember the procedure, but certainly felt it. He blurted "no one will rape you in this hospital." And bolted out.
CRAP!! I just offended the guy that is supposed to keep me alive and asleep at the same time.
Dr Lance shows up next. He's looking fine. No ribs sticking out of his chest. He tells Hanna his time in the hospital dealing with pain from the fall off his horse forced him to see his mortality and he now understands patients and pain management much more. He was already a very compassionate doctor, having lost his own father to cancer. Now he is even better. He is on his A game. DEATH TO CANCER. We are ready.
I say my goodbyes to my sweetheart (very temporary goodbyes as I am absolutely sure that I will be the huge victor in this deadly battle) and they wheel me into the operating room.
There stands Dr. Scottish Dude. I say to him "I think I offended you earlier. I didn't mean to. I'm profusely sorry." He nods and says "I'm OK." "We're Scottish brothers right?" "Right, Scottish brothers." And that is the last thing I remember.
After a weird dream about how our personal belongings from our house were being stored in the operating room because we were moving and somehow they ended up there and the nurses were freaking out, I wake up.
Dr. Lance is sitting at a desk across from me typing into a computer. He sees me stirring and walks over. "The procedure was a complete success."
YES!!! VICTORY TO ME!! DEATH TO CANCER!!!
He later confirms this to Hanna, showing her a real-time ultrasound picture of my prostate, taken from my Anus. The picture clearly shows the tumor gone and the prostate intact around where it was, meaning the cancer had not spread before we killed it with a huge 40 degree below 0 ice ball.
HUGE WIN!! HUGE VICTORY!! DEATH TO CANCER!!!
Dr. Scottish Dude stops in to say hi. "I kept you alive and asleep at the same time." I thank him. All the staff truly did a great job, thus ensuring my huge victory. He encourages me to go find the Stewart Clan castle and pay my respects. Bucket List for sure.
The anesthesia finally starts to wear off and I'm encouraged to get out of bed and get dressed. Fortunately, Hanna is there to help. Dressing is now a chore as there is a Catheter hanging from me going to a pee bag attached to my leg. That makes dressing while dizzy a bit more challenging.
And then the funnest part of the battle victory party. I ride a wheel chair out to the car.
Game face is gone. It has been spent. Smiles return.
In the car, Lauren Daigle's "You Say" is playing on a random radio station Hanna has on. Coincidence? I think not. I do not fight this battle alone. I am constantly flanked by angels every day. And friends. And family. And great medical professionals. And other Prostate Cancer Warriors. And Hanna. And lots of Lauren Daigle music. Clear to the very end.
Once home, Hanna and I collapse into each other's arms and have one of those long weeping sessions we started having the night I was diagnosed.
This time they are tears of relief. Tears of victory. Tears of having our life back.
CANCER IS DEAD.
GAME FACE IN THE DARK!!!
Dressed in my most comfortable sweat pants and my favorite over-sized Camp Fife Staff T-shirt (I bought it in a "get-rid-of-the-inventory" sale, I've never been on Camp Fife Staff), I am ready to deal my cancer one huge butt-breaking blow and kill it soundly.
You just don't want to mess with me when I have that face on, especially this early in the morning. STUPID CANCER. It does NOT stand a freakin' chance. DEATH TO CANCER!!!
I check in. The check-in lady is confused by my name. They always are. "Is it Stewart or is it Longhurst?" "It's both." "huh??" She gets the paperwork in order. I sign a consent form thus giving the hospital the authorization to host this gruelest of all battles. She asks me about my Health Care Directive. "I don't need a freakin' Health Care Directive, THE CANCER DOES!!"
A pleasant nurse finally comes and gets me (asking for Gene, my middle name and my dad's name, I guess it is play with name day) and takes me to the pre-op room. She weighs me, jokes about my BMI, Apparently if I would just grow a bit taller, my BMI would go down. Right. The needle poking process starts, an IV is inserted into my hand.
The Anesthesiologist shows up, a Scottish bloke about my age. He is impressed with my name. Says I must be royalty. Stewart-Longhurst. He says his clan owns an old castle in the homeland and asks if the Stewart clan owns one. I tell him we were thrown out of Scotland because we kept overthrowing the kingdom. And if there was a Stewart Clan Castle, it was probably one we stole from some other clan. He thinks I'm funny. I AM. I've mocked and made fun of cancer, cancer treatments, doctors and pot dealers for nearly eight months. And now I just KILL the freakin' cancer. I AM FUNNY!
He asks if I have any questions and I ask if it is really general anesthesia because I once woke up during a colonoscopy and it was not a pleasant experience. I told him I thought they used the date rape drug so I wouldn't remember the procedure, but certainly felt it. He blurted "no one will rape you in this hospital." And bolted out.
CRAP!! I just offended the guy that is supposed to keep me alive and asleep at the same time.
Dr Lance shows up next. He's looking fine. No ribs sticking out of his chest. He tells Hanna his time in the hospital dealing with pain from the fall off his horse forced him to see his mortality and he now understands patients and pain management much more. He was already a very compassionate doctor, having lost his own father to cancer. Now he is even better. He is on his A game. DEATH TO CANCER. We are ready.
I say my goodbyes to my sweetheart (very temporary goodbyes as I am absolutely sure that I will be the huge victor in this deadly battle) and they wheel me into the operating room.
There stands Dr. Scottish Dude. I say to him "I think I offended you earlier. I didn't mean to. I'm profusely sorry." He nods and says "I'm OK." "We're Scottish brothers right?" "Right, Scottish brothers." And that is the last thing I remember.
After a weird dream about how our personal belongings from our house were being stored in the operating room because we were moving and somehow they ended up there and the nurses were freaking out, I wake up.
Dr. Lance is sitting at a desk across from me typing into a computer. He sees me stirring and walks over. "The procedure was a complete success."
YES!!! VICTORY TO ME!! DEATH TO CANCER!!!
He later confirms this to Hanna, showing her a real-time ultrasound picture of my prostate, taken from my Anus. The picture clearly shows the tumor gone and the prostate intact around where it was, meaning the cancer had not spread before we killed it with a huge 40 degree below 0 ice ball.
HUGE WIN!! HUGE VICTORY!! DEATH TO CANCER!!!
Dr. Scottish Dude stops in to say hi. "I kept you alive and asleep at the same time." I thank him. All the staff truly did a great job, thus ensuring my huge victory. He encourages me to go find the Stewart Clan castle and pay my respects. Bucket List for sure.
The anesthesia finally starts to wear off and I'm encouraged to get out of bed and get dressed. Fortunately, Hanna is there to help. Dressing is now a chore as there is a Catheter hanging from me going to a pee bag attached to my leg. That makes dressing while dizzy a bit more challenging.
And then the funnest part of the battle victory party. I ride a wheel chair out to the car.
Game face is gone. It has been spent. Smiles return.
In the car, Lauren Daigle's "You Say" is playing on a random radio station Hanna has on. Coincidence? I think not. I do not fight this battle alone. I am constantly flanked by angels every day. And friends. And family. And great medical professionals. And other Prostate Cancer Warriors. And Hanna. And lots of Lauren Daigle music. Clear to the very end.
Once home, Hanna and I collapse into each other's arms and have one of those long weeping sessions we started having the night I was diagnosed.
This time they are tears of relief. Tears of victory. Tears of having our life back.
CANCER IS DEAD.
Romans 8:28 says it all.
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