A Cancer Patient’s Story
My wife was cutting my hair in the early summer of 2003. She noticed a strange looking mole at the base of my neck and suggested I have the doctor look at it. I made an appointment with the family doctor and, upon seeing it, he recommended that it be removed. He removed it under local anesthetic and sent it to the lab. The lab results came back as malignant melanoma with a medium depth (light is less than 1mm; heavy is 4mm or greater; medium is in-between… mine was around 1.1 or 1.2mm). I made arrangements with M.D. Anderson in Houston to follow-up on the case. The first surgery, in September of 2003, was to excise a pretty good amount of flesh around where the mole was, in order to see if there was anything cancerous in the surrounding flesh, and to take out four lymph nodes in the area. The lymph nodes seem to be the filters/trash-cans of the body (outside the bloodstream). Fluids and stuff go there first and then, maybe, travel on to the bloodstream for further disposal. Anyway, the doctors found 20 or 30 diseased cells in one of my lymph nodes and so a second surgery was scheduled to investigate further. The second surgery, in November of 2003, removed 27 lymph nodes out of my neck. All these proved to be clear.
Because of the diseased cells in the first lymph node, the doctors told me about a treatment that was being tried for Melanoma patients - Interferon. They told me that it was being tried to reduce the chances of recurrence, although it only made a positive change in 15 percent of the trials so far. My wife and I decided to go ahead and try it. Treatments started on February 9, 2004, a date that has been emblazoned forever in my… life. (I started to write “brain,” I then thought of a whole string of other words. I finally settled on “life.” It’s more accurate).
Shortly after I finished my treatments, I was asked how I was doing by a good friend. In response, I wrote the following:
Thanks. It's been an interesting journey. Having made it through Death Valley, there is still a road up but the scenery is more pleasant. No more old dead trees reaching their gnarled branches out at me and scratching me as I walk by. No more vultures circling overhead with anticipation of their next meal. No more dry, thirsty wastelands; never knowing if I would make it to the next watering hole. As I rise on the road to re-enter the land of the living, I can now feel the wind in my face and hear the songs of birds. It is good. I'm not yet able to see over the horizon to where the people dwell, but I know that it's there. The old stale air is leaving my lungs as I get higher, as the fresh air starts to replace it.
It is a year now since my treatments have ended. It has taken me that long to write this. I started, but then couldn’t continue. The memory of the pain was just too great. I could no longer see the words on the screen through the tears. Even now, it’s hard to continue.
Interferon is also used for treatment of Hepatitis-C. The dose for this, however, is one-seventh the dose for Melanoma.
Interferon could be considered the antisocial drug of the millennium. I know what it did to me. I have seen a good friend of mine go through similar treatments. He has always been a friendly, jovial, full of life person. Not so on Interferon. The only way I could recognize him was because of my previous relationship with him and what I had gone through myself. I am on the road to recovery now, but it has been an uphill battle. Interferon treatments will quickly determine who your friends are. This revelation can be quite painful. Let me take the time to say how supportive Mike Holt and his staff were during this time. Mike sent me tapes to watch and books to read. Sarina called me and wrote me E-mails. I will always remember their kindness. I wrote some poems during my treatments. Mike asked if he could send them out as a newsletter. Here they are, in the order in which they were written. Thanks again, Mike, for allowing me to share these. Perhaps, if someone is going through these treatments, or knows of someone who is, they might help.
I spent the better part of a year in bed. I had very few visitors. We live in a culture that avoids the issue of death. We are uncomfortable with it. When a person has cancer, it makes those around him uncomfortable. They are faced with their own mortality, and they don’t know what to say. Many simply avoid the situation by staying away.
Where have they gone?
I’m taking drugs, they’re supposed to help,
They only cloud my mind.
My cancer’s gone, there’s nothing left,
Friends are hard to find.
Where did they go? Where have they gone?
Few are left around.
No one comes to visit now,
Those who’ve fled abound.
What did I do, what did I say,
How did I go wrong?
The loneliness is painful,
For friendship I do long.
My bed is worn from sitting,
My hands are almost lame;
My legs and arms all hurt,
My body’s racked with pain.
I am asked, “how are you?”
My life’s a waking hell.
What am I supposed to say,
“All’s good, I’m doing well?”
Don’t ask me how I’m doing,
It only makes me cry.
Tell me it’s good to see me,
Encourage me, come by.
The loneliness is whelming,
Floodwaters of despair;
I yearn to hear the words
From anyone - “I care.”
By far, the most difficult question during my treatment was “how are you”? I know that this question is meant well and that people care. The problem was that there was so much pain, that I would try to get out and be around people so that I could be encouraged. About the time that I started feeling good and my mind was focused on other things, someone would ask “how are you” and my thoughts immediately turned to the pain and agony of daily living. This brought me down into the depths of despair again. I didn’t know if this was just me, so I took the opportunity to ask other chemotherapy patients what they thought of this question. I was surprised that all of them said they had difficulties with the question and that it would be better left unasked. Some people asked me, “Then what should I say when I see you”? I responded, “Just tell me ‘Hey Eric, it’s good to see you.’”
Why ask me how I’m doing,
When the answer’s on my face?
It only takes me to,
A dark and gloomy place.
People ask me how I am,
Then they keep on walking.
What’s the point, why answer them,
Why should I keep on talking?
Look at my eyes, look at my face,
The answer is right there.
No need to ask the question,
Just look, if you care.
The lines of pain and anguish,
Are etched now, on my face;
The tears have flowed so much,
They’ve even left a trace.
People seem so hollow,
Like actors playing parts.
The words they say, they wound me,
Like fiery, stinging darts.
How do I talk to them? What do I say?
How do I relate?
My inner thoughts and feelings,
Seem to fall off of the plate.
People just want comfort,
“I’m fine,” they want to hear.
Why am I discarded,
When I’m honest and sincere?
A place of peace and comfort,
Is always on my mind;
A place where I’m accepted,
A place that’s hard to find.
A simple place, where people care,
Where people are sincere.
Where there is no double-mindedness,
Where people’s thoughts are clear.
For this place I often long,
For this place, I strive.
But is it even possible,
While I’m still alive?
Perhaps, I’ve erred, an honest mistake,
Perhaps, I have been wrong.
Perhaps the place I’m looking for,
Has been here all along.
Maybe what I’m looking for,
In people, can’t be found;
But maybe, in my own heart,
It’s time to plow the ground.
Maybe what I’m looking for,
What I long to see;
Is not about the others,
In fact, it starts with me.
There is a Website, I forget which one, but it is about getting through Interferon treatments. On it, is the following, paraphrased from memory: “As you go through Interferon treatments, some will be able to support you, some will not. Try not to dwell on those who can’t and why they can’t. Simply lean on those who are able.” The following was written in appreciation of those who were encouragements during this time. I’ll always be grateful to them.
The Few
As I go through chemotherapy,
Just what, should I dwell on?
The ‘friends’ who’ve gone, those who’ve left,
Or those who’re standing strong?
The world is full of people who
Are called fair-weather ‘friends.’
There’re really not too many,
Who’ll be there in the end.
Say ‘hi’ to people, be polite;
The ‘dance’ you need to learn.
If you don’t, you’ll step on toes,
Some bridges will be burned.
Some will support you, some don’t know how;
Some just go away.
Even so, try not to dwell,
On who has left; who’s stayed.
I thank God daily, in my prayers
For those who’re still around.
For, in them, lasting friends;
I know that I have found.
But what about the larger group,
What about the rest?
How do I relate to them?
I guess I’ll do my best.
My flesh says, ‘be gone’; get away from me,
I no longer want to see you.
My spirit says, ‘give them grace.
They deserve compassion, too.’
My mind remembers Peter,
Who denied his Lord three times.
He wasn’t damned or shunned,
In keeping with his crimes.
Oh Lord, I cry for help;
My Lord, please give me strength.
Show me how to be like you,
Merciful with grace.
Forgiving those, who’ve done me wrong;
Grace for those who’ve hurt me.
Let me learn to live my life,
In a pleasing way, to thee.
Teach me how to get along,
How to be ‘polite.’
With other peoples’ shallowness,
I shall no longer fight.
To everybody I’ll be pleasant,
My lesson, I have learned.
And I’ll deeply cherish those who’ve stayed,
The friendship has been earned.
For those who’ve stayed, those very few,
Who’ve weathered the storm adverse.
Who even stayed around,
When ‘bad’ became much worse.
For these friends, I’m grateful,
Their love is tried and true.
Is there something I can say?
Yes, I’ll say -
“Thank You!”
Eric Stromberg
January, 2005
In closing, if you know someone going through chemo, consider visiting them. If you don’t know what to say, that’s okay. No words have to be spoken. It’s good enough to just sit there. Try to avoid saying “how are you,” even if you really want to know. Just spend time and listen, you’ll get the answer. You’ll also have a friend for life.
Please feel free to contact me, especially if you or someone you know is going through Interferon treatments. It helps to know that someone understands.
Eric Stromberg, P.E.
President: Stromberg Engineering, Inc.
eric@strombergengineering.com
