Cancer and the 2 percent statistic
By Steve Sayer
I recall clearly the first time I heard the word cancer.
I was 10 years old.
A family member loved his filterless Camel's so much that he dragged on three (3) packs a day for thirty (30) years plus - that would eventually morph to countless tears that Saturday afternoon at a funeral home in Torrance, California decades ago.
At the funeral my mom bent down to meet my eyes - at eye level - while holding both of my hands and told me cancer killed the man in the casket. “Honey, never smoke - promise me.” I looked up to her and said, “I won’t.”
My cancer (skin) was caused by too much fun in the sun.
My fault 100%.
My mom had never warned me about the sun back in the 1960's. Heck, there were a lot of things that harmed us all those years ago that we've now become cognizant about in 2023 - thanks to Medical and science research.
So … .
Growing up in Southern California in the 60s and early 70s one went to the beach to body surf and play volleyball.
Summer after summer after summer - I went with my buddies with The Rolling Stones, Beatles and the Doors churning out their new number 1 hits blaring from portable transistor radios here and there on the beach.
When I was 17, I had my first basal cell cancer removed from my left shoulder during my initial visit to a young thick-mustached Dermatologist in Redondo Beach, California.
I recall the doctor shaking his head as he said with a light reflecting from his lit / thick magnified spectacles that shined brightly into my eyes - that if I stayed out of the sun for the rest of my life, I would still have basal cancer pop up, or worse Melanoma.
The damage from the sun was already - well done.
Ok, I responded to the doctor - thanks for the sunscreen samples and then went straight to A&W Root Beer on Pacific Coast Highway by Torrance beach and bought a burger with all of the toppings and went on to the beach in a tank top and trunks directly thereafter - with sunscreen.
Fast forward to late 2019.
I went to see another Dermatologist in San Juan Capistrano, California in 2019.
By this time I had eight Mohs performed with number nine (9) being a growth that I neglected until I noticed I bled easily - especially when I shaved.
The Doctor performed an in-office procedure for my Number 9 Mohs a week later.
It didn’t go so well as I had a local to numb the area just behind / below my left ear as they sliced into my neck that wound up with (2) nurses pressing on my neck to stop the bleeding.
By then I felt warm blood running down my face and neck with the Doctor asking me if I’m light headed. That was the last thing I remembered as I blacked out.
When I came to, I had 55 internal and external stitches and white bandages covering my neck. I looked like a classic half covered Egyptian mummy. Tests later evinced that my squamous cancer was eradicated - "quote, un-quote."
Mohs are successful 98.0 percent of the time. Even Jimmy "The Greek" Snyder would be happy with such odds.
In-office Mohs surgery has the highest cure rate of basal and squamous cell carcinomas in high risk areas such as the face: when compared with about 93 to 95 percent with a standard excision.
One year later, I had a tumor at the same spot as my 9th Mohs that extended beyond my left ear that seemingly grew overnight. I looked like I had 2 1/2 ears.
However as fate would have it - I represented a 2.0% that day / calendar year.
Someone has to fill that category each calendar year
I went to my family doctor who recommended me to a series of Oncologists who all acted and talked like my first Dermatologists back in '74.
A rush was made to get two more examinations that led to surgery - that led to IV chemo and radiation treatments - which led to hair loss and 50 pounds gone - including muscle atrophy.
Test after test were taken and repeated during the course my treatments. My veins were getting all used up - so - "... just poke me again - Just Do It - pleaze," as the stoic nurse examined my arms to 'draw more blood' as if he was Count Dracula.
The taste of food disappeared into thin air. My zeal for food - gone. My mouth was like a cotton ball. I was so nauseated and weak from that double - double dose of chemo / radiation, that I just rolled up like a Rollie Pollie and slept.
I gargled 12 times a day when the doctors told me at least 4 times a day in order to avoid internal radiation sores in mouth and throat. I fought hard as long as I could until fatigue swept in and put me smack back in bed instead of an arm chair.
My left salivary gland, as per my personal cancer diary, was shut down from radiation treatments at about week 4.
I'd choked on just water - because of the pain in my narrowing and deeper than deep sore throat, and forced soup down me - only after - my radiation doctor said she might have to place a food tube in my chest.
I'd be six feet under, or sent up into Earth's orbit with Scotty if I had chosen not to have both chemo and radiation treatments according to three (3) doctor ops.
The reason I was reluctant to have chemo and radiation was the sheer fact of chronic diseases (Including my teeth and gums) that I shall be vulnerable to in 10 to 15 years - as per all the doctors I interfaced with.
Some of those - the Big C.
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The hardest moment(s) during this entire time period from 2019 to 2022?
Sick kids.
Hands down.
The little ones that I was destined to meet - with their steadfast parents waiting in line to be saturated with laser accurate 21st century Buck Rogers radiation treatments - while wearing customized "Jason Voorhees?the 13th" look alike mask to avoid movement and ensure accuracy.
The hardest / toughest were the selected kids who did not know they were terminal.
Just her / his doctors, their parents and older siblings knew.
Those young Braves were the added inspiration for other and myself - to live life to the fullest.
Perhaps this is why I'm so adamant about food safety and pathogens? Food-borne microscopic pathogens are preventable - as selected microscopic cancers can now be precluded as well.
These little rascals gave me courage - displayed by their actions.
These young Princesses and Daniel Boone's also layered me with true-blue hope - even when one too many times there was no hope for themselves.
Imagine.
So did their parents lend kind words who fought as hard as their kids to just put on a happy face for their young ones.
I'll never forget the young patients forced smiles given directly to me, eye to eye - like my mom did the last century - to be brave and to get better. I repeated to them what was repeated to me: Get it done, with a smile.
Wow.
Cancer changes one forever, regardless of one's age.
If you have gone through a similar experience - you know all too well the many ups and downs cancer brings to families.
My Dad passed in 2019 - my Mom in 2021. My surrogate mother and father passed in between - as COVID 19 struck the world. At times I thought I was on deck.
I was really being tested by the man upstairs on this one.
One of several consolations I had was what the late Ruben Medina, a former USDA inspector and close family friend had told me years before - "The harder / tougher one's life is, the closer one is to God."
My immune system had been severely compromised during my treatments, as I contracted the Shingles and Bell's Palsy during my treatments. If I had contracted COVID -19 as a mid-sexagenarian, I might have been just another stat - and that would be that.
Listen.
Countless others are living proof that simple words or gestures of human kindness to one another can help people who may have issues with cancer or other diseases - that you may not know about. Including too - depression - with its cold social stigma that still exist in 2023.
My doctors know how appreciative I was of their services.
But I shall never ever forget the "Little Big" children who'll never drive a car while listening to Rock-N-Roll music; or go on summer vacations to appreciate reflecting lakes, Grand Canyons; nor wonder at the towering Red Wood Giants of Northern California - or surf / play volleyball - not even a single soda pop on the rocks - because they're all swallowed up six feet under in 2023.
Nor shall I forget their parents who are forever and ever deeply scarred for life.
Parents should never ever have to bury their children.
My cancer is not 100 percent cured.
I never rang the Bell.
But I'm a very lucky person, and I'm better for it all today.
My cancer is in cautious "remission," with quarterly check ups.
Whenever possible - open up and give / donate to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.
Simply because there are many innocent kids suffering and dying right this moment from the Big C as you read and reflect.
Perhaps future research can cure cancer once and for all despite ones age - via continued donations / research and omnipresent / evergreen prayers.
Do it too - for the hollowed out parents.
Capacity builder for the food innovation sector
1 年You are a brave man! I'm grateful you keep on sharing and teaching while going through all this challenge.
Next Trend Realty LLC./wwwHar.com/Chester-Swanson/agent_cbswan
1 年Thanks for Sharing.