The Next Phase of My Cancer Rematch: Wait and See

Over the past three months I’ve had two major surgeries, fifty radiation sessions, along with innumerable examinations, consultations, and procedures. After 8 years in remission, my cancer demanded a rematch in 2020, and the terrific healthcare team at UCSD has (I hope)  risen to the challenge.

The twice daily radiation treatments ended today, and I’m happy to report the side effects were limited to minor skin irritation and fatigue. Given that these treatments were preventative --aimed at cells that might be cancerous someday-- there’s no way of knowing if they were effective. Yet.

My fears of being overwhelmed with fatigue and radiation-induced malaise did not manifest themselves. Yay!

So far, the tally on what’s been billed for all this treatment comes to $735,196., of which I personally owe $125. Thank goodness for health insurance and medicare. While I’m glad cost isn’t a consideration for me, I’d rather see such burdens eliminated for everybody. 

The United States is the only industrialized country in the world that does not have Universal Health Coverage for all citizens. One third of the nearly three quarters of a million dollars in my situation went to support a medical bureaucracy that’s out of control, and willing to spend whatever it takes to keep Americans in its grasp.

Enough ranting about the money. 

My health care providers all seem to think I’m doing better than expected, or maybe they’re just saying that to keep my spirits up. Whatever. My spirits ARE up. 

I’ve been surrounded by professionals and family members who’ve been helpful and encouraging at every step of the way. San Diego County’s FACT system for transporting ailing oldsters like myself was a huge help in terms of logistics.

Aside from the three weeks spent in the hospital back in December, I’ve been able to do what I love the most --write-- nearly everyday. Watching the country transition out of what can only be described as a four year funk is something worth celebrating, despite the efforts of the funkmeisters to hold us back.

Meanwhile, I’ve still got a ways to go on my road to recovery. The collateral damage done while removing the cancer in my throat needs to be repaired; much of that is just a matter of time. 

The huge s-shaped scar across my chest and graft sites on my left arm and leg mind their own business, doing what it is that healing involves, most of the time. Once a week or so, they all remind me of what happened via random aches.

Being able to orally consume food and speak through a prosthesis are things to look forward to; hopefully some semblance of normalcy will return by summer. Tube feeding and writing on a white board get seriously old after a while.

I’d like to think the social bubbles most of us have lived in over the past year will also go away, but am fearful about selfish maskholes and reactionary nihilists preventing that from happening. 

I want to go to a concert. See folks I haven’t seen in this decade. And not have to dance around strangers in public to maintain proper social distancing.

In the meantime, I’ll wait. And hope. Because that’s the best medicine there is.

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Email me at WritetoDougPorter@Gmail.com