Roger has oral cancer. I want to get this out and face it head on during one of the worst years of my life, 2008.Let's go back, let's go back, let's go way on way back when. Let's go back to 1970.In July of 1970, a sulking eleven year old named Lorrie (ME!) was being transported from Blacksburg, Virginia, to her new home Columbia, South Carolina.
Two weeks earlier, a young man across town named Roger (MY HUSBAND!) was being told that he had cancer. For those of you who didn't know, Roger was diagnosed with cancer when he was 17 and was given a 2% chance to live. His parents were told that he would be dead before his 18th birthday. He fought it for six horrendous years and managed to finish college and even play basketball during his second senior year in high school. He missed his "real" senior year due to operations, recuperation from same, chemo, radiation, etc.
Let's go back to 1991. A single, surly, 32 year old (ME!) was being told by her new boyfriend (ROGER!) that he had fought cancer for 6 years and could never create a child with me. "Who cares?" I said blithely. "We can always adopt." And I think you know how that story ended. Why if it was a movie, I'd pick a Barry Manilow song!
You wouldn't believe where I've been,
The cities and towns I been in
from Boston to Denver and every town in between.
The people they all look the same,
only the names have been changed.
But now that I'm home again I'll tell you what I believe:
It's a Miracle
a true blue spectacle,
a miracle come true.
We're together baby,
I was goin' crazy till the miracle came through.
Now you're here and my arms are around you
and baby they'll be dancin in the streets
for the miracle, a true blue spectacle,
the miracle is you!!
Now let's go back to September 2007 to an event that I chronicled in a previous blog post. State employees may change dental insurance only every other October. October 2007 was approaching and I vaguely remembered that Roger hadn't been showing me his beautiful just-cleaned-straight-from-the-dentist teeth for a long time. And I worried that he might need massive, expensive dental work. And there's this thing that state employees can get called "Super Dental" which will cover almost all dental expenses. It's expensive though, and I didn't want to add it unless it was needed.
So I called the dentist and the receptionist sternly told me that my darling husband had not been in to see the dentist since 2004. I made an appointment for him, and sure enough, he needed massive dental work, and it was done in January 2008 when the Super Dental went into effect, and we all lived happily ever after.
NOT SO FAST.
Roger went for his regular cleaning and checkup in December and casually mentioned that the dentist had pulled up his tongue and did a digital examination. My perverted mind instantly jumped to a inner discourse over the word "digital" and how it had been somehow reduced to a dirty word, even though it's a perfectly nice little word that simply means that the dentist ran his fingers all over Roger's mouth.
The dentist found a red place on the bottom of Roger's tongue. Now run to the mirror right now and look under your tongue. Does it look familiar? I bet I could count on my fingers (digitally) the number of times I've looked under my tongue--or the number of times a DENTIST had pulled out my tongue to examine it.
"It needs to come off, but he's not real worried," Roger said.
I knew. Somehow, I just knew. I JUST KNEW. But I didn't say anything.
Two weeks later he went to an oral surgeon and they numbed the tongue and clipped it and sent it off for a biopsy. The follow up consult was scheduled for two weeks.
"He didn't seem real worried," Roger said.
I said--nothing.
Monday, December 22.
Roger came in our bedroom at 10:00 AM, back from his appointment. "Not good news," he said. It's MALIGNANT.
I rolled over and sleepily said, "I knew I would save your life someday," and went back to sleep. For I knew this. I knew from the moment that I met him that someday I would save his life. And I knew everything would be ok.
NOT SO FAST.
On Christmas Eve I was in the emergency room begging them for a shot that would stop my crying. I could not stop crying. I have never cried so much in my life. I.Could.Not.Stop.Crying. They gave me a hearty thumbs up and a referral to a psychiatrist.
It mostly IS ok, but the margins are not clean. There is still a tiny amount of malignant cells in his mouth. So he went back yesterday for his first consult with the Next New Doctor, the oncology oral surgeon.
He's going to have the rest of the malignant cells clipped out on January 9. After that he will visit the surgeon once a week for months, then once a month for FIVE years, than, the doctor said, "we will decide if you will come in once a year or once every six months."
Do I need I even tell you how often he will be visiting this doctor after five years? No, I didn't think so.
"It was caught very early," said the doctor. I'd say you're very, very lucky." For you see, a painless RED or WHITE or BLACK patch in the mouth should be removed and biopsied if it doesn't completely disappear within two weeks. When it starts to HURT, it probably has started to SPREAD and this is a very, very fatal cancer when it starts to spread. For you see, the next place it jumps is to the lymph glands, which serve as a conduit all over your body.
Please rush to this website and read about it, and PLEASE go to this website and this website and read it like you're studying for orals. Ha! Ha! You see, I still have my sense of humor!!
And it has nothing to do with his earlier cancer. That was my worst fear and it didn't come true.
As the bell drops tonight, Roger and I will be clasping hands and praying for a good 2009. Successful fibro treatment for me, clean margins for him, and a painless and quick passing for my mother, now reduced to a speechless and pathetic human being in late stage Alzheimer's.
My friends, I wish the same for you.
A good 2009.
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