Relishing this new beginning
ROGER CARLSON
The Big Easy didn’t seem to be all that easy, at times, over the past
nine months. But I have to tell you something: It’s a lot easier
right now.
A few days ago my chemotherapy doctor told me he’d like to see me
in three months for a checkup and gave me my graduation diploma by
way of a doctor’s order to get rid of this thing inbedded in my chest
called a port-a-cath. The device is a little button that makes it a
lot easier to apply the medication that has made me whole.
As a colon cancer survivor, and with the tools to send a message,
there’s a tendency to want to get on a soap box and tell everyone
what they should do, inasmuch as I’m now an “expert” on the subject
with all the first-hand knowledge picked up over the past few months.
I’m not going to do that. But I will tell you of a couple of
things I’m glad I did.
I’m glad I listened when a blood test showed me as anemic, with a
shortage of iron.
I’m glad I went to Step 2 right away and had a colonoscopy to
start the sequence which would reveal the grim details: cancer of the
colon on a stage III level, stage IV being worst.
From there it was a matter of following orders and after the
removal of nine inches of colon in late September it was determined
that 20 sessions of chemotherapy were needed to finish off the cancer
still remaining around lymph nodes and “the wall” of something. As it
turned out, No. 19 was determined to be enough.
I guess it’s only human to want to celebrate this survival story,
but it’s more like relief. It’s sort of like being fished out of the
ocean.
Recalling those who were in far worse shape than I, has a way of
muting the personal celebration.
On the road to recovery I had two trips to Hoag with paramedics in
an ambulance.
The first, in late November, was a result of severe dehydration,
one of the byproducts of chemotherapy.
It floored me in the early morning hours at home, but five days at
Hoag got me back on my feet.
In the spring, another chemotherapy negative struck in the form of
blood clots moving from the legs into my lungs.
A dizzy spell that seemed to turn my brain 360 degrees four times,
sent me back to a floor in a local market. Everyone’s best friends,
the paramedics, quickly arrived and hauled me back to Hoag for a
four-day stay.
Now I’m left with three or four more months of medication to keep
the blood thin and the clots at bay. A matter of a couple pills a
week.
Looking back, I find it surprising that in terms of pain, there
really was none.
Uncomfortable? You bet, in terms of chemotherapy’s byproducts. But
I know, in reality, I got off pretty easy.
The cost? From start to finish, roughly $25,000 out of pocket.
Medicare took care of the rest, which was out of sight.
A surprising outcome? Not really. Medical science is fishing
people out of the sea, like me, every day.
Still to come? I’m told my hair will start growing back in
September and, by December, I should be my old hairy self.
The positive that always seemed to be there? Well-wishes from an
awful lot of people, who I’ll never forget.
For once in my life, I find myself daydreaming that I should fall
into vast wealth ... so I could give it all to Hoag Hospital and the
men and women who share that place.
One of the things all of this took out of me was the ambition to
do anything. And I’m still working on the mind-set to get back in the
groove.
I have a few things on my mind, including some exploits in the
very near future by one of the nation’s best in sailing, a Newport
Beach resident named Bill Ficker.
And, there’s a guy in Newport Beach known by many for his astute
comments from time to time in the editorial pages, George Grupe.
You’d be amazed by the scope of his knowledge of sports in the
Southland in the 1930s and ‘40s.
Newport Harbor High’s 1971 football team needs to be brought back
into focus, as well as a five-year stretch of Newport Harbor football
which can be summed up in two words: Mike Giddings.
And someone else who needs to be checked out, Dave Holland, who
coached the Sea Kings to back-to-back CIF football titles in 1988-89.
I need to get into the athletic director’s offices at Newport
Harbor, Corona del Mar, Costa Mesa and Estancia, as well as Sage Hill
School, and acquaint myself with the coaching staffs. This,
hopefully, will offer the readers some additional insight into who’s
running the show.
By then, I’m sure, you know what’s next: 2005-06 and a new
beginning.
* ROGER CARLSON is the former sports editor of the Daily Pilot. He
can be reached by e-mail at rogeranddorthea@msn.com.
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