The ray guns delivering the zaps directly into my throat and the IVs pumping poison meant to choke out the remnants of cancer missed by the radiation have ceased for now; my first round of treatment is officially complete.
At the end of the radiation regimen and, again, at the last chemo treatment, I got to ring the Augusta Oncology bell standing along with some of the human-sized angels who helped me get to this milestone.
The next phase of the war is to wait for the results of the first round of treatment, and it feels a bit like “Sitzkrieg,” as the Germans may have called it in World War II, but I call it “hurry up to wait.”
Having worked on movie sets, I know a bit about hurrying up to wait, and it means that you might either be stuck out with the other set extras in 100 degree heat in a wool, period costume with a sweaty production assistants handing out lukewarm bottles of water or the experience can be chilling out in the shade, enjoying an ice-cold soda and having conversations with the likes of Carol O’Connor as if it were just another day on the job.
I really don’t mind the waiting, I am positive that I am continuing to follow the correct path and that God’s purpose in my life remains solidly on track, even though, at times, I have to admit that the inevitable feelings of depression and hopelessness feel harder to battle than the cancer.
“Will this ever end?”
Ringing the bell was a bit of a surreal experience for me, for the simple reason that I never thought I would actually be doing that, ringing the bell, that is.
Prior to the diagnosis, I have dealt with an autoimmune disease for nearly all my life, so I had thought that whatever had plagued me for decades was just coming to its logical end, and I had long made up my mind that I would continue to write daily in spite of the pain and put on a stoic face until the ordeal was over.
Instead of going to the doctor, I had a will drawn up.
Then, I found out the pain and strange swellings on my neck were not part of the shadowy auto-immune disease, but something tangible, something I could fight. However, I made up my mind that I would not fight, but rather simply let nature take it’s course.
You see, cancer has reared its ugly head in my life before; 40 years ago, my father went through an agonizing struggle that ended with his death when I was 12 years-old. During that time, I watched the strongest man I knew slowly waste away, his lifeforce sapped away as much by the treatment as the disease.
My father received radiation and chemotherapy when those treatments were in their infancy, and he was one of the first in the nation to receive a bone marrow transplant. It was all for naught, and I long ago came to the conclusion that I would not participate in treatment that simply prolonged death instead of extended life.
In my father’s battle, I had a front row seat in watching a man who could fire off a thirty-ought-six rifle like it was a bb gun turn into an emaciated, hallucinating shadow that was unable to get out of his recliner without assistance.
I recall keeping a paper towel in my pocket so that I could help him maintain some dignity by wiping the drool off of his chin; it was truly pitiful and painful to watch, and I decided that that would never be me.
At first, my mind was made up, I would placate those around me and consult with the doctors, but I was not going to let anyone fill my veins with poison or shoot me up with enough radiation to make me glow in the dark.
In the midst of what felt like suddenly falling into an abyss, I did not take into account that my father lost his struggle with cancer exactly 40 years ago and treatment is lightyears ahead of what was available then.
What I also did not factor into my thought process was how incredibly selfish I was being; I have people that depend on me and giving up on me meant giving up on them.
That was when my earth-bound angels descended upon me, all of them determined to help see me through this thing; they were (and are) intent on keeping me focused on my purpose in life, some of which still only God knows.
Marcie showed that same steel fortitude in her own battle with cancer, so I had a real role model in her to look up to while I followed in her footsteps.
There are too many of these angels to name individually since this is an essay and not a tome about the inherent kindness of the human spirit; but, you may have heard of some of the names before.
Some of the names of the angels that have swooped in to help keep my ship seaworthy might surprise you. I was very surprised one day to get a call from the wife of the former mayor, Evett Davis; well, considering what that poor lady has been through in having her life suddenly fall apart in the glare of television cameras when she had done nothing to deserve such a public spectacle.
Evett and all of the folks that have reached out to help me are, simply put, angels. Each one of them have given me a brick of courage as a foundation to stand and fight, rather than wither and give in.
I think some of those angels knowingly tricked me into agreeing to go public and journalizing this struggle. They know how my mind works, and they know that if I publicly told everyone that I was going to fight and beat this thing, then I would feel some kind of responsibility to see it through and win or otherwise I would be hunching my shoulders over in defeat. They knew I could not accept being branded a coward; they knew my ego would force me to fight (Queue up “We Are the Champions).
Being totally honest though, this has been a fight like no other I have experienced. I can’t offer up a Disneyland version because this has been tough and for everyone who experiences cancer, whether stage one or stage four, it is a painful physically and emotionally devastating journey.
The other day, for the first time since the diagnosis, I broke down and cried.
It was exhaustion that came out of nowhere and sprang up in the form of tears and, for a moment, all I could do was just let it happen. This has been a tough lot to endure, but I am committed to follow through.
It was my friend, and angel, Marcie that reminded me that my longtime motto has been “don’t write what you know, write what you learn.”
“This is definitely a situation where you can write what you’ve learned,” Marcie goaded me.
Now that I am basically at another checkpoint in this journey, I reckon the best I can do, as I recover from the treatment and await the results, is to broadcast what I have learned so far in the form of a whole series of researched news articles.
Over the past four months, I have compiled some very interesting research and have run across some surprising data, so I hope you will look out for those articles in the future and share the links with your friends. I can’t promise they will all be in front of the paywall, but at least some of them will be free to non-subscribers.
So, our tradition of a glass of champagne at midnight on New Year’s Day will be celebrated as usual; I, well, we, made it this far. I can’t wait to toast my glass of bubbly and declare 2025 to be my best year yet.
If nothing else, I am living proof that the human spirit is more resilient than the honey badger, that prayer is stronger than the most potent drug and, most importantly, our loving God is there to provide comfort in times of peril by sending in his army of mortal angels.
Never give up, my friends. Never, ever, give up!
Scott Hudson is the Senior Investigative Reporter and Editorial Page Editor for The Augusta Press. Reach him at scott@theaugustapress.com
