The "C" Word
Part 1
This is a brief chronicle of my experience with cancer. I have been cancer free for nearly twenty years now.
I owe my life to many people; to Dr. Perotto, whose thoroughness first uncovered my tumor, to Dr. Harris, who directed my treatment; to Dr. Richter, who exposed me to millions of times more radiation than was released by Three Mile Island; and to all of the caring professionals at the Fox Chase Cancer Center in Philadelphia.
Most of all, I have to thank my wife, Betty, who kept after me until I finally sought medical help, and who was with me through every step of this ordeal. Thank you for your persistence and for your support during my recovery. I owe you more than I could ever repay in a thousand lifetimes. Most men dream about having a wife like you. In my case, the dream has come true.
In the Beginning
It was just in the beginning of 1980, and I had a cold. At least, I thought it was a cold. I was coughing for about ten weeks and it just refused to go away. I would also get an occasional headache and it seemed like I was frequently short of breath. A normal exertion such as climbing a flight of stairs left me gasping for breath.
Betty could not help but notice and urged me to see a doctor. I resisted this idea with typical macho stubbornness. Doctors are for sick people. There's nothing wrong with me. But after a while I could no longer deny that I needed help. I contacted Dr. Santle Perotto, Betty's family doctor.
Dr. Perotto is now retired. When he was still practicing, he ran an old-fashioned office. He had appointments, of course, but he also had general hours for walk-in patients. He also made house calls. He had no secretaries or nurses, but kept all his own records and personally took his patients' temperature, blood pressure, and all the other tests including blood samples. But despite his old-fashioned approach to medicine, Dr. Perotto was definitely cutting edge when it came to diagnosis and treatment.
He listened to my heart and chest, took a blood sample, and wrote out an order to get a chest X-ray. It seemed to be nothing more serious than chest congestion with some fluid in the lungs. A course of antibiotics and a decongestant should do the trick. He was concerned about the fluid, however, and wanted a chest X-ray to rule out any possible pneumonia.
Well the medicine seemed to be doing the trick. My cough diminished in a few days and I felt a lot better. I went to the hospital to get my chest X-ray feeling better than I had in weeks. I never expected the call I got just a week later.
It was about 10:00 PM. Dr. Perotto usually made his calls then, when his office hours were over. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. Betty and I had already gone to bed when the phone rang.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan? This is Dr. Perotto. I have the results of your X-ray."
"OK, doctor, how is it? And please, call me Bill."
"Bill, the X-ray shows a large mass in your chest which is pushing your lung to one side. This and the results of your blood work-up leads me to believe the mass is cancerous. It's important that we discuss this immediately. Could you be in my office tomorrow morning at 9:00?"
"Yes, I will," I replied. I felt numb. I only vaguely remember saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach like it had just been kicked.
Betty asked, "What was that about?"
I turned to her. I saw fear creep over her face, and knew that my own fear must be showing. "That was Dr. Perotto. He got the results of my X-ray. He thinks..." I could feel myself beginning to cry. "He thinks I have CANCER!"
Somehow just saying that word evoked terror. I broke down and cried like a baby. Betty hugged me, but she was crying too. I kept hearing her say "No! No! No!" over and over.
I don't know how long we cried together, or how long we held each other like that. It seemed like forever. But we eventually calmed down.
"What now?" she asked. "What do we do?"
"Dr. Perotto wants to see me tomorrow. I guess we have to talk with him. Betty, I'm scared! I have never been so scared in my life! I don't want to die!"
"You're not going to die!" she told me. Betty used that strong-willed, determined voice that Irish women have used since the time of the Gaels. It was stated as a matter-of-fact, but with such authority that none dared question it. There are times I think that the force of her own will power enabled me to survive.
