I forget that I had cancer.
Tuesday is my four-year anniversary of kidney-cancer surgery. I was fuzzy on how long it had been until my mother saw the memory on her Facebook page and reminded me.
I knew it was in July, but my husband and I were talking about it the other day and trying to remember how long it had been. Four years? Five? You’d think I’d remember something as important as cancer, but I got off easy.
That meant I didn’t have to undergo chemotherapy.
A doctor found the tumor incidentally when looking for something else, and it was caught early. I do remember the surgery, and I remember the freezing-cold waiting room.
First I played musical beds. After I disrobed, put on the gown, stuffed my belongings in a plastic bag and got comfy in my heated bed, there was confusion about which of two beds I was supposed to be in — A or B. (I didn’t get to pick, like in the Match Game.) I switched beds, but after a nurse and employee had a discussion and looked at “the board” again, I was asked to switch back. I successfully made the transfers without mooning anyone.
I asked what procedure the person in the other bed was having, and I was told a foot amputation. I told the nurse I’d just gotten a pedicure.
“You could have saved money if you’d waited,” she said, joking.
The doctor came in. The former college-football-star-turned surgeon was in my husband’s fraternity. I knew I was in good hands, but it was still nerve-wracking. He marked an X on my left side and prayed with me.
The surgery, done with the da Vinci robot under the doctor’s skilled hands, was successful. He started at 8:19 a.m. At 9:35 a.m., he said, “It couldn’t have gone better.” He told my husband he got it all.
He called me the next week and said the “bad news” was that it was cancer, but the good news is, the chance that I’m cured is 95-99 percent.
The next thing I remember is waking up as I was being moved from a gurney to the hospital bed in my room — and the pain. After I got hooked up to the morphine pump, I asked for my lipstick. All was well with the world.
As I have said before, the morphine pump is one of man’s greatest inventions — right up there with the printing press and the chocolate fountain. I was going to be tough and not push the pump, until I laughed the first time at a story my brother told, and I cried from the pain. Then, I almost dropped a vase of flowers and jerked forward, and it was intensely painful.
All the nurses were great, and my family and friends were amazing. My husband, as usual, took great care of me.
When I was off work recuperating, my husband was on summer break from the university where he teaches. We enjoyed our time and wished we were retired.
I have done many stories on people with kidney cancer, including a little girl who died from one type of the disease. I’ve written several articles on people who have donated a kidney to a stranger or a co-worker. I also know two people who are waiting for a kidney right now.
So, yes, I’m feeling lucky. On Tuesday, I will say a little extra prayer of thanks and enjoy my day.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.