OPINION | MIKE MASTERSON: Battling anew


If living teaches us anything, it should be how unpredictable and fleeting it is. This fact is never clearer than when we reach our mid-70s when seemingly half the names and faces on the obituary pages hadn't made it this far.

That said, readers may recall my skirmish with two superficial squamous cell skin cancers last summer defeated by weekly superficial radiation treatments lasting 13 weeks. There was no discomfort or pain involved. The portable SRT machine did its job well and the cancers disappeared.

Then, about three months ago, a new squamous cell suddenly appeared to seek vengeance after lodging in a lymph cell on the left side of my neck. It grew to the point of pushing a nerve against my throat, causing a wince each time I swallowed.

As it's grown, it's been accompanied by steady low-level headaches behind my ear that prevent sound sleep.

This cell manifested as a grape-sized lump beneath my jaw and has since spread to a point behind and above my ear as confirmed by several procedures and scans at the North Arkansas Regional Medical Center.

Dr. Paul Neis, an esteemed ear, nose and throat doctor at Baxter Regional Medical Center in Mountain Home, also carefully explored my tongue and throat before removing my left tonsil in search of its source. All proved cancer-free.

Rather than surgery followed by radiation in such a sensitive area, his prescribed treatment was a seven-week course of radiation and chemotherapy at the Claude Parrish Cancer Center near our home in Harrison.

There I met radiation oncologist Dr. Arnold Smith and Dr. Candice Baldeo, the center's chemotherapy oncologist, who thoroughly explained to me what I was facing over the coming 35 radiation treatments, accompanied by a supplemental weekly dose of chemotherapy shown to boost the effectiveness of radiation by up to 30 percent.

Several weeks dragged on and the squamous cell continued to grow as we waited for a PET scan that hopefully would reveal the source of this scourge and any other cancer growing within. The results showed neither present.

The doctor explained that a cancer cell can end up caught by a vigilant lymph gland and begin to grow. The question is where that cell came from. One likely source was human papillomavirus (HPV) which biopsies showed I didn't have.

Last week, I was at the Parrish Center where radiation therapists fastened a plastic mesh mask designed to hold my head perfectly still in one space as the radiation gantry swirls and clicks around my head, releasing its killing beam at cancerous areas targeted by Dr. Smith.

Dr. Baldeo will administer my first dose of chemotherapy.

It's difficult to explain the myriad thoughts that have raced through my mind, especially during the predawn hours when one's mind seems to achieve its finest overthink and worry.

In those periods, I have relived much of my life and tried to recall all who have come in and out of it since childhood, leaving me to wonder if this experience we call life is at its heart an illusion manufactured by the gift of consciousness.

I've contemplated what awaits over the coming weeks. I'm told I will temporarily lose my sense of taste for several months, perhaps my hair temporarily, experience fatigue and nausea, all while enduring what was said to be "the sore throat from hell" that won't leave until weeks afterwards.

The chemotherapy port has been capably placed by Dr. James Langston in Harrison, and I suspect a feeding tube awaits in the near future when it may become all but impossible to swallow. I'm told it's important not to lose more than 10 percent of my body weight, or risk losing effectiveness of the treatment.

Through all the preparation leading up to my lying very still beneath this machine for 35 days, I've placed my faith fully at the forefront of all concerns and realized how thankful I am for my family and so many close friends and valued readers.

My plan is to keep you abreast of how this treatment proceeds in hopes it might help the understanding of others who find themselves in such an unfortunate place, and since it might prove difficult over the ensuing weeks (in light of the expected side effects from the unanticipated war) to keep up with events the way I have during normal times.

After all, don't they say one should write about what they know? That's bound to be just as true in a period when one's daily life shrinks dramatically when that becomes forced upon them.

Please know I'll do the best I can after 21 years of producing three columns weekly in this space to find ways to keep them interesting and relevant, including keeping you abreast of what it is like battling back against throat cancer in this not-so-tender stage of life.

My hope and expectation is that, come the fall, I'll be cured and heading back to where I was only four short months ago. The doctors assure me that's a good likelihood. Yet I have no illusions that anyone's battle with cancer doesn't forever change their life.

Of course, as with all things in each of our existences, I believe that rests in God's hands.


Mike Masterson is a longtime Arkansas journalist, was editor of three Arkansas dailies and headed the master's journalism program at Ohio State University. Email him at mmasterson@arkansasonline.com.


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