Dan Cole

Cancer is such a serious matter that with your permission, I would like to take a lighter approach in telling my story, for humor is one of the things that saw me through.

To begin with, when people ask me what kind of cancer I had, I almost always respond, “colon cancer”. Colon is… almost a pleasant word. It sounds like it could be French, maybe a cousin to cologne. In reality, I was avoiding the use of the “R” word, there’s no way to make rectal sound pretty. And I didn’t want to confuse people who think of rectum as a way to describe a car crash, you know, rectum = “darn near killed ‘em”.

To be serious for a moment, my main symptom was bleeding, day in and day out. It is amazing how we can talk ourselves into believing that what we see with our own eyes must be something else, and not the dreaded ”C”. This went on for over a year and a half, plenty of time for the tumor to have metastasized and left me with a death sentence. Then my guardian angel, my youngest sister Deb, learned of the bleeding and wouldn’t leave me alone until I had it checked out. I knew what they would find and had nearly emptied my retirement to pay off as many outstanding bills as I could so my children wouldn’t be saddled with them. I also went through boxes of old photos and wrote on the back the people’s names or the occasion. Just a month earlier I had been laid off from my job and my health insurance was cancelled. I didn’t see how I could submit to cancer treatment with no insurance to cover those costs and no job to cover everyday expenses. Again, my sister came to my rescue. “You have to save your life first, then you can deal with those other things”. I felt like Indiana Jones stepping off the cliff in “The Last Crusade”, totally unsure of what my fate would be.

Once I stepped off the cliff things moved very rapidly. On Tuesday I was admitted to the hospital, on Wednesday, had a colonoscopy which led to a diagnosis of stage 3 cancer with approximately 50% blockage. Thursday I was to be fitted for a positioning form used during radiation therapy in the morning and then have a port installed in the afternoon. My nephew had radiation therapy a few years earlier and his mom said they made a plaster cast of his back to use as a positioning form. Thursday morning as I drove to the hospital I was envisioning stripping naked in front of some nurses and then sitting in a large tub of plaster of paris to make a mold of my butt. “O Well, I guess this is the price of getting better”, I said to myself. To my delight all it entailed was drawing a vacuum on a pillow filled with beads, which conformed to my posterior. “Whew!” The port wasn’t so bad, and was one of many procedures where they inject you with “happy juice”.

The following Tuesday morning I received my fanny pack chemo pump, giving me a low dose of 5FU to enhance the radiation. That fanny pack was my 24/7 companion for the next 5 weeks, and you soon learn you only turn half way around in the shower unless you want tangled in tubing. The radiation oncologist asked me if I was planning to father any more children. Being in my mid fifties I told him I was through. “Good”, he said, “Because you won’t be.” I call radiation my GE vasectomy. For treatments, you have to drop “everything”, 5 days a week for 5 weeks, in front of 2 ladies. Cancer sure does a number on your inhibitions. An uncle of mine had similar treatments a few years earlier and remarked to the technician at his last treatment, “If I ever see you again I hope it’s at Walmart”. “Just remember”, she replied, “If you see me at Walmart you don’t have to drop your pants.”

Radiation was done and they let me rest up until the first week of May for my surgery. The surgeon spoke to me a few times about the operation, in quite serious tones, warning me that he may need to take a radical approach due to the position of my tumor. That could entail removing my “backdoor plumbing”, sewing my butt shut and installing a colostomy. “What would all that look like?”, I wondered. “Sewing my butt shut!” “Would I be shopping at the Sponge Bob Square Pants store from now on?” To get good margins, the radical approach was necessary, but I still have my curves. Sister Deb cheered me up with a top ten list of “Why a Colostomy isn’t so Bad.” It includes, good excuse not to wear Speedos, no more hemmoroids, and bag doubles as flotation device in case of airplane crash. (Complete list available for 3 payments of $9.95 plus $12.95 shipping and handling) Really, the #1 reason is that it enabled me to be cancer free, which is where I am today. And through a variety of means, my medical bills were covered and my daily needs met. I give thanks to God for all the people who made it possible.