Posted by: donrhymer | May 13, 2011

The Body Eccentric

The tumor was getting so large my daughter had decided to name it Bob.

What had started as a build up of fluid on my Adam’s Apple had quickly grown in size and influence until five short weeks later the rumor surfaced that Bob was considering running for the school board and had put in an offer on a three bedroom two bath foreclosure in Glendale.

Clearly something had to be done.

So for the third time in three years I find myself once again on a surgeon’s table. April 2009-tongue surgery. May 2010 – modified radical neck dissection. May 2011 – neck dissection once again.

I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not cancer after all. Maybe I’m just allergic to springtime in LA.

As we’ve talked about before the body is a phenomenal machine built to work flawlessly at an extremely high level until one day… it doesn’t. It can be a fickle instrument filled with eccentricities both major and minor. Allergies, deviated septum’s, trick knees, and the ever popular spastic colon. Every body has its little quirks and inconsistencies.

Mine just happens to be a tendency to produce cancer every spring, which leads us back to “Bob” and his untimely demise at age five and a half weeks.

 I never really considered myself a vain person until I found myself wearing Velma from Scooby Doo turtlenecks in 92-degree weather. You see, Bob was slowly taking over a vast amount of real estate on my neck. And knowing that “location, location, location” was everything, he planted himself front row center.

Clearly something had to be done. Bob had to go. And quickly.

But quickly moves slowly in “Cancer World” so it took weeks and multiple trips to doctors, surgeons and my oncologist who yes, still hates me, but ultimately surgery was scheduled. And finally last Wednesday I found myself in pre-op with my pants around my ankles, fighting for control of the privacy curtain with an angry Russian woman getting an epidural.

Just for the record, this is not a winnable battle for any male.

Surgery went well, no complications and once again I was commended by the post op nursing staff for wearing underwear. Apparently “free-ballin’” it is an all too common occurrence in today’s surgical suites and a traumatized nursing staff has had quite enough of it thank you.

So, Bob is gone, replaced by a six inch Frankenstein scar right across the front of my throat. Bob will not be missed. He was an asshole, an uninvited guest who overstayed his welcome.

To be honest, I’m not sure where all this is headed. What’s next? Maybe more treatment, but for the moment I am cancer free. For the moment my body’s particular eccentricity has once again been beaten into submission.

But just to be on the safe side… I’m holding on to the turtlenecks.

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Responses

  1. RIP, Bob. Say hi to Osama for us.

  2. Is it inappropriate or just sick that I would like to see your manly 6 inch scar? Thanks for more of the Rhymer humor and good news!

  3. We finely have something in common Don, Six inch frankenstein scars; however, i get to hide mine as it is from knee replacement on the 19th of April.

    When I think of what a Christian male is supposed to be like I think of you; yet my faith is severly tested when I hear the poster child for Christian males keeps getting hammered by cancer. GOD-get a clue! I don’t want to have to say ” I remember this great Christian guy”-NO, I want to say ” GOD-how do I become this great Chistian guy”.
    Don, sorry If I have bummed you out with this comment.

  4. So sorry to hear about Bob. I hate that guy. What kind of man or thing attaches himself to another man’s neck? A jerk loser, that’s who.

  5. What a parasite “Bob” was. Praying and sending positive energy to both you and Kelly in your journeys! Your Mother-in-law once removed or something like that!

  6. Bob schmob. Freakin squatter. I’m glad you kicked his ass to the curb.

    And listen, if LA summers are too hot for turtlenecks, you know you do have other options …

    http://www.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/europe/05/10/norway.beard.moustache.championship/index.html?hpt=C2

  7. I offered to pop Bob like the whitehead he was when he was marble.. okay, golf ball sized. You should have let me. The vice grips scared you, huh? And I did have the shakes. But only my left handdddddd.

  8. Babs and I have a good feeling about this one, Don.

  9. Criminy, Don, must you be so funny? It makes coming up with a comment really hard! It reminds me of all those times we spent in the writer’s room. The difference, of course, being that you were writing about people named Bob (or Dave or Sandy), not tumors. I don’t have a lucky bat to whack you with (from another post), but I do have prayers and positive energy. Consider yourself whacked with those.


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