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.