Chapter 2: Cancer

Barry Morrow’s encouragement launched Just Dale, but before it was written, Just Dale, had to be lived. A big part of the living happened when kidney cancer entered my life.

Comfy in my recliner, a large screen TV with surround-sound flickers as the great white from Jaws chomps on Captain Quint.

The phone rings.

It’s Dr. Kaiser, my urologist.

“Dale, I am afraid I have some bad news.”

My mouth is suddenly dry, but I manage to respond, “Yes?”

“We have your test results. You have a tumor on your left kidney. I am sure it is cancerous. I showed the results to an oncologist and he concurs.”

Suddenly, there is very little air in the room.

“What does this mean?”

My hearing fades in and out as Dr. Kaiser continues.

“We’ve caught it early...very lucky...usually takes a long time to manifest...too late...appears to be localized...could perform a biopsy...results would be unreliable.”

I inhale for the first time since hearing the word cancer.

“What would you do?”

“If it were me I would remove the kidney. Many people live normal lives with only one.”

I manage pull my tongue from the roof of my mouth and reply.

“Okay. Let’s take it out.”

“Good, I’ll set things up. My office will call you with the details.”

“Okay.”

I hang up the phone.

Grace, my wife, looks at me. Her eyes are wide and her brow is furrowed.

“What did he say?”

“I have cancer.”

Tears fill her eyes, but she manages a weak smile.

“What does he say we should do?”

“Take out my kidney.”

She moans. Then whispers.

“What are your chances?”

“He said I could live a normal life with only one kidney.”

We hug for what I wish was forever.

Over the next few days, between fruitless attempts at reading or watching TV, I remember how death felt when my mother lay in her coffin. Death was cold and wore too much makeup, but it had ended her pain. Maybe death really isn’t so bad.

Dying is another matter. Will I have the courage to bear months, or even years, of lingering pain? Can I stand the tears of my loved ones as they watch me die? I pray that death is painless and quick – and hopefully doesn’t wear too much makeup.