My Cancer Journey (for Leah, my wife & teacher) by Russ Van Rooy

My Cancer Journey  (for Leah, my wife and teacher)

I

I moved back to Washington in 2012 after a six year nose-to-the-grindstone interlude in Chicago. It was a heady time to return to the state of my birth. The voters had just legalized cannabis. There had been dispensaries in Washington for several years prior to legalization. 
I began to feel bad about three years later. I experienced many of the symptoms of colon cancer, including weight loss. My wife Leah convinced me to go to the one of the local ERs. The staff checked me out – including a CAT scan. They found nothing except hypertension. 
The symptoms mysteriously vanished, and I regained all the weight I had lost. I dutifully took the HCTZ blood pressure medication that was prescribed for me at the free clinic.  I sailed on my reprieve from illness for about two years – though I never really felt 100% well.
 
Who wants to believe they have cancer anyway? I told myself I had irritable bowel syndrome. I figured I needed to eat better. Besides, my health insurance had a $10,000 deductible. I was in total avoidance mode.
 
By January of 2019, the pain was becoming more than I could ignore. I came home one evening and complained to my wife, Leah, that I felt like shit. “Let me just lie here for a few minutes and maybe we can go for a walk or something.” 
I lay down on the bed and Leah snuggled beside me. “No, we need to go to the emergency room now,” she insisted. 
I hemmed and hawed for some time, but finally agreed to go. We arrived at the ER.  I explained to the intake nurse that I’d been constipated, and had blood in my stools. Pain emanated from my anus and radiated outward toward the rest of my body. In addition, I felt extremely fatigued throughout the day. Simple tasks exhausted me. “We want to rule out cancer, so we will need a CAT scan.”

She drew my blood, took my blood pressure, and measured my weight. Looking skeptical, she tilted her head and stared at me. “So you really want a CAT scan?” 

“Yes, this is the only way we are going to be able to rule out cancer and give me peace of mind.” 

A technician took me to the Imaging Department and gave me an IV drip with infused contrast dye. After the exam, the technician wheeled me back to the ER waiting room. 

A jittery half hour later, a nurse arrived and ushered us into a small examination room. She had a suffocating perkiness that seemed alien. “Your blood work is wonderful, but they found a mass in your rectum, and there are several lesions on your liver. I am not a doctor, so I cannot call it anything but a mass or a tumor. We are making arrangements now to talk to the surgeon about getting you an emergency colonoscopy.” 

“So it is cancer, then?”

 All she could do was nod. 

I glanced towards Leah. She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. It didn’t take long to grasp the full meaning of the nurse’s report. I had stage 4 cancer that had spread to my liver. I embraced Leah and smiled as I tried to stand on legs that felt like spaghetti. My head swam with an array of emotions, but all I could think was that I never wanted to leave Leah. 


II

Everyone has a back story, a theme in their life. My biggest challenge has always been work. Though finding employment is a cinch, I’ve had a hard time holding jobs for long. 
I fell into computers after I failed to secure entry into a Ph.D. program at the University of Washington History Department. I had a Masters Degree in history, but lacked the language requirements. I was unemployable. 

My elder sister Wendy worked at the Redmond Microsoft Campus as an administrative assistant. “Come out here and apply for anything. They’ll hire you.”

“Anything” was a stretch. I hated computers, so I applied for the Facilities Technician position. After a short interview, I was hired on the spot.

I worked at Microsoft Facilities for three years and learned how to use Excel on Windows 3.0.  Later, I learned PC operation and advanced software usage. Microsoft’s human resource personnel thought I was just a facilities tech destined to move furniture, erect white boards, and unclog toilets. 

Still, I wanted more. I could solve problems on the computer and wished to be a technical support engineer.  Microsoft didn’t let me transfer to the Support department, so I left my job. Fortuitously, they hired me as a contract tech support worker just four months later. I supported Windows 3.1 and Windows for Work-groups.

After three months Microsoft readjusted their requirements and laid me off.
They dismissed me one afternoon and escorted me unceremoniously to my vehicle with no explanation. This was an outrage! I excelled at my tasks and got my work done on time. I realized there had been some awkwardness between my manager and me, but I didn’t understand how this translated to termination. I felt stung and humiliated because I hadn’t received the same prized contracts as my friends. My misanthropy began to sprout.

After concerted searching, I found my first testing and support position at a company named Express Systems. I worked there as long as I could before I felt I was no longer valued. Afterwards, I found a string of computer testing and support positions, but never stayed at any one job for long. I tried to time my exit before the ax fell. 

Still, it fell at Spry, it fell at Wall Data, it fell at Panagon, and it fell at Click2Learn.com. Most of these were unfriendly layoffs.  At least Click2Learn.com gave me a generous severance package.

Not all of my jobs were short lived. My last job endured for seven years. Seven hellish years. Leah and I had just moved back to Washington and  resided on Vashon Island. We didn’t have a car, so I took the bus to the ferry. I went to the interview and was amused by the graceless yet plucky characters who would soon become my colleagues

Unfortunately, my manager turned out to be a malignant narcissist. He trained me well, but left me swinging and twisting from inexplicable put downs. He mocked my occasional stutter and assigned tasks with no explanation of how to complete them. If I asked about a fine point, he mocked my inexperience. I put up with his shit for seven years and grew tumors while taking three buses to get to my job.


All these layoffs and firings increased my cynicism and mistrust of authority – and my fellow humans who blindly follow leaders.  The combination of growing older, not getting paid better even though I was highly skilled, and feeling increasingly isolated turned me into a misanthrope. The general state of malaise, constant barrage of bad news, and homeless tents everywhere in Seattle along I-5 wore me down.



III

 My cancer diagnosis was like the moment when Dorothy opens her door and everything goes from black and white to color. Shock and terror. Leah and I stayed up late, smoked some cannabis, laughed and cried. We began to devise the barest inklings of plans, but had no idea what we were going to do. 

 Leah researched and connected the feeble dots in our healthcare system to make sure we would be able to receive financial assistance from the MultiCare hospital system. During the next several days, the doctors strategized a plan for chemotherapy. After a liver biopsy, chemotherapy began in earnest.

Meanwhile, Leah organized a fundraiser. We didn’t expect much, so we felt flabbergasted by our friends’ generous donations. One friend donated his deceased father’s CD containing several thousand dollars. Another friend gave $1000 and several more gave $500. 

There were also material gifts: a man sent prayer beads he acquired in Nepal; a female artist gave two hand painted cards. Others mailed gifts of coffee, an amethyst thunder-egg and a crystal heart. Such offerings warmed my heart. 

I’ve been overwhelmed by the generosity of friends and family, as well as the kindness of the hospital staff at MultiCare hospital system. I hadn’t really thought much about nurses prior to my illness. I believed they were martinets whose orders were to be followed without question. 

I saw instead genuine, warm people who offered blankets, asked whether I was feeling pain, and did everything in their power to increase my comfort level, safety, and well being. 

I noticed how strongly the staff cares about cleanliness when I observed technicians in clean-suit attire testing the microbe level on the hospital hallway railings. I realized these people work in healthcare because of a deep concern for humanity. They want to serve people because they feel it is right to alleviate suffering.

On several occasions I saw nursing staff snap to action over several emergencies that arose for other patients. When the nurse prepares to hook me up to a new chemo infusion, another nurse inspects the medicine to ensure it is correct. Simple but important things like this give me confidence that the staff has everything under control. 

My heart has been broken by cancer. I now know how I will die. I do not know how much time I have left. Perhaps two years. I hear a lot of cheering from my friends and family. This is essential for my survival. 

Nonetheless, my survival is not assured. Each day arrives with new small insults: sores in my mouth, aches in my sides (liver pain), and the ever present risk of nausea, as well as neuropathy of my hands and feet. 

Still, my heartbreak has been my salvation. I have found deep wells of compassion, and I now entertain an inkling of hope. I know people love and support me. My job is to survive and fulfill my promises to Leah.

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Russ Van Rooy is a guitarist/songwriter, software tester, armchair philosopher, and cosmologist who likes to write poetry. When not contemplating what conditions were like during the first five hundred million years, Russ can be found making pancakes or playing music. Russ's work has been published by Creative Colloquy, Oddball Magazine, and Anti-heroin Chic.