Tiki

TIKI

When I first awoke from the test, I remember dreaming that I was listening to Tina Turner singing What's Love Got to Do with it. My head was spinning, and I could feel could air on my face. Instinctively, I put my hand to my face and moved the mask off of my mouth. I tried to speak, but the words couldn't come out of my mouth. Someone was speaking to me from what seemed to be very far away, but I couldn't see them. For some reason, I couldn't open my eyes.

"Patrick...Patrick...Do you remember where you are?"

It was coming back to me...I was in the hospital, it is April 2000 and I'm at the hospital getting an endoscopy test performed. Endoscopy...a nice way of saying..."Garden hose down your throat to see what the problem is." I opened my eyes and saw the silhouette of an overweight woman in white with fluorescent lights behind her. "Oh shit...I'm in hell" I thought to myself "and it's full of fat nurses." She helped bring me to a more upright position, as much as I could handle seeing that I was still dizzy from the anesthetic. I knew something was wrong though when I was told the doctor would be coming to see me in a few minutes. I asked if I could get dressed, but the nurse just sort of averted her eyes from mine, and said something about "in a bit".

Three weeks before that moment I had been in the same hospital, getting an upper GI series of x-rays done where it was determined that yes...I wasn't lying...I am having trouble swallowing food and drinks. It was recommended that I have this test performed, just to be sure what the problem was. Now as the doctor approached, I could read his face enough to tell that the "problem" was a bit bigger than I first thought. He pulled a chair up next to the bed, and without meeting my eyes (ever notice people avoid your gaze when they are going to hurt you?), he told me that they had found a tumor in the lining of my esophagus. He had the lab run the test, and it is coming back positive as esophageal cancer. He labeled it as a stage II, and said we should begin Chemotherapy, Radiation, and surgery immediately. I remember he was speaking very quickly, and I could watch his mouth move, but his words had no more meaning.

I asked him about survival rates, and he responded by saying I should contact my family members and have someone stay with me tonight. He didn't know that I had a partner, who had no clue I was even getting this test done, sitting at home studying for his comprehensive exams for graduate school. A partner who at that moment seemed to be 10,000 miles away, not a short drive. The doctor prescribed me some valium to keep me calm if I needed it, and I went home, to face my life.

Reality hit about 6 hours later when I looked in the mirror and realized that in 8 to 12 months I wouldn't be looking in that mirror ever again. I puked up what little dinner I had ate that day, and just reeled in the feelings I was having, all the while my partner was studying in the other room.

Today...being a little past the three year anniversary of the day I was diagnosed, I watched the sun come up over the lake, and felt the warm rays on my face, while I drank my coffee. The lake had very small waves coming in, and the birds were swooping near me, looking for a handout of bread. I look to my past often to reclaim the lessons I have learned, hoping to apply them to my life as I see fit. Sort of an inventory of my life. Last year, for the first time in a very long time I took a chance on someone and failed. Risk vs. Reward right? I may still have some things to learn, but over the past year, I've healed enough that I want to learn again. Hopefully the next lessons will be just as interesting.