Odds are that I will soon die from it—real soon.
It was about two years ago that I developed a sore on the
side of my tongue in a location where it was being persistently
irritated by the rough edge on a tooth recently subjected
to dental work. After a couple more dentist encounters, the
irritating tooth surface was smoothed down and disappeared.
Unfortunately, the sore did not. Yellow lights flashing in
OK, so I call the dentist’s office and they refer me to an
ear, nose and throat specialist to get the problem more thoroughly
assessed. The scheduler was adamant that it would be at least
six weeks before I could see the doctor, despite my clearly
articulated concerns that this sore might be cancer and in
need of more immediate attention.
Feeling like I had come to a dead end with the dental-care
system, I made an urgent clinic visit to my primary health-care
provider. My doctor was not available on that day, but I was
seen by one of her assistants who referred me to another ear,
nose and throat specialist—one who could see me early the
It turned out that this specialist would have a bout of the
flu and postpone my visit. When I finally did get in to see
him, he put me on antibiotics for a month. When they failed,
surgery was scheduled to remove the irritated area. A biopsy
was planned for the tissue removed. After the surgery, my
tongue swelled up to the point where it filled my mouth, requiring
that I go on a liquid diet.
Four or five days later I called in for the test results.
A woman with a voice that sounded like that of the office
secretary got back to me and read me results that indicated
no cancer had been found. I quickly called my significant
other, Mary Anne, to let her know. Just seconds following
my call to Mary Anne, the phone rang again. It was the doctor’s
office. They had misread the results in their previous call.
The biopsy did indicate the presence of cancer. Red lights
I don’t know how long I was on the floor. I do remember opening
my eyes and noting the seemingly magnified warped contours
of the oak, confirming that this was not just a bad dream,
and deciding to get up and do something—something! But what?
I dusted myself off and called Mary Anne back with the bad
news. Over our anger and disbelief, we began mapping out an
action plan. Research on options, second opinions, and navigating
the health-care system were all new areas that we had to delve
into. It was quickly revealed to me that cancer treatment
is often a function that is as much art as science. This would
ultimately lead to inquiries into a variety of alternative
approaches, three encounters with surgery, six weeks of radiation
with my head bolted to a table, and chemotherapy where toxins
were infused into my system in hopes of killing any remaining
When the local surgeon who did the initial surgery refused
to do follow-up work recommended by some of the second opinions,
I had to go down to the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center
in New York City and spend a few days there getting the recommended
surgery done. Unfortunately, another biopsy found that the
cancer had spread into areas of my neck. This then led to
radiation treatments that were to destroy any microscopic
remnants of the disease that might be lurking about. I completed
this treatment early in 2004.
Realizing that this disease may be winning out against me,
I set a few goals for the year. My son was graduating from
college and my daughter had a wedding set for August. I wanted
to make those. I also wanted to take a trip with Mary Anne
to the Netherlands in the early fall. When we got back I wanted
to see George W. voted out of office. I thought this was a
I made it to the graduation and the wedding. I almost didn’t
make it back from Holland when I passed out in Amsterdam’s
international airport and had to stay in a new cardiac unit,
wired up for four days in order to remove my “unfit to fly”
status and get home. I only missed on voting out George W.
Results from my latest biopsy weren’t available until I was
in the Netherlands. It found that the cancer was still active.
All the specialists tied into my case now came to the consensus
that I had become a terminal case in need of chemotherapy
for palliative purposes. So, heading for a year and a half
since diagnosis, I was told that I probably have only a matter
of months to live with no guarantees about the quality of
Having one’s mortality suddenly flash in front of you like
this raised a lot of immediate questions about the priorities
I was pursuing. If you are abruptly told that your life will
end in a matter of months, you examine the limited time you
have as more precious. As word gets out among family and friends,
you’re asked more about your health and become more concerned
about how others will fare in your absence. During all this
I’ve also realized that I have a lot of good friends around
these parts, and the strength of the energy that flows from
their concerns and hugs.
Writing this column for Metroland has provided some
solace for me during these recent difficulties, and I appreciate
having had the opportunity to share my thoughts with you over
the years. Perhaps some things have gotten a little better
as a result. I’d like to think so.
Life Examined." [Ed note: Tom Nattell died peacefully
in his home on January 31, 2005. Memorial gifts for the Nattell
Peace Poetry Prize, which will be awarded annually to an Albany
High School student for "a poem that fosters a sense
of social responsibility," can be sent to The Community
Foundation for the Capital Region, Six Tower Place, Albany
NY 12203; checks should be made out to "Community Foundation,"
with "Tom Nattell Peace Poetry Prize" entered on
the memo line.]"