Lynn Hoffman - Radiation Days: The Rollicking, Lighthearted Story of a Man and His Cancer

Also by Lynn Hoffman

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Philadelphia Personal

Short Course in Beer

The New Short Course in Wine

Copyright 2014 Lynn Hoffman

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Glen Edelstein

Front cover photo: Thinkstock

Print ISBN: 978-1-62873-718-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62914-064-3

Printed in the United States of America

For Hugh Gilmore and J

I am immensely fond of capital J

and not because

it is the first letter

in your name or because

it initiates Justice

or wanders with Jew.

I am immensely fond of capital J

for its generosity, for the way

it dips and scoops and offers up

what it spills. I love its versatility,

the way it hangs from the stern and

steers or hangs from the ceiling

and takes my coat. I like, no, love

how little it holds in its curve,

how little it cares for holding,

how blithely it lives from jewel

to jewel to jewel.

Authors Note

This is a comedy about coming alive, about stumbling to the light, swimming up out of the depths, and breathing again. Its about finding out what matters and letting go of the rest. Incidentally, its also about friendship, cancer, medicine, small pleasures, lifting weights, and laughing at my own jokes. The story is told in first-person voice; thats the way I told it as it was happening. Its the voice I use to talk to friends, and this is a story youd share with friends. I think Ill start the story for you just the way it started for me: right in the middle of things on a summer night in Philadelphia.

How I Found Out

A bit down by the stern, but who wouldnt be?

The business with the allergies and aches and pains in my head wasnt getting any better, and then I woke up around 2:00 a.m. on August 7 hawking up bloody gobs from my throat. It turns out that Temple Hospital had an ear, nose, and throat specialist (ENT) on call at the emergency room and Jefferson Medical Center didnt, so we spent the night on North Broad Street. CAT scans, a chest X-ray, blood tests, nothing conclusive, but the bleeding stopped, and I got an appointment for the next Friday with a doctor in ENT (although they disdain the term ENT here; its otolaryngology, thank you).

So, its Friday the 13th, and J and I go for this appointment. Well call the physician Dr. Rice-A-Roni. She checks out pretty good on the web: Johnny Hopkins, lots of publications. She slides a tube down my noseshes the fourth or fifth doc to do thisand says, Its cancer.

Now, if you ever want to stop the chitchat in a room and get everyones attention, you cant do better than that. Js a doctor, and she tries a little professional optimism: Could it be an infection? Nope, cancer. Lymphatic. Cancer. Oh. Rice-A-Ronis tone wasnt exactly the chirpy one where someone tells you, Its a girl! but it wasnt very gentle, eithershe rolled her eyes conspicuously at Js suggestion that we consult the infectious disease guy. There may have been a tiny bit of gotcha. Anyway, shitty way to hear shitty news. Its possible that youre never going to warm up to the person who tells you that you have cancer, but I dont think anyone gets well with this lady as their doc.

So the biopsy was yesterday, and the preliminary look suggested yes, cancer, and maybe even a lot of it. Squamous cell, head and neck. Usually only smokers are so honored, but drinking helps a bit, too.

So, now we move on to discovering how many cells, how big, and how widespread. (Radiation and chemo are the usual treatmentloss of the power of speech, the sense of taste, and the ability to swallow are the usual side effects.) Next thing is the PET scan. (Ill promise no puns if you will, too.) This is a test that uses a radioactive tracer to look for disease in the body. Its part of a process called staging , which defines how bad it is, what your chances are, and what the doctors can do about it. Thats the medical problem. The life issue is that Im not sure what the timetable is here. Do I have a summer of sailing to look forward to, or should I not even buy green bananas? Bulletins as they break. Anyway, Im composing a bucket list, and Im taking suggestions. Theres that sailplane ride with Peter over the autumn hills of Central Pennsylvania. I hear theres a butterfly house in British Columbia and a steak house in Tampa. I want to see if I can afford to leave enough money to keep one little corner of Fairmount Park wildlife friendly and clear of invasives. I want to be a little more Buddhist, maybe even a touch yogic. I want to taste a few things. I think I might want to record a poem or two, if I have a voice left to do it with. Definitely the porn novel, probably the missing kid story, too. Id like to write one song. Im surprised that theres not a lot of travel on my list so farjust being near water.

Of course, as we get down to the end, it may turn out that what I really want is two exotic dancers, a room filled with Tastykakes, pictures of all my dogs and cats, a Waylon Jennings album, and a set of headphones. Its not very likely, but stay tuned.

Heres what I know: I know I have a cancerous tumor growing in my throat. I know that it hurts. I know that I have a chance of surviving it after a round of radiation treatments and chemotherapy, but no one seems to know just what that chance is. I know were all going to die, andeven though I expected my death to happen to some futurized creature who looked like me but wasntnow I know that death happens in a very real, touchable present. Now, for instance.

I also know that my kayak, November, is ready to go in the water. Building her was a bit over my head, and any real craftsman would probably snort at her, but she looks pretty good from ten feet away, and now I know that she paddles like a dream.

Tomorrow, I take in a bit of general anesthesia, and Dr. Ridge takes a close look at the tumor. I guess that the fun starts next week.

So, how do I feel? That seems to be the best question right now, partly because its the only one I can answer. Im not particularly scaredalthough I dont know why. It seems like a reasonable person would be at least a little fearful, and instead I feel calm in an emergency. Like when the wind kicks up and youre still under full sail. What I do feel is sad: I hate the thought of leaving the party early. My fantasy was that Id see my daughter graduate from law school, maybe hold a grandchild or two.