BY JOSEPH DARBY
I wasn’t supposed to be the cancer patient. You see, I was the caregiver of a cancer patient – the strong one, the support system. I spent 17 years with my wife, agonizing about her treatments as she suffered severe pain from multiple myeloma and the devastating treatments. Unfortunately, we lost her battle with the disease about five years ago, and shortly thereafter I was forced to face my own battle with cancer.
On Christmas Eve this past year, my doctor told me I had aggressive but contained prostate cancer. Not the Christmas gift I was hoping for. Shortly after my youngest daughter got married, I had my Prostate-Specific Antigen (PSA) levels tested. I had never really paid much attention to the results before because my doctor hadn’t seemed concerned. Well, now they were high and I was going to be forced to pay attention to them.
After dealing with the daily toll cancer took on my wife, it was hard for me to come to terms with my own diagnosis. In
Cancer is a weed. It suffocates and destroys what is good and pure and true. It takes a beautiful Sunday garden and tramples it with ugliness and despair.