It’s officially been a full year since I was first diagnosed with Cancer. Just the other day I found my frenzied notes that I took after Dr. Ganly called me and told me we had to cancel my initial surgery for what we thought was a pleomorphic adenoma (benign tumor) because it was actually cancer.
Outside of those initial “Oh-shit-Am-I-dying?” scribbles, I’ve been documenting my battle and my survivor’s journey as best I can. I thought it would be fitting to revisit and share what happened on that day of days last year. You can read the first entry in that journal below.
Cancer Day 1
1/14/2021
It’s been an hour since Dr. Ganly told me that I have cancer. Up until now, I’d been hoping that the mass I’ve felt growing at the rear of my jaw, just beneath my earlobe was benign. It didn’t feel like much last February when I first noticed it, that hard little lump that didn’t move or hurt when I poked it. The covid-19 pandemic kicked off shortly thereafter and going to a doctor’s office or a hospital over something so small didn’t seem like a great idea so I put it off. Every so often over the summer, I’d be reminded it was there for one reason or another and still hoped it’d go away.
It didn’t.
In August I went and saw my general practitioner and he said it was probably a pleomorphic adenoma; a mass that grows on the salivary gland that is uncommon and most likely benign but could, at some point, turn into cancer. Okay.
I felt like I got mugged after my first biopsy. They had to stick me three times and they lost the needle on the ultrasound during one of them and kept wiggling it around. The ice pack afterward helped a little and I was sore for almost a week.
That was when Dr. Martindale called me and told me that the pathology said that it was a tumor and it had malignant potential based on the cell structure (basal cell something-oid). That was pretty scary news, especially when he said I should reach out to Memorial Sloan Kettering or Cornell to get a consult. That was a Tuesday. I had my mid-year teaching observation two days later and was told it was the best lesson I’d ever taught. Go figure.
Dr. Ganly was excellent when I met with him on the 11th floor of the David Koch building on East 74th. He was calm, patient with my questions, and very detailed in his explanation of my condition with his Scottish lilt. I left the building feeling encouraged as a tumor in the parotid had an 80% chance of being benign and generally, the only treatment was to have it excised out. We originally had scheduled my parotidectomy for tomorrow.
Interesting how Dr. Martindale had called me at 8:30 at night in December to tell me that my tumor had malignant potential, and Dr. Ganly called me at 8:30 in the morning today to confirm that.
So. I have cancer.
I broke down once I got off the phone with him and had a good, ugly cry. I called Melissa first and she knew when I couldn’t speak up at first. She’ll take the best care of me, she said, but I already knew that. Still, it feels good to know she's right behind me as I prepare for the fight. Work was next so my kids had stuff to do because there was no way I was going to make myself teach today. Eric took the news as well as he could, immediately asking what the next steps were and how I was doing; there isn’t a better brother on the planet and I won’t hear differently. Pops took it well enough and I’ve always felt lucky I had a father like him and though he also, of course, voiced unwavering support, day or night, he didn’t have to. No one did.
Now I’m looking at a PET scan (did I mention I’m claustrophobic?), a second consult with Dr. Ganly and a plastic surgeon, hopefully, surgery in the first week of February, and hopefully not radiation after. I’ll have more information once they scan my body to see if this damn thing is spreading its tendrils anywhere else.
Oh yea, there’s also the possibility of permanent nerve damage to the right side of my face if the tumor invades the trunk of nerves it’s currently pushing against just below my right ear.
I guess I should enjoy my eyebrow tricks all the more, now, just in case things get lopsided.
Anyway, at the moment the worst part is the waiting. We know it’s a carcinoma but so far nothing really beyond that and probably won’t have certainty until they cut it out of me. The PET scan could help somewhat but will at least show if it’s anywhere else or just contained to the tumor. Here’s hoping it’s contained. It feels better to have some things scheduled like the scan and the follow up, but I wish I had more information. It’s coming, and that also helps, but doesn’t really make the hours pass any easier.
For now I’ll keep moving, keep breathing. One day at a time.
Want to help? Click here to donate to my fundraiser for Fred’s Team to help Memorial Sloan Kettering patients who also are also battling head and neck cancer like I am. Help me give my miles more meaning when I run the NYC Half Marathon in March. Every donation counts and is wildly appreciated, no matter the size. #cancersucks.