After cancer diagnosis, he was ready for the fight

According to the National Cancer Institute, in 2024, an estimated 2,001,140 new cancer cases will be diagnosed in the United States. Consider it. The next cancer patient could reasonably be a loved one, me or you. One year ago, it was my husband who was tagged.

An avocado-sized lump protruding from the side of his neck set into motion a six-week journey to identify and assess the cancer. I was by his side and quickly assumed the roles of scribe and caretaker for an all-consuming yearlong journey. With visits to doctors, tests, scans, biopsies and an in-patient upper endoscopy and laryngoscopy, my once healthy husband, who had never even had a tooth extracted, found himself in the throes of cancer treatment lockdown.

About seven weeks in, we found ourselves in the small examination room of a head and neck specialist to be advised of test results, prognosis and next steps. Cancer is usually good at hiding. That day, it kicked the door wide open. Hearing the words, “You have Stage 3 cancer,” is certainly startling and surreal, but the follow-up, “We will do the best we can,” is hardly as comforting as, “Don’t worry, everything will be all right.” My husband took the news on the chin, like a champ. Me, not so much. But my sense of denial soon made way for acceptance and even cautious optimism.

But keeping a positive attitude and placing trust in your newly assigned cancer team is essential to the healing process. My husband’s team at Northwell Health had a proven track record and was made up of realistic and compassionate health care providers who banded together in the search for optimal results.

According to the National Cancer Institute, a person is considered a cancer survivor from the time of diagnosis until the end of life. This includes people who are living with cancer as well as those who are cancer-free. Cancer’s axis will be tilted toward or away from the sun, and there will be darkness and light at all latitudes. As the worst of the treatment fades, each day brings more sun.

A cancer support team reaches far beyond the confines of the medical setting. The forceful healing powers generated from the presence of caring family and friends during this trial were invaluable — as therapeutic and pain relieving as any drug or ointment. Daily phone calls and text messages from all the wonderful, caring people in my husband’s life made the pain and suffering more tolerable. Get well cards crowded the shelves of our house, serving as folded paper life preservers buoying his spirits and psyche. Surrounded by so much love and concern, and despite the dismal state of affairs, you realize: It’s a wonderful life.

Now, 2 1⁄2 months post-op and after six weeks of radiation treatment, I sit in the radiation oncology unit waiting for my husband to emerge — fait accompli. He enters the waiting area, 25 pounds lighter, with pep in his step and with a well-earned sense of determination, rings the cancer gong of freedom. His cancer treatment is behind us and we are finally able to look forward to last year’s suspended vacation and our daughter’s anticipated wedding. It’s a wonderful life.

So, if you one day find yourself sliding off a slippery examining table in a cancer specialist’s treatment room, hospital gown creeping off your shoulder with your wobbly legs dangling over the edge like my husband did a year ago, and are gobsmacked with the announcement, “The cells are malignant. You have Stage 3 Cancer,” dig deep and prepare for the fight of your life.

 Mary Roulette

 West Islip