Big, proud chicken.

Okay, it’s confession time. I’m one of the biggest chickens you’ll ever meet. And proud of it, for it has served me well. Particularly when it comes to physicians and medical procedures. To wit:

Fifteen years ago, as a novice at the outset of my first experience with cancer, the medical director at one of the most prestigious hospitals in Los Angeles insisted that my best chance to beat that first tumor was radiation and high-dose chemotherapy. That would mean wearing an infusion pump connected via a catheter to a vein in my chest that would deliver chemotherapy on a 24/7 basis. It seems that they could deliver more chemicals into my body that way than by the more conventional periodic IV drip method. He assured me that they would be monitoring my vital organs on a regular basis and would back down on the dosage at the first sign of damage. I was not impressed. What this doctor did not disclose was that chemotherapy had never been proven to be an effective treatment for the type of cancer I had. And guess what? Fifteen years later, it has STILL not been proven to work for my type of tumor despite his megadose efforts. My fear served me well on that occasion.

During that same information gathering period, I also consulted with the chief orthopedic oncologist at a major teaching hospital in Los Angeles. Because that tumor abutted three critical structures in the leg, he had some interesting surgical plans for me (in addition to preoperative radiation) that included cutting off the back half of my femur, installing a stainless steel rod for structural support, and “back filling” with cadaver bone tissue. Removing a chunk of my femoral artery and replacing it with a gortex sleeve. And cutting out my sciatic nerve, which he said would leave me with a paralyzed foot – but not to worry, he’d give me a plastic brace to wear in my shoe to keep me from tripping over my foot with every step. He said I would walk with a cane for the rest of my life. That “solution” scared the shit out of me as well. So I elected to forego his services. (Incidentally, I met a woman several years later who had undergone the same surgery performed by the same doctor. She had just endured her seventeenth surgery, which involved the amputation of her leg at high hip. Not because her cancer had returned. But because her femur had died from the original surgical procedure.)

The head of orthopedic oncology at another LA teaching hospital listed amputation at mid-thigh among my options. He lobbied for the high-dose chemotherapy approach. I exited his office as quickly as I could and never looked back.

And that’s when I connected with the New York doctor who knew that this type of tumor does not invade bone, and that the femoral artery and sciatic nerve were not involved. He successfully resected the tumor – no chemotherapy, no radiation. And I never experienced a local recurrence.

Seven years ago, he removed a second tumor from deep within my right butt cheek. He recommended post-operative radiation to reduce the risk of local recurrence. I rejected that suggestion based on sound arguments with which he subsequently agreed. And there has not been any local recurrence.

So I do not run from my fears, I embrace them. They are a necessary part of the decision-making process.

And now I am faced with a new tumor . . . in a new location . . . perhaps related to the previous ones, perhaps not. And a new cast of experts. With their various biases. It will likely be a struggle to cull accurate information from the impending stampede of opinion, conjecture, and prejudice. I would absolutely LOVE it if I could make this tumor disappear through diet, meditation, visualization, prayer, and/or voodoo. And I am absolutely certain that cancer has been cured through EACH of those modalities. But which, if any, might be effective for me? How much time do I have before I reach the point of no return, assuming that point has not already been reached? So I must carefully assess all options, including those that scare me to death. And in that category I include having my chest cracked open, my heart bypassed while it is artificially placed into cardiac arrest, and . . . god knows what else is involved. I really don’t want to know. That rough sketch is more than enough for me.

One thing is for certain, however. And that is that I will NOT subject myself to any treatment simply because someone tells me or wishes me to do it. There will have to be positive, tangible benefits that outweigh the attendant risks and disadvantages. For instance, I will not be willing to undertake a treatment that on average offers patients an additional six months of post-operative misery. I will also be extremely suspicious of any surgeon that recommends surgery without first ordering CT scans and MRIs to rule out metastases. Why undertake a complicated surgery of the heart if the cancer has spread to other locations?

Let the data gathering begin. Lord help these poor guys that will have to deal with me. It’s likely to be a miserable experience for all concerned . . .