By Brenda Cannon Henley
For the record, let me state I am not a physician, nurse, technician, or medical student, but I have gotten a great deal of education in the past few weeks about a subject that could save your life or the life of someone you love. I do not claim any medical knowledge, have any degrees in the field, or plan on changing my profession, but I am convinced that a word to the wise can save lives. (Don’t worry, Dr. Holly, I am not moving into your field). I was thrilled that one of the first major writing awards I ever won in the state of Texas was from the American Cancer Society for a series of lengthy articles on Profiles of Courage, the stories of survivors of various cancers. The unique thing about this series was that a professional photographer went to the home or business of each of the people and took shots of them doing something they loved. One played soccer as I remember, one was woman who was big into Mardi Gras organization, another was a fisherman, several were children, and many were from loving, supportive families. These photographs were then made into huge portraits, and along with the articles I wrote about each of the people, were put on display in malls, theaters, and museums. They drew attention and hopefully helped to save lives.

Never in a million lifetimes would I have dreamed that this subject would become so important to me in future years. My husband was diagnosed with esophageal and stomach cancer on February 18, 2014. We had no clue. He was happy and healthy. In fact, on the day he was diagnosed, I had cut grass on our nine lots on the beach and he had done the weed eating and trimming. We decided to grab a bit of dinner rather than cooking after a long, busy day. He got choked and excused himself from the table. This was at 8:10 pm. At 1:40 am, he was being taken into surgery where a nine-member medical team had been called from homes and sleep, and were assembled to assist in the removal of the beef in his esophagus. Because Ted had been on a blood thinner for Afib for more than a year, he was an at-risk patient and all members of this professional team were very concerned about bleeding issues.

I remember that I was completely alone in the hospital. Both of my daughters had offered to come, but I had said no and that we would be home soon. I had insisted on getting my automobile and follow the ambulance over to the hospital by ferry because I thought he would just get “unchoked,” and come on home with me. A doctor that I had never seen before called me to a big room just before 5:00 am, and said, “Mrs. Henley, we were not able to remove the beef by retrieving it, but we were able to push it forward.” I smiled and started to thank him when he stopped me with a look. He added, “I am afraid I have some bad news. The choking he experienced in the restaurant led us to do some further checking and your husband has a large tumor that has fused his esophagus and stomach together and I think it may be out of both organs and even into the lymph nodes.”

I summoned my courage from somewhere and got a bit angry. “How do you know this? You haven’t had time to do any pathology. There have been no tests and Ted is not sick. He just got choked.” He leveled me with a gaze and said, “Young lady, I am a good doctor and I have been doing this for a long, long time. I am 95 percent certain your husband has cancer and that it is a big, bad one. I have made arrangements for him to be admitted into the hospital for additional testing. You will want to plan accordingly.”

In that split second, I did what any good Christian woman who loved her husband would do. I felt he was wrong and I was angry with the messenger. I believe I hated that doctor at that moment. I thought he was cool, calloused, and calculated and that he just did not know Ted. How could he tell me so plainly that my world had just stopped and that the picture he painted was so bleak that I basically should just give up and accept his words? I based most of my judgment on women’s cancer testing and I knew that they usually took a biopsy and sent it off and it was often days before we heard that it was benign or positive for cancer. By all accounts, I later learned, this man is an excellent physician that has helped many people, but in my humble opinion, he could use some bedside manner training.

Ted stayed in the hospital four days and four nights and the medical team was able to reverse the effects of the blood thinner so that the tests that needed to be done could be carried out with as little risk as possible. The doctor was 110 percent correct about everything he said. I just did not want to hear it. (Our journey continues in my next column).

Brenda Cannon Henley can be reached at (409) 781-8788 or at [email protected].

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