On a cool, overcast morning in the late winter of 2001, I was idling in the parking lot of the Ottawa Civic Hospital. I had started my car about 5 minutes earlier, and the heater was blowing warm air onto the frosted windshield.
I had a cigarette locked between the middle and index fingers of my left hand while I searched frantically for my green BIC lighter with my right hand. My body was shivering; less from the cold and more from the news that I had just received from the clinic inside.
I was told that the biopsy that they had taken a week ago from a tumour in my neck had come back with a diagnosis of Stage 3 Squamous Cell cancer from an occult source, meaning that the neck area where the tumour was located was not the primary source of the disease. I was told that the primary source would likely not be known until the operation required to excise the neck area was complete.
Later that month, I met with my surgeon to discuss a surgery date and radiation plan. He outlined the complexity of the surgery due to the tumour growing among the neck muscles and the Jugular Vein.
“I’ll do what I can to save the muscle, but the vein will likely have to go!”
“What?! Lose my Jugular Vein? How can I live without that?”
“Your body will adapt; the blood will find another path.”
“Ok, but will I have the energy to, like, run a marathon or climb Mt. Kilimanjaro after? I’m only 50!”
“Are you a marathoner now?”
“Ah, no, but I might want to be.”
I recall the doctor pausing while he absorbed this logic. Then he continued.
“Moving on to your radiation plan, your oncologist will be delivering 32 radiation sessions to the front area of your head and neck and 10 additional sessions to the back of your neck.
This is because the primary site is unknown, so we want to eliminate any possible site where the primary source originated.”
My thoughts reverted to my idling engine and sitting with a cigarette in hand, fumbling for my BIC to light my drug of choice and calm my frazzled nerves.
I found the lighter. It started on the first click, but as my two hands moved to meet at my lips, I looked at the flame. My future was in that flame, and the choice that I was about to make was wrapped around its many colours. I’d just bought a brand-new package of my favourite brand of cigarettes.
What to do, what to do?
Oh, how many times my smoking history had the dragon of desire dragged me back into its lair after I had shoved it away? But a window into my future, seen in the clarity of the BIC flame, finally provided the incentive to quit my smoking addiction. I dropped the package to the floor on the passenger side of the car, and drove home to the support of family that would be critical to my recovery.
The surgery and radiation treatments were successful, and while I never took the time to run a marathon or climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, I learned over time that radiation was another dragon that never sleeps.