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Page 1 of 2  I think about Bill often, but I particularly think about his two precious little girls, their cute little upturned noses, freckled faces, the way they tried to get me to chase them around their daddy’s office, giggling all the time.
I particularly think about their future – and the distinct possibility it won’t include Bill. Bill suffers from prostate cancer – and it’s about as advanced as it can get. The former client of mine was diagnosed with the disease more than 10 years ago, but, unlike most of us, he didn’t beat a path to the surgeon’s office or the radiation oncologist’s table. Instead, he beat a path to Mexico.
Bill opted for a clinic down in Mexico that used woo-woo alternative treatments normally ridiculed back home in the United States. What’s more, Bill ate a sea of Saw Palmetto pills and vitamins, hoping to drive the monster out of his body. Thumbs in their mouths I guess he shuttered to think about going under the knife. I have found that many men claim to be so macho, but when faced with some doctor slicing them open, they cower in the corner with their thumbs in their mouths. Then again, quite a few men even huddle up in the corner just to avoid getting their annual physicals. Ever the hard-head, Bill ignored the urgent pleas of his wife and family to see a bona fide urologist. Now, the cancer is in his bones – the worst possible situation for a man with prostate cancer. Nearly every week, Bill endures the nearly five-hour journey from Dallas to Houston’s world-renown M.D. Anderson Cancer Center for rounds of chemotherapy, a last ditch effort to shrink the tumor and keep it from killing him. Bill doesn't need to go all the way to Houston, because he can find doctors in Dallas - like mine - who are just as good as the urologists at M.D. Anderson. But Bill says he wants the comfort of knowing he's being treated at a world-renown facility. Whatever. Never knowing what to say I never knew what to say to Bill. Being a prostate cancer survivor myself who got to the urologist in time to keep it confined to the gland, I was used to telling people in the early stage of the disease, “Chances are, you’re going to be alright,” but I knew I couldn’t say that to Bill. So when he talked about his situation, I just listened. Some months ago, Bill’s curly blond hair was all but gone and his body was weak, both terrible side effects from the chemo treatments, which will last about a year. That is, if Bill makes it that long. Nobody knows for sure how long Bill will be among us, not even the highly paid cancer specialists at M.D. Anderson. I sent an e-mail to Bill right before writing this column, wondering if he's even alive. I got a reply back from Bill, who said he's still undergoing chemo and is "doing fine." Fine, compared to what? We had a falling out not long ago, but I still think of Bill, and his daughters. Bless their little hearts.
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