I began my journey into the land of cancer on Friday, November 24th 2006. I had begun having breathing difficulties a month or so before, but a lifetime of smoking cigarettes, and more recently, cigars, coupled with moderate obesity tended to make me ignore the shortness of breath. I figured it would pass. My wife of 4 years and I had recently moved to Phoenix Arizona to escape the cold and clammy weather in Ohio.
The extreme desert heat was more tolerable than the biting cold of winter by a large margin, and my arthritis was a dim memory for the most part. Poor Brenda had suffered through a few bouts of congestive heart failure since our move, but this was a condition she brought with her so it probably would have been no different there.
Her health was about as stable as it gets, but I was actually able to ditch my cane for short strolls, and I felt generally marvelous. We were looking forward to the holiday season a month away, hoping to entice some of our kids or parents to visit by promising 75 degree swimming weather over Christmas.
During the week approaching Thanksgiving, I experienced more and more difficulty breathing, and walking half way through the parking garage at work caused me to need a rest break before continuing on to my desk to start the day. I actually passed on the morning smoke break Wednesday because I didn'?t want to have to walk out to the smoking area and back. That should have clued me in that something was amiss, but I am a stubborn man, and refused to read the warning signs because of it.
Wednesday night was miserable. I could barely sleep because of coughing, and my sinuses were running constantly. I existed by chewing Hall?s cough drops and went through a box of tissues, and took my usual diabetic stroll to the potty at 3 am. After finishing my toilet, a coughing fit caused a lump of mucus to rise, and I spat it into the bowl. It was streaked with blood, which terrified me.
After blowing my nose yet again, I was relieved to find a small spot of blood in the tissue. I then was able to rationalize that the blood in the spittle was merely nose bleed that ran into my throat along with the drainage. Relieved, I went back to bed, electing to sleep in the reclining chair to help alleviate the sinus draining.
We cooked a turkey and most of the trimmings even though it would be just the two of us, and I tried to keep a festive spirit even though the specter of the night before kept pushing itself into my mind, that streak of red in my throat. Rationalize as I might, it haunted me, and I told my wife I?d call the doctor and make an appointment Friday, from work. Thursday night was no better, a repeat performance of the hacking and gagging, the shortness of breath, and yes, even the red clots in my discharge. I was truly and severely concerned.
I woke to the alarm and rose to shower and dress; Friday was just another day of work. I hopped into our van and motored the 5 mile commute to my office. Other than not being able to draw a full breath, I actually felt better, the rampant sinus drainage seemed to be slacking off and my head felt a bit more clear of stoppage. The skies were sunny and bright, the pall of smog had lifted completely, and as I drove I told myself that the attack had been a reaction to the air quality, which had been quite sub-standard for the past week. ?Probably feel just fine next week? I told myself, but I was scared enough to decide to call the doc for an appointment, anyway.
Working a mid-shift, parking is a game of Russian roulette. If I?m lucky, someone fairly close to the third-floor walkway left, and no one else had snagged the spot, or one of the handicapped slots would be open, and our van displays a handicapped permit due to my, and Brenda?s health issues. Luck ran true, and the closest spot was open, so I parked and stood at the rail, finishing my last cigar before the morning work began.
Crushing the embers out in the large silver ashtray, I headed in to the guard desk to check in. After the approximately 70 foot walk, I was dizzy and could not catch a breath. I sat on the bench across from the guard station, and concentrated on not passing out. A few moments of this, and I managed to skim my card through the reader for admission into the offices, and pushed through the glass doors into our cube farm for fraud prevention at a major credit card bank, where I am an application verification analyst.
