Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Wild Bill

By L. Rapp

I always thought I'd live to be 83! Why that age, I don't know, but

now

I'll be grateful to make it to 58. When I am 58, will be 12 - old

enough

to understand what is happening. Not that it is ever easy to lose a mom -

even

when " Mom " is really an aunt.

Actually I am grateful for each day. Every morning when my alarm goes

off,

I lie in bed a few minutes. Whatever the weather, I am happy to be able to

stretch my legs out, give my dog a pat, and thank God for another day. My

favorite days are those when the sun streams in through my lace curtains,

but I

even like the sound of rain pattering on my window or the wind moving the

trees

against the side of the house. It is in the morning that I feel the best.

It

is morning that gives me hope.

Nearly two-and-a-half years ago, a tumor on my left adrenal gland

ruptured

in the middle of the night, leaving me near death from excessive blood loss.

As

I lay on the operating table, I thought of my three grown children, of my

unfinished business, but mostly I thought of , whom I'd left crying

hysterically in the living room of our home when the paramedics hauled me

off.

Somehow, I made it through the surgery, made a rather astounding recovery

and

returned to work in six weeks. and I resumed our lives.

The tumor was strange. No one could clearly say what it was except

that it

was malignant. Five major medical centers couldn't identify it. I began

calling it " Wild Bill. "

For a little more than two years, I did well except for a bowel

obstruction

that responded to non-surgical treatment. Every three months I visited an

oncologist in Chicago who did tests that I passed with flying colors. After

a

while, I did not think much about " Wild Bill. "

After New Year's this year, I began feeling excessively tired, my back

ached more than usual, and I was running a low-grade fever. I was admitted

to

the hospital for tests. Everything from active TB (I had been exposed at

work)

to an arthritic condition was considered. As part of the work-up, an MRI of

my

abdomen was ordered. The test was supposed to take 45 minutes to an hour

but

stretched into two hours and beyond. My mind and heart raced and tears

flowed

into my ears like a river. It was the first time I cried over my illness.

I

could not wipe my tears away and no one could hold my hand, but I knew what

the

MRI showed was not good. The next day a needle biopsy of part of the tumor

confirmed that " Wild Bill " had returned. I felt lost and depressed. All I

could think about was .

A rather smug but well-qualified surgeon came to see me. " We'll do an

exploratory lap and see what's what and remove what we can, but I give you

no

guarantees, " he said.

When I woke up from the surgery, I listened to those five disappointing

hopeless words: " We couldn't get it all. " They've yet to explain exactly

what

they could and could not get. Depending on whom I talked with, I had at

least

four different versions. Maddening.

At first my recovery was fraught with a terrible sadness that I

couldn't

shake. I got thinner and thinner and I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep

either

and hurt too much to toss and turn, so I would lie like a board all night.

Even

though my family, friends and coworkers all rallied around me, I could not

feel

any hope. I even wished I had died the night the original tumor ruptured.

I can't say I snapped out of it. It was more like a gradual slide. I

started chemotherapy and even though I was fearful of that, it gave me hope.

Reading books was very positive for me - I read of countless hopeless cases

who

recovered or lived way beyond expectations. Lived good lives, too. I began

feeling better. With the help of a friend and a kind priest, I learned how

to

pray again. Now and I pray together every night. I stopped wishing

I

had died that terrible night in December of 1992.

Over the last couple of years, so many good things have happened that I

would have missed. My older son published his first book, my younger son's

acting career took off again and my daughter and her boyfriend built a

beautiful

home for their future together. learned to ride her bike and to

read. I

resumed an old friendship with a cherished friend. Things that I took for

granted were important to me. My sister moved back from California and we

can

see each other so much more often. If I had died that night I would not

have

been here to say good-bye to my own dad, who died last fall. may

have

never recovered from the trauma and suddenness of it all.

What I really know now is that we never really know. So now when I

wake

up, I am grateful for whatever time I have. I feed the birds and stray

cats. I

pick flowers and plant some. I call my sisters and friends. I help

with

her homework. I feel stronger each day. " Hope " is the word, I guess; that

is

so important now. If I have hope, I can do my best to do all I need to do

to

get well.