My son is a nurse. I didn’t want him to be one, but I wanted
nursing to be his pre-med. For some reason, he didn’t make it to the college of
medicine. The salary for nurses is meager, so he instead worked as a call
center agent. For 10 years, he enjoyed his work, but after the Pandemic, the
demand for nurses became acute worldwide, and salaries rose to an acceptable
level; he decided to answer his calling. He is an ER nurse (Medical Department)
at Mandaluyong City Medical Center (MCMC).
Four weeks ago, or so, he had blood in his stool. As a
nurse, he has easy access to medical care. He was diagnosed with Salmonella
infection. He received treatment, and although he had IV lines on his arms, he
continued working. The bleeding stopped, but the pain didn’t. His ER head nurse
was getting worried, so she virtually dragged him to the medical specialist at
the OPD. On the same day he was admitted for severe abdominal pain, a colonoscopy
was done.
“Nader,” the doctor said, “has a tumor that is blocking 90%
of his colon.” Skyfall is no longer a 007 movie; it is for real, and it was
raining on my head.
“Is it possible, it’s not malignant?” I mumbled.
He gave me that look that says, “Are you joking?”
I didn’t know how to break the news to my wife and our other
children, but I did. I am an MD, and although it is different when you are
directly involved, I’m still used to it.
My son has a mysterious colon cancer. A series of tests and
2 CT scans were performed. His tumor marker test result is below 1, when the
high normal range is 4. Although 30% of malignancies have normal values of
tumor markers, 70% have high tumor markers that are also used to measure your
response to treatment. Of the many signs of Colon cancer, my son didn’t have
any except the pain. Doctors kept coming back asking Nader if he had this or
that, which he didn’t. Even the surgeon wondered why he couldn’t palpate any
tumor mass despite the finding of 90% blockage on colonoscopy, and why Nader had
no bowel movement problem at all.
A day before surgery, another CT scan with contrast was done,
and yes, the biopsy of the tissue from the colonoscopy also came.
My son has “Well Differentiated Adenocarcinoma.”
I had a glimmer of hope the moment I read “Well differentiated…”
I had 2 hours of sleep. It’s late in the afternoon, and although I still have hours
to kill before I drive to the hospital, I had to go. When I checked our group
chat, everyone was crying. The result of the CT scan with contrast wasn’t good.
Believe it or not, driving alone is my moment of solitude. I
worked in Saudi Arabia’s mountainous region for 32 years, and truly, driving in
the mountains gives you peace and the aloneness that gives your mind limitless
space to wander.
In a moment of crisis, driving in the mountains is no different from the bustling
traffic of the Metro.
“God,” I said. “I am an old man. Please take me instead of
my son. If I am among the chosen ones, my mission is complete. The blessed ones
will find the message in the more than 700 blogs and seven (7) books I have
written.”
I said, “Chosen ones, I summon you to rescue my son from
this cancer malady.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROMB_McCT9s
Friends and relatives assumed the CT scan result, which
mentioned the fibrosis and nodules in the lung and two small cysts in the liver,
as metastases, so the sorrow that broke them into tears.
At 7 PM on Saturday, October 25, my son was wheeled into the
OR for hemicolectomy. I expected him to be in the OR and recovery room for no
less than 12 hours, not to mention the ICU, which was also prepared to receive
my son if he needed it. To my surprise, my son was back in his room shortly
after midnight.
The surgery was very successful. Another CT scan, this time
for the lungs only, with contrast, was performed to confirm that the previous
CT scan's findings were likely a post-infection nodule. (I, too, have that tiny
nodule that disqualified me from working in Qatar despite having been issued a working
visa)
Whatever the result of the specimen’s histo-pathology, the
future is bright. The type of cancer my son has is the lazy one. It is less
invasive, growing very slowly. You can have it for years without knowing.
I need to say “thank you, Mr. Salmonella.”
With a successful surgery, my son may not need follow-up
chemotherapy. It will all depend on what the Oncologist recommends.
https://beyond666-acson005.blogspot.com/2013/01/golden-boy-strange-story-of-my-son.html
