Le Broken Clock, Part Two

SPOILER ALERT!! SPOILER ALERT!!

One of the many reasons I debated writing about this whole kidney cancer thing was a fundamental problem of genre. Namely, I never intended this to be a thriller. As I mentioned in the previous post, this whole ordeal began for me over Thanksgiving. We're now in January and, as much as someone can know these things, I've got a decent handle on the third act. I didn't really have a plan for how I was going to lay this all out, but it seems clear from the outpouring of concern that it would be irresponsible of me to dole this out chronologically. My family and friends have lived through it that way already, and trust me, it's a rough ride that no one else should have to take, even strangers who simply know me through my blog. Of course, my father claims he's learned more about my life through the blog than our thirty-odd years together, so consider yourself blood.

Despite the fact that it is at its core dramatically unsound, it's only fair that I give you the most current information I have. Maybe later I can double back and reflect on the path I took to get here, and perhaps it will free me up to approach the whole thing from various angles, as opposed to the more traditional lone protagonist three-act structure. Maybe I won't write anything about it after this. Who knows.

Here's the deal: I had a malignant tumor growing on my left kidney. I use the past tense because on December 27th I had what is known as a partial lower nephrectomy. Removed from my body were: a malignant tumor some two and a half inches around, approximately 10% of my kidney, and half of my eleventh rib. The rib was a surprise. I remained in the hospital five days, and have been home since New Year's Day recovering. I have an eight inch incision in my side. I cannot drive, lift my son, sit up in bed, or sneeze without crying.

Biopsies performed during the surgery indicate the cancer had not spread. I will be scanned every 3-6 months for the next five years but will require no chemotherapy and no radiation for this particular cancer. Without being too dramatic about it, there is a very good chance my bout with food poisoning saved my life. Which goes to show, if you see a taco stand and it looks even the least bit sketchy, get in line.

I do not believe in God, and I do not believe in fate. The last two months have been tough on this particular atheist, but as an infinite monkey I have little choice but to bow down to the powers of natural selection and mutation, even when it's happening inside my own body. There are those who suggest a greater power must be looking out for me. But the greatest power I know was doing last minute post-production on Munich so I didn't bother calling on him, either.

I do believe in poker. I was addicted to cards, and so I quit. But they converted me to their ways. I believe in math, random chance, probability, and mostly, luck. Professional card players understand that poker is short-term luck (good and bad) eventually balanced out by long-term skill. Living, more likely, is long-term luck balanced out with occasional bouts of short-term skill. In this case, the luck is all mine and the skill belongs to those who found my tumor and took it out.

I did not fight cancer and I certainly did not beat cancer. One night cancer came and grabbed me hard by the arm, yanked me down the stairs and stood over me on the landing while I begged for mercy and waited for the rain of blows to come. Some did, enough for me to know I couldn't have withstood the whole barrage.

And then without explanation it disappeared. And let me live. Like some monsters do.

Thank you everybody.