CANCER WALK: "ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD."

By Verne Strickland, April 19, 2012

My failures as a political prognosticator are well-known. For example, I predicted early on that Barack Obama by this time would be working as a clerk in the office of Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel.

So my firm belief that cancer won’t kill me could blow up in my face. I do feel I stand a better chance of being run down by a David Rouzer campaign bus driven by Tom Goolsby than I do of succumbing to multiple myeloma. We’ll see. 

But there have been some interesting twists and turns in this saga I am living through.

I’ve come through several weeks of radiation and two courses of chemotherapy. Thank God I’ve tolerated those treatments with few troubling side effects. They are killing cancer cells. We haven't won the war, but we are scoring well in the battles.

I don’t know how much of a factor attitude is in a situation like this, but I’m told that it’s quite important. On that score, I feel good, hopeful, and positive. I know I have lots of assets on my side. First and foremost – Jesus Christ, in whose arms I rest and live. Close behind – my implacable, loving family, who have supported me every step of the way.

Our youngest son, Britt, who lives in England where he is an English lit teacher at an academy north of London, came home immediately when he heard what was going on here in the colonies. This was at considerable expense. The meaning of that mission was not lost on me.

My wonderful wife, Durrene, told me today that she is impatient with problems that affect her own well-being so she can pour all her attention into helping me through this. She has fibromyalgia, is still recovering from a broken femur sustained two years ago, and takes powerful pain medications to get her through the day. My wonderful lady.

Our eldest son Martin, a Wilmington residential building contractor, said it grieves him to see his dad hooked up to an IV system in a local cancer treatment center. He is invariably attentive and helpful.

And Scott, our middle son, who lives in Boone with his wife Melissa, stays in touch with warm phone messages. He has MS, and usually is too fatigued for lengthy travels.

Lest I forget, I also am indebted to the impressive medical community which serves Wilmington and the Cape Fear Region. When I showed up at the Hanover Medical Specialists clinic www.hmsdocs.com not more than a couple of months ago, I was in desperate pain and virtually unable to walk. In short order they fast-tracked me into the system and pinpointed the problem -- multiple myeloma -- which was centered in my pelvic region but was already spreading into other parts of my body.

I was told by board-certified oncologist Dr. William McNulty that the cancer had been discovered early enough to respond to modern medicine, and that there was every chance I would weather the storm and survive to die by some other means. 

So I am blessed to have comfort and care. My job is to toe the line on Dr. McNulty’s orders, take my big bagful of prescription medicines everyday, get lots of exercise and rest, ration the Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 Black Label, and avoid writing about politics through half the night. As an inveterate party animal, I flaunt that last directive, but otherwise follow his instructions to the letter.

While it saddens me to perceive that this whole thing is unsettling to those closest to me, I realize how many positive things have come from this trial.

Durrene and I, married for 51 years, are closer.  This is a wake-up call that our time together is finite. We more consciously cherish these moments, are less sensitive to trivial issues, and seek ways to to convey our mutual love at this time in our lives. This is a real, bonafide bonus. 

God has accomplished this mysterious blessing: “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose". Romans 8:28. 

We have dramatically revised our priorities. Whereas in the past we have been more materialistic than we should have been, we are now led to concentrate on spiritual concerns and opportunities given to us by the Lord. Things eternal. The lessons of the Holy Scriptures come alive for us.

We are inherently flawed, we still sin with regularity, but we are forgiven, and we are saved.

Our three boys, and our daughters-in-law, were raised as Christians, and their faith has only deepened as they have grown into adulthood. We know that their souls are secure – hid with God in Christ Jesus. It’s wonderful to contemplate.

So there are many blessings available to us to serve, and worries for our own personal welfare are not only pointless but sinful.

The following may be my favorite scripture. It speaks to me. I paraphrase, so I may have misquoted the King James Version to some extent: “Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God. Believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not true, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will return and take you unto myself, that ye may live with me forever.”

I have a wonderful personal story I may tell you sometime about how that powerful bit of scripture exploded into my life years ago. Not now. But maybe later.

Blessed assurance. God bless you all, my dear friends, who mean so much to me. Your pal and fan, Verne.

CANCER WALK -- Wilmington writer Verne Strickland's battle with bone cancer.

"WE GAVE GOD THE REINS OF OUR LIVES . . . "

By Verne Strickland
March 14, 2012

My walk with cancer actually began when I found that I was losing the ability to walk. This was only about three months ago. Pain froze my hips, hobbled my legs, and forced me to shuffle along, barely lifting my feet. I was suddenly old and infirm.

I turned 75 this year, but have enjoyed very good health most of my life. I've tried to watch my diet, curb cholesterol, stay in shape with light weight training, and stay off the smokes, which I quit over thirty years ago.

But then this "thing" happened. I had to curtail all my activities. I was grounded. My energy plummeted. I had no appetite, and my weight dropped markedly. Before I knew it, I was down to within five pounds of what I scaled in at when I was in boot camp at Fort Jackson fifty years ago.

I dropped out of sight. Could not function. Early onset of Alzheimer's worsened, and I was often confused and inarticulate. I couldn't think. To my family the change was evident, and alarming. We were all concerned. I didn't announce to friends until later what was going on. I didn't know.

Foolishly, I cut down on and then stopped altogether the dozen or more prescription meds which glued me together, regulating my heart, breathing, digestive and circulatory systems, and my brain. As a result, I crashed, and dove into a depression so deep I didn't think I would get out. I questioned how long I could survive it. It was a desperate time.

I didn't know I would talk about this, but it's a part of the story I need to tell. I entered a recommended mental rehab facility, which helped me get emotionally stable again. I needed that. While there for a brief period, I lived with unfortunates more desperately ill than I.

It was a profound experience. We had nothing but the staff and each other. They all befriended and helped me. In turn, I helped them. They were all good people with bad problems. I'm sure many of them are still there. I will never forget them.

There is no shame in this for me. Quite the contrary. It was a priceless and touching opportunity to see the other side. Even to be on the other side for a time. It broadened my horizons, deepened my compassion. I can even liken the experience in a way to the crushing emotional burden and depression that many combat veterans suffer, although to liken my own sickness to theirs would be disrespectful.

Far too many lost their battle.

I learned of their searing saga mainly through my personal relationship with conservative congressional candidate Ilario Patano, who in two tours of combat had his own encounters with shock, loss, fear, and the soul sickness known as PTSD. 

My fleeting passage through that dark world fed the kinship I feel with our soldiers and Marines like Ilario, whose campaign I take pride in supporting. He has talked about the horrors of PTSD, which has beset so many veterans, and talks frankly about his own bout with these demons. I think perhaps I may understand that a bit better now.

So I've been told I have bone cancer. Multiple Myeloma.

“But,” my doctor says, “it probably won’t kill you.”

He is smiling.

My wife Durrene and eldest son Martin are there with me. We have come for “the report”. They are smiling too. I’m sure I am as well. 

In years not too far behind us, the news likely would have not been so cheery.

“We owe much to modern medicine,” observes Wilmington oncologist Dr. William McNulty. “It is exciting, it is at our disposable, and we apply it gratefully.”

The past month has been a roller coaster ride of ups and down -- biopsies, CT scans, x-rays, MRIs, blood tests, counseling, radiation treatments, trips to hospitals, visits with an impressive array of medical specialists, and the opportunity to meet dozens of cancer patients like myself. 

Through it all, I am impressed and reassured by the one constant that clearly runs through all the waiting rooms, operating rooms, and recovery rooms and long hallways I pass through.

That unexpected constant element is calm. Serenity. Stoicism. Resilience. The irrepressible human spirit .

What is the source of this confidence, or, should I say, this optimism, or better yet – faith that what we patients share is not a sentence, or even a burden, but an opportunity to interact with others who labor gamely, even joyously, to see this experience through, profit from it, use it to grow in strength and in an appreciation of life.

Some of those I met are at the beginning of this journey. Others near the end of it. But there is a dignity here that I did not expect to encounter. It has meant much to me.

Whereas I am a writer, my tendency here has been to hold the subject – cancer – at arm’s length, and describe what I see. But I am daily brought back to the realization that I observe this from inside the bubble. I too have cancer. I have an uncertain future. And I am suffering.

Let me delay no longer to cut to the chase. I have been given a reprieve and I know it. The cancer which has gnawed silently at my bones has not had much of a head start.

With my mind somewhat fixed, I undertook the next step -- to find out what was physically wrong with me. My loving, caring family gathered around me. This was so important. We prayed for direction, courage and resolve. It all came, of course. Faith is wonderful when you have it, and a lifesaver when you need it.

We gave God the reins of our lives. He guided us to the man who took charge of our medical dilemma -- Dr. William McNulty, a board-certified Wilmington oncologist and internist of national reputation, a brilliant and cheerful physician who changed my life and gave me a new sense of hope. He is a founding partner of Hanover Medical Specialists.

I surrendered myself to a procession of tests and probes -- biopsies, CT scans, MRIs. The problems seemed to have originated in my pelvic structure, which seemed reasonable, because my ability to walk had been most seriously compromised.

Dr. McNulty early on suspected multiple myeloma, a type of cancer which starts in plasma cells. It's the most common type of plasma cell cancer -- intimidating, but treatable with what my oncologist described as "modern medicine" -- radiation, and chemotherapy -- utilizing an "old" drug enjoying a resurgence in popularity due to new creative techniques in IV usage.

It was after two weeks of radiation treatment that I entered the world of modern chemotherapy -- just half a click short of surgery in the arsenal we can employ against deadly cancer. This is where we'll go next in this series -- my personal saga I call "CANCER WALK."

I'm Verne Strickland. I have bone cancer. It will not take my life."

By Verne Strickland / March 27, 2012

I have bone cancer. Multiple Myeloma.

“But,” my doctor says, “it probably won’t kill you.”

He is smiling.

My wife Durrene and eldest son Martin are there with me. We have come for “the report”. They are smiling too. I’m sure I am as well. 

In years not too far behind us, the news likely would have not been so cheery.

“We owe much to modern medicine,” observes Wilmington oncologist Dr. William McNulty. “It is exciting, it is at our disposable, and we apply it gratefully.”

The past month has been a roller coaster ride of ups and down -- biopsies, CT scans, x-rays, MRIs, blood tests, counseling, radiation treatments, trips to hospitals, visits with an impressive array of medical specialists, and the opportunity to meet dozens of cancer patients like myself. 

Through it all, I am impressed and reassured by the one constant that clearly runs through all the waiting rooms, operating rooms, and recovery rooms I pass through.

That unexpected constant element is calm. Serenity. Stoicism. Resilience. The irrepressible human spirit .

What is the source of this confidence, or, should I say, this optimism, or better yet – faith that what we patients share is not a sentence, or even a burden, but an opportunity to interact with others who labor gamely, even joyously, to see this experience through, profit from it, use it to grow in strength and in an appreciation of life.

Some of those I met are at the beginning of this journey. Others near the end of it. But there is a dignity here that I did not expect to encounter. It has meant much to me.

Whereas I am a writer, my tendency here has been to hold the subject – cancer – at arm’s length, and describe what I see. But I am daily brought back to the realization that I observe this from inside the bubble. I too have cancer. I have an uncertain future. And I am suffering.

Let me delay no longer to cut to the chase. I have been given a reprieve. The cancer which has gnawed secretly at my bones has not had much of a head start.

Signs of a real problem came in the form of a mighty pain which slammed into my hips and legs. I soon became almost unable to walk. I had no energy. My appetite vanished. I quickly lost weight, and within a short period was down to within five pounds of my weight when I was a 145-pound soldier in basic training at Fort Jackson. Then I was running my butt off, so to speak. Now, I was simply losing it. No way this was right.

There is a wonderful medical community here in the Cape Fear Region, and I was swept quickly into it. We who live here – in particular the seniors (I am 75) – are fortunate to have such an asset at our doorstep – world-class hospitals, clinics, laboratories, and a cadre of high-caliber physicians – many board-certified -- who guard our quality of life. I have seen it in action, benefited from it, and am proud of what I know and see.

In future columns I will write more about this personal journey seeking escape from cancer. I know that I am a stronger, more compassionate man for the experience.

Although I am a survivor, I am not one who has “escaped” from cancer. Radiation has struck a blow at this malignancy in my bones, but it continues to visit many parts of my body, where it lurks and will become problematic.

My oncologist today shared treatment options which are capable of detecting and killing the cancer cells, hopefully keeping them in check while I succumb eventually to some other malady which will do the same job in a different way.

Sound spooky? To me that sounds great. I may not know the identity of what will eventually claim me. But it won’t be Multiple Myeloma. We live to fight another day. 

The main weapon in the medical arsenal being readied for me will be IV chemotherapy using a new “Wow” drug which specifically targets multiple myeloma, is very dependable and efficient, but has few troubling side effects. I signed up. Treatment starts within a week. 

From the outset of this experience, I have seen God – our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ -- in the midst of it all. He hears our prayers, and he answers them. I’m grateful to friends who have sent up many of those prayers. They matter. They have been a comfort. 

It is through the campaign of my dear friend Ilario Pantano that I have come to know so many of you. This is my real community, and I love and feel close to every one of you. I lean on you at this time.

Ilario Pantano reminded me when he learned of my illness: “Oftentimes the answers from on high are not of our own choosing. But they do come from God. And that is awesome.”

That it is, Ilario. That it is.