When I went home this summer to take care of the odds and ends of a house burnt down, I also learned of the horrible news that one of my closest friends, Dack, had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and that he had, at best—six months to live. He was as upbeat as he could be, having decided that he didn’t want to spend any part of those months in treatment, trying to survive something he most likely would not. He stated quite factually that he was sixty years old and had packed more into those years than most; his only regret was in not meeting and marrying Theresa years earlier. Leaving her behind was what mattered. He didn’t want to, but also refused to burden her with caring for him longer than necessary. Quality mattered more than quantity.
This, I understood.
I swore to him I would come back before it was too late; I wanted to spend some quality time with the man who has been every bit as much a brother to me as has my own. We met when I was 22, and over the years he has been my mentor, my protector, my friend, and my brother. I knew that trip would be hard, because saying goodbye is something I hate to do, but I was set to leave in a little over a week.
The phone rang in the middle of the night last night, and Char was the one to grab it. She managed to whisper It’s Theresa before she started crying, and I took the phone from her, not wanting to, not wanting at all to hear that Dack had been cheated out of four of the months he thought he had. And that I hadn’t gotten back in time.
They were wrong, they made a mistake, there’s nothing wrong with him except a really bad gall bladder and an intestinal stricture. He’s fine, he’ll be fine, he’s not going to die, not this year.
Dack avoided his doctor after his diagnoses, because he just didn’t want to be talked into doing anything. But yesterday he was in enough pain for Theresa to take him to the ER, where a doctor other than his own took the time to look for other causes of pain. He had an ultrasound, CT, blood work, everything they could throw at him, and there was no sign of cancer. No sign of anything, other than a gall bladder filled with stones, and a stricture in his colon that probably added to his general everyday pain.
He had his gall bladder removed and should be home today.
I told Theresa I was still coming back, because I need to celebrate this complete turn in Dack’s life; she told me to stay put, because he wants to come to us instead. He wants to see the kids, the dog and the cats, and he wants to show Theresa some of the places he’s been before and loved.
Hopefully, that will happen in November. And no bones about it, I will cry like a little girl when I see him.
