Begin Here

Today is the day that begins the rest of your life. A simple statement that rings truer on some days more than others.

My father, accompanied by my older brother Mike and my two sisters, Robin and Jennifer, sat with Doctor Maddox to discuss the results of his bone scan. The test was done last week after a biopsy showed Dad had prostate cancer.

Cancer, that word that stabs fear into the hearts of those who have sat across the desk from their doctors dressed in white lab coats to present the diagnoses to their patients. We fear cancer more than God.

Dr. Maddox call Dad on Saturday while I was in New Hampshire making mwarmwars for Jerry and Jess. Aggressive. Could be in the bones. "It's news. What are you going to do?" Dad said.

2 PM. I was in the pool. Do one lap. Breathe. Four strokes and breath again. Do sixty more laps. He braced for the results; I held my breath. The cancer is found in the bones – pelvis and perhaps the ribs, but that could be a war wound or arthritis. Tomorrow an X-ray. Treatment: Nothing or hormones. Exhale.

I had twenty six cents and rock in my pocket when Robin told me the news. I watched the fiery sun fall into the Gulf and missed sailing.

Options. Options. We all want options. At eighty four, you don’t get too many. And doctors don’t make too many promises either.