Ten Good Years

A few weeks ago I mentioned a few of the things that helped me during my cancer battle. (You can read that post here.) I had planned to write something in commemoration of my ten year anniversary, but had not yet decided what date to commemorate—the date of diagnosis, the onslaught of simultaneous chemo and radiation treatments, the end of treatment, the post-treatment evaluation conjoined with another biopsy that supported a tentative pronouncement of “cured,” the date I felt “recovered,” or the date five years later when the doctors feel confident enough to use the word “cured” without caveats.

What I neglected to mention in that earlier post were some of the people who I saw and/or spoke to during that time. In addition to John, and my best friends, Phil, Susan and Tison, who stuck by my, chauffeured me, visited me, took me to doctor appointments and handled myriad other details for me, a few highlights stay with me always. Joe Williams singing Here’s To Life over the telephone, a phone call from Sonny Rollins (he told me that I wasn’t going to die), and hospital visits from Nancy Wilson and Lynn & Gerry Wiggins.

Then there was the time I was paroled from the hospital to be treated as an out-patient, discharged with a 24/7 iv chemo drip (they call it a pic line) with daily visits to the radiation center and to the lab for blood work. It was mid-June and Marian McPartland was in town to record. I drove myself to the O’Henry Sound Studios in Burbank and spent the day bathed in the sounds of Marian’s trio (Andy Simpkins on bass, Harold Jones on drums) plus a 20-piece string orchestra conducted by Alan Broadbent. It was a beautiful session with lush arrangements, a more perfect medicine for the mind and soul I cannot imagine. I spent a lot of time in the 1970s hanging out with Marian and listening to her play almost nightly at The Cookery and Bemelman’s Bar, so listening to tunes like Ambiance and A Delicate Balance took me back in time.

Then came the Playboy Jazz Festival, Joe was performing and I wasn’t going to miss it. Despite Sonny’s reassurances, I thought it might be the last time I’d ever see Joe. So John took me to the Festival in my big-brimmed hat (radiation treatments and sunshine are not a good mix) and chemo drip taped down to my side.

Outpatient treatment is a great idea, but I was getting too weak to handle it on my own. That’s when another girlfriend gave me a tremendous gift – she risked her job by taking a 2-week unpaid vacation and used up her frequent flyer miles to come in from Hawaii to stay with me. This friend had lost her husband to cancer so it must have been more than difficult for her, but she did not hesitate.

So what should I commemorate? The date of diagnosis has already slipped by me. The first biopsy was on May 15th and within a week I was in the hospital, had a tracheostomy, and “treatment” had begun. I could wait until July 29th to post this, that’s the day the treatment ended, but that’s also when the doctors tell you that they don’t know yet if the chemicals and radiation worked or not. Come back in six weeks, they said. I went to New York. It was mid-September when a third biopsy led the NY docs to say the cancer was completely gone, but that’s when they tell you they want to monitor your progress every month for the next year, every six months for two years after that, and then once a year; when five years have elapsed cancer-free then they might use the word “cured.”

By now, the dates are no longer important; maybe they never were. The moral of this story is that people and music can make life better.

ps. Yes, Ten Good Years is the title of a song that Luther Henderson and Marty Charnin wrote for Nancy Wilson’s show at the Coconut Grove in 1964.