Well, this wasn't exactly the diagnosis I was expecting. For the past 6 years in private practice anesthesiology, I have been an avid physical fitness nut, doing an hour of cardio every morning at 4 or 5 am, followed by an hour of weight lifting. Worked full schedules every day, developed/developing multiple side businesses, in general a type A workaholic.
After contracting pneumonia from my brother, I couldn't seem to shake it. Granted, I didn't exactly close up shop and rest. I kept a full schedule including calls, had meetings on some nights until well past midnight, and didn't always eat properly. On Wednesday, April 20, I coughed so hard that I tore rib cartilage. On Friday, April 22, I coughed so hard at a meeting, I broke the left T6 rib cleanly. Thereafter, each cough felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into my back and side.
I had gotten a chest X Ray earlier that Friday, which showed what I thought was a bad pneumonia. My good friend and pulmonologist Dr. Gary "Ged" Erwin, reviewed the X-Ray and put me on antibiotics. I rested that night with cough medicine and a glass of wine then the next day, went to get a haircut. Yes a haircut. The pain finally became unbearable and Dr. Erwin quickly brought me into Baylor Plano Hospital and had me undergo a CT scan with contrast. I reviewed the results with the radiologist and knew immediately that the result was not good: 5 X 9 cm right lower lobe lung mass (actually two masses with a connecting bridge) with spiculated irregular margins and multiple enlarged hilar and supraclavicular lymph nodes.
That's medical terminology for "Oh ****!" Ged knew it was bad. He scheduled me for a biopsy on April 25. The biopsy was done after, yes, a half day of work, and I was taken care of by my practice partner Dr. Terry Latson. I went home and took the next day off. On that afternoon, Tuesday, April 26, I got THE CALL from Ged: "Norm, you have invasive adenocarcinoma of the lung."
LUNG CANCER. Me. At the age of 40. As a non-smoker. As a non-drug user. No family history. Really?
Sitting next to me was my younger 9 year old son Harrison. Do I tell him? Do I lie to him? Do I ignore it? I chose to tell him. He is a mature 9 year old and I didn't want him to find out later from someone else. I certainly didn't want him to find out after I dropped dead at some point, so I told him. Tears were shed by both of us. I was devastated and depressed. The next person to find out was my beautiful wife Emily. Ever the strong soul mate she has been, she teared up but immediately started pushing me to fight. Next were my practice partners, Dr. Michael Huss and Dr. Joy Ghermay, and simultaneously my mom. They had to know why I wasn't going to be working for a while. 8o) Next was my neighbor and great friend, Dr. Richard Hostin. After that, I was too confused and emotionally spent to continue to make calls. I wanted to tell my best friends but could not pick up the phone any more.
I entered my first episode of depression. I had to lie down and quite frankly, I didn't care if I woke up. Panic set in and a thousand things to do and think about entered my mind. Did I save enough? Were the kids going to be able to handle this? How would my kids turn out if I'm not there to mentor, nurture, and guide them? Questions with no answers kept popping into my mind and suddenly I was having my first ever true anxiety attack. I have never and will never fear death. As a health care professional, I have seen and heard too much to not know that there is life after death.
Once again, my bastion of strength, my beautiful wife Emily, rallied my spirits and dragged me out of the house to take my kids to their basketball and swimming practices. I could say nothing and think of nothing other than when was I going to die. Emily and I watched the kids practice and occasionally, I would smile at the antics of my younger son's basketball team. We took the kids home and once there, did our usual routines. After the kids went to sleep, Emily and I spent our time together alone. When she fell asleep, I was awake by myself and once again sank into a dark, deep depression. Death that evening would not have been turned away by my waning will to fight. A dark sleep overtook me and I dreamt of the confusion and sadness my family would feel after my death. I awoke at least a dozen times that night and each time, felt more depressed than before.
After contracting pneumonia from my brother, I couldn't seem to shake it. Granted, I didn't exactly close up shop and rest. I kept a full schedule including calls, had meetings on some nights until well past midnight, and didn't always eat properly. On Wednesday, April 20, I coughed so hard that I tore rib cartilage. On Friday, April 22, I coughed so hard at a meeting, I broke the left T6 rib cleanly. Thereafter, each cough felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into my back and side.
I had gotten a chest X Ray earlier that Friday, which showed what I thought was a bad pneumonia. My good friend and pulmonologist Dr. Gary "Ged" Erwin, reviewed the X-Ray and put me on antibiotics. I rested that night with cough medicine and a glass of wine then the next day, went to get a haircut. Yes a haircut. The pain finally became unbearable and Dr. Erwin quickly brought me into Baylor Plano Hospital and had me undergo a CT scan with contrast. I reviewed the results with the radiologist and knew immediately that the result was not good: 5 X 9 cm right lower lobe lung mass (actually two masses with a connecting bridge) with spiculated irregular margins and multiple enlarged hilar and supraclavicular lymph nodes.
That's medical terminology for "Oh ****!" Ged knew it was bad. He scheduled me for a biopsy on April 25. The biopsy was done after, yes, a half day of work, and I was taken care of by my practice partner Dr. Terry Latson. I went home and took the next day off. On that afternoon, Tuesday, April 26, I got THE CALL from Ged: "Norm, you have invasive adenocarcinoma of the lung."
LUNG CANCER. Me. At the age of 40. As a non-smoker. As a non-drug user. No family history. Really?
Sitting next to me was my younger 9 year old son Harrison. Do I tell him? Do I lie to him? Do I ignore it? I chose to tell him. He is a mature 9 year old and I didn't want him to find out later from someone else. I certainly didn't want him to find out after I dropped dead at some point, so I told him. Tears were shed by both of us. I was devastated and depressed. The next person to find out was my beautiful wife Emily. Ever the strong soul mate she has been, she teared up but immediately started pushing me to fight. Next were my practice partners, Dr. Michael Huss and Dr. Joy Ghermay, and simultaneously my mom. They had to know why I wasn't going to be working for a while. 8o) Next was my neighbor and great friend, Dr. Richard Hostin. After that, I was too confused and emotionally spent to continue to make calls. I wanted to tell my best friends but could not pick up the phone any more.
I entered my first episode of depression. I had to lie down and quite frankly, I didn't care if I woke up. Panic set in and a thousand things to do and think about entered my mind. Did I save enough? Were the kids going to be able to handle this? How would my kids turn out if I'm not there to mentor, nurture, and guide them? Questions with no answers kept popping into my mind and suddenly I was having my first ever true anxiety attack. I have never and will never fear death. As a health care professional, I have seen and heard too much to not know that there is life after death.
Once again, my bastion of strength, my beautiful wife Emily, rallied my spirits and dragged me out of the house to take my kids to their basketball and swimming practices. I could say nothing and think of nothing other than when was I going to die. Emily and I watched the kids practice and occasionally, I would smile at the antics of my younger son's basketball team. We took the kids home and once there, did our usual routines. After the kids went to sleep, Emily and I spent our time together alone. When she fell asleep, I was awake by myself and once again sank into a dark, deep depression. Death that evening would not have been turned away by my waning will to fight. A dark sleep overtook me and I dreamt of the confusion and sadness my family would feel after my death. I awoke at least a dozen times that night and each time, felt more depressed than before.
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