The Long, Painful Wait

In March 1994, I was invited to speak at a conference in Michigan and ended up staying over the weekend. I remember lying on my bed Saturday afternoon reading a newspaper article about John Kruk, the first basemen for the Philadelphia Phillies. This article mentioned that during Spring training he had been hit hard enough in the groin with a fastball to break his protective cup. 

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Sometime later he noticed a problem with one of his testicles. He assumed it was from being hit and was concerned, so he got it checked out. Fortunately for him, he got it checked early. He was diagnosed with testicular cancer, which the doctors removed and treated with no long-term effects. John returned to his team and played the rest of the season.

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The article described the symptoms of this particular type of cancer, and I immediately started worrying because I had several of the same symptoms. I called home and talked to my first wife, Carol. I told her I was certain I had testicular cancer. She was concerned, but we both knew that there wasn’t anything we could do until I got home Monday.

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It was a long weekend and being alone in a hotel room was not helpful. My imagination ran wild, my nerves were shot, but I couldn’t do anything about it except worry and pray.

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First thing Monday morning I called the doctor for an appointment. He got me right in, examined me, and promptly referred me to a urologist, who saw me the next day.

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After examining me, the urologist asked one question, “What are you doing tomorrow?” To which I responded, “Whatever you want me to do!” He then said, “Meet me at the hospital where I will operate on you because you have testicular cancer!”

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The operation took place on the first Thursday of April. It was an outpatient surgery, and, before discharging me, the doctor said, “Call me on Monday and I will let you know if it has metastasized,” then turned and walked out of the room. I wanted to ask more questions, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I hopped off the bed and followed him down the hall, trying to get his attention, but he ignored me.

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Saturday afternoon my oldest son, Paul brought my two-month-old grandson, Calvert, to the house to see me. I was lying on my bed when they came in. Paul handed Calvert to me, and in a few minutes, they were both lying down beside me on the bed. Before long Paul was sleeping and, laying in my arms, Calvert fell asleep as well. As I looked at my son and grandson my eyes teared up as I wondered whether my cancer had spread. 

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I started thinking of my wife, my youngest son Peter, my daughter-in-law, and how much I would miss if this cancer took me at this point in my life. I thought about missing Calvert grow up and Peter maturing and my personal growth with Carol. I wouldn’t get to know any other grandchildren that the future might bring (turns out that there would be nine others). 

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I realized that the most important thing in my life was my family, and I didn't want to leave them. I wanted to be there as they grew and developed.

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That was a long weekend filled with anxiety and worry, and when Monday finally arrived, I called the doctor, and he couldn’t talk. The receptionist said she would have him call me back. By late afternoon he still hadn’t called. I called again and was told he had left for the day. I was upset and expressed my frustration to the receptionist who transferred me to a nurse.

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I told her about my situation, and she said she would check for the report which she did. She explained that the doctor would call me and give me the full report, but, without his approval, she did me a huge favor and said, “I can’t let you worry another day so I will tell you, but please don’t let the doctor know.” I assured her I wouldn’t, and she said, “The cancer was localized and hadn’t spread!

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Relieved I thanked her and had a great evening with my family.

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I have thought about this experience for years and all the extra emotional grief I went through because one man was insensitive towards me and my feelings. I was grateful for his skill as a surgeon and don’t know why he did what he did, but I learned a valuable lesson I want to share with you. It helped me become a better father and grandfather, and hopefully it will be of some help to you as well.

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I learned that no matter how small we think someone’s problem, anyone’s problem, may be, it is important to them. When our kids have something on their mind, let’s take the time and expend the energy to listen fully and help them work through it. Opening the lines of honest and timely communication reinforces our love for them, demonstrates our sensitivity to their needs, and assures them we will be there for them whenever they need us.
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Happy Failing Forward, 

Calvert


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