Frank's Story (Cont.)

	Frank playing the drums in his home studio

I had a urologist from a previous health issue, and when I called to speak with him, he told me that he would fit me in later in the week. When I went in for the appointment, he examined my testicles and found the growth. He said that it was "a little suspicious," but he explained that, at 44, I was somewhat off the bell curve for testicular cancer patients. With my concerns not exactly relieved, I asked him about the next steps. He told me that I would need an ultrasound. My response was, "All right, should I get undressed for it now?" He told me that the soonest they could get me in was the following Wednesday. At that point, knowing this thing was growing fast, I started getting nervous.

Impromptu Examination

They finally did the ultrasound that next Wednesday. I went to my urologist's office on the following Friday and he still hadn't written the report. He gave me a prescription for some blood work that I would get the next day, but I wasn't going to hold my breath for the results, knowing how long they might take. That night, I went home, logged onto Memorial Sloan-Kettering's Web site and asked for an appointment using the online appointment request feature.

As fate would have it, my father-in-law happened to be planning treatment for prostate cancer at that time. He had an appointment the following Monday with his doctor at Sloan-Kettering, Brett Carver, a urologic surgeon who specializes in the treatment of prostate and testicular cancers.

To support my father-in-law, my wife and I accompanied him and my mother-in-law to the appointment. This was on May 14th, our fourth anniversary. At the appointment's end, when Dr. Carver was getting ready to leave the examination room, my wife mentioned that I had applied for an appointment on the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Web site, and I told him about the nodule on my testicle, explaining how fast it had been growing. He asked if he could examine me. Knowing how crowded his waiting room was, I said, sure, we'll set up a time. His response was simple: "No, right now." My in-laws stepped out of the room and he examined me right there and then. After the exam, he told me to stay put. Five minutes later, he returned, explaining that he had scheduled an ultrasound and a series of blood tests for me that day, and an x-ray, EKG, and CT scan for later in the week. And he told me that if it's necessary and I agreed to go through with it, I'd have surgery on Friday. That meant a lot to me. He took me in immediately, scheduling a surgical consultation for later that crowded Monday afternoon. His day was going to be made much longer, but he knew that this wasn't something I could drag my feet about.

I had my imaging tests done on Wednesday. The CT scan showed that the cancer had spread to at least one nearby lymph node. On Thursday, the day before the surgery, I was in the local A&P supermarket and noticed a vending machine near the front that was selling rubber balls. I put some quarters in the machine and bought a selection of super balls. When I showed up for surgery the following day, I had the balls -- a red one with an alien face on it, a blue and pink one, and a swirly-colored one -- in a plastic baggie, with the words "Replacement Testicles" written on top. The anesthesiologist and the surgical nurses were laughing their heads off. It was important for me to inject some humor into this very serious setting. To me, life is like a game of craps. It is really just a matter of odds in a very complex system. I figured that being at the best place in the country, Memorial Sloan-Kettering, with one of the best doctors for this type of cancer, improved my odds.

People commented how surprisingly calm I was throughout this bad situation. But I told myself that I already had this condition. Nothing I could do or think or say was going to change that. And Dr. Carver had already completed all his education, research, and countless surgeries. All those unchangeable factors were already in place. I was now along for the ride. When it comes to small things, I'm a worrier. But the big-picture issues -- whether or not a star has super nova'ed across the galaxy (which has already happened by the time you see it) -- are out of our hands. What wasn't out of my hands was the choice of where to go for my treatment and which doctor to perform the surgery.

The surgery was performed late that Friday afternoon without a hitch, and I was back home later that night. The procedure is known as a radical inguinal orchiectomy, which removes the affected testicle. The post-surgery pathology report showed that my testicular cancer was a type of germ cell tumor known as a seminoma. Fortunately, seminomas tend to be more responsive to treatment. This meant that I didn't need to get chemotherapy, or have a more radical surgery to remove my lymph nodes. Not surprisingly, a big concern, post-surgery, was if I would suffer from any potential erectile problems. I was more than a little happy when, the night of the surgery, I woke up and found that, to put it delicately, everything was working just fine.

Because there was lymph node involvement, I did have to receive radiation treatment to kill any of the remaining cancer cells. We waited a couple of weeks so I could recover from the surgery then my radiation oncologist, Marisa Kollmeier, started me on my radiation therapy in late June. It did a good job of knocking out the cancer cells, but it also knocked me out. Nausea was a very big problem following treatment. My treatment regimen was one radiation treatment delivered five times a week for over three weeks. The immediate side effects I experienced were nausea, diarrhea, dizziness, and some instability on my feet. Part way through treatment I experienced the onset of some pretty bad back pain. Dr. Kollmeier eventually got me on the right drug to help with the nausea, however I had bouts of dizziness that continued for more than six months after radiation therapy had stopped. I still have some pretty painful lingering back problems that, it is assumed, are the result of the radiation. I've seen a neurologist for my back, who treated it with physical therapy and periodic "nerve-block" injections. It might go away over time, but either way, it's a small price to pay: I'm NOT DEAD!

Outlook and Advice

When I look back on everything I went through, I like to quote Carl Sagan, who said "We are made of star stuff." Not in any kind of new-agey way, but rather in a very real, tangible, scientific sense. The scientific knowledge we have is fleeting and provisional. However, it is our best guess. Every other way of knowing can't match science's consistency and results. So I put my money on science. I don't believe in science, but I trust it. It's earned my trust because, for example, my cell phone works, planes fly, antibiotics work, and my testicular cancer is gone. I'm a Humanist. This means that I look at the way the world works with awe and wonder, that I embrace Scientific Naturalism, reason, and rationalism. Humanists also believe that humans can come up with rational ways to solve our problems. Problems like cancer. And a number of those rational methods were developed at Memorial Sloan-Kettering. That's why I went there to receive my treatment and why I strongly recommend it to anyone else who has recently been diagnosed with cancer. Together with the love and strong support I received from my wife, Nika, my brother and his kids, and my entire family, including my in-laws, and close friends, Dr. Carver and his team saved my life.