The comfort of certainty

NINE YEARS AGO, I didn't know what was going on with me.

I had caught some sort of cold that came with coughing fits so wild I would asphyxiate and pass out. I would be at work, and start coughing, then the next thing I knew I was barely aware of who or where I was -- and where I was, was on the floor.

That was frustrating and embarrassing enough, but I knew sooner or later it would happen when I was driving. And it was happening more often, so I knew I couldn't predict when it would come on.

So I finally had Gwen take me to the hospital emergency room. We told them what was happening. They seemed confused. They listened to my chest, looked down my throat. In fact, they were fairly certain that we were, if not making this up, exaggerating, when I went into a coughing fit and passed out.

"Hmm..." the ER personnel said, "we've never seen that before."

So we did some tests, which didn't show anything. And they x-rayed my head, which revealed a harmless arachnoid cyst, but nothing that explained what was going on. I went on some inhaler thingy there to help with my lungs, but I coughed and passed out anyway.

Other doctors came in, as I went in and out of states of consciousness. Gwen said that they were fascinated when I went into seizure-like convulsions sometimes when I was out. And after all their consulting, about all they had to say was, "I've never seen that before."

Y'know, I didn't go there to break new frontiers of medical science. I just wanted to know what was wrong and how to fix it. Too much to ask?

All these people, who studied for years and amassed volumes of biomedical knowledge, with more at their fingertips via computer, basically shrugged, said I had "bronchitis" -- which is more a set of symptoms than a diagnosis, like saying you have "a cold" -- and gave me a prescription for nearly-useless cough medicine and sent us home.

It was just a costly reminder for us that most times, with most doctors, unless a bone is sticking out, they have no idea what it is or what to do. ("House" is a nice fiction, but I've never seen him at any hospital I've been to.)

I went back to work -- at the time I was Sports Editor for the Benton, Ark., newspaper, writing and composing pages every day. I managed to do my job, even with the coughing. My assistant adjusted to it, even saying at one time (with a jaded tone in his voice), "Would you be sure to save that page before you pass out?" The bronchitis eventually faded and went away on its own.

What's this got to do with my cancer?

15 YEARS AGO, the doctors knew. My family physician caught on to it right away. The specialists discovered the exact kind of malignancy I had, and the oncologist knew how to attack it.

We had it nailed, we knew its name. And they weren't just talking treatment, they were talking cure. That's a huge comfort, I know. And I was exceedingly lucky, as a lot of cancer patients have to deal with uncertainty while the medical professionals try to figure things out, knowing that they only have so much time to do so.

I lost one of my favorite teachers from high school to non-Hodgkins lymphoma. When you add the "non" you are basically saying you don't know what it is, and you just have to throw various treatments at it until one sticks. I was spared the "non." For that I'm thankful.

Thank God it was only annoying when I did hear it, but the last thing I want to hear again from someone who has devoted their lives to the study of disease is, "I've never seen that before!"

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