My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer

It is such great news. There are dozens of little details that we will need to take care of in
the next few hours and days, but they all seem trivially easy compared to the battle my
dad just waged and won.
Dad's war with Merkel Cell Carcinoma continues, and every battle he fights shows his
courage and serves as an example and inspiration to me. It should come as no surprise
that we discussed how to proceed with dignity and comfort should this battle have gone
badly, and dad's ability to initiate that blunt and difficult discussion speaks to his inner
strength.
I realize I paid very good attention to how my dad interacted with my grandfather when
my grandfather was ill, because I had a rich reservoir of observations to model my care
taking behavior on. When I face a serious illness, as we all eventually do, I now have a
heroic fighter to model my response to illness on as well.
There is a story they used to tell students on their first day at Harvard Law, and I suspect
I'll tell it a bit wrong. My recollection is this: Two hunters are sleeping in their tent in the
woods. An enormous bear comes crashing through the forest and roars. One hunter
starts putting on his shoes. The other, still barefoot, says "Why are putting on shoes? You
can't outrun the bear!" The first hunter says "I don't need to outrun the bear. I just need to
outrun you."
Of interest is that my dad considered himself stage IV on November 24, 2010. According
to his post last year, he had only about a 25% chance of being alive today, and some
people in fact do outrun and eventually survive the bear. Every new day that my dad
outruns the MCC is a victory we will celebrate.
On a practical note, my dad is surely going to be exhausted for the next few days and will
be very unlikely to take visitors or phone calls. The transition from hospital to home is one
that we will all need to focus on.
Posted by Gary Shuster at 10:54AM (-08:00)
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Dr. Flam signed my dad's discharge papers early yesterday morning, and he was
discharged mid-afternoon yesterday.
After the stent was removed, my dad actually enjoyed chicken noodle soup. He put away
quite a few lemon yogurts and bowls of cream of wheat. His eating was less enthusiastic
yesterday, but I wrote that off to jitters about going home. Last night he said he had no
appetite, but managed to eat some soup and a lemon yogurt. I didn't see the pattern, but
in retrospect, it was an echo of the earlier pattern that preceded acute esophagus issues.
This morning started as a really normal day for me. Amid the buzz of my three daughters
getting ready for school, I called my parents around 8:00 am to see how dad's night went.
Me: "Hey, mom, how did dad do last night?" Mom: "I can't talk. I'm on the other line with
Dr. Lewis." Me: "Is everything OK?" Mom: "No, he can't swallow again, he's going to the
hospital. I'll call you back in a minute."
I wanted to cry, and I did tear up, but that is all I had time for. It was time for the team to
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