One year ago today, I was starting the second leg of what would prove to be the most difficult journey of my life to this point. I was scheduled for my second surgery on Dec. 20th; on the 19th, I was supposed to check into the James Cancer Hospital in Columbus, OH for what was referred to as "bowel prep." You see, I had esophageal cancer, and I was supposed to go under the knife to have the tumor removed. The procedure involved removing the affected portion of my esophagus and pulling the remainder up to form a new esophagus from what was left. In the event that too much had to be removed, my large intestine would have to serve the purpose; so, I had to get myself cleaned out.

Anyway, I checked in as required, and I was given a gallon of something called "GoLightley" to drink. I'm not lying, that's actually what this crap is called! The idea is that you're supposed to drink the entire gallon, eight ounces every 15-20 minutes, and it makes you go...and I DO mean GO! The stuff tastes really nasty, kind of like Gatorade without the flavoring, and before you've drunk two pints of this stuff, you're free-flowing. Before I was halfway through, I'd nuked the entire room! I'd checked in around 5-ish, and it was sometime around 11pm by the time I was done & able to go to sleep.

About midnight, I was awakened. An anesthesiologist had come in to get my release. We spoke for about a half an hour, both of us exhausted (he'd just come out of surgery), as he explained the procedure I was about to go through and what I could expect. I felt a little better about the whole thing by the end of our conversation; but I was still a little anxious.

The next morning I was wheeled out of my room and into the O.R. The anesthesiologist (not the same fellow I'd spoken with earlier) was great, as were all of the nurses & doctors who would be attending. I greeted my surgeon & admonished him to get it right, as I didn't want to have to come back. He assured me everything would be fine & I went to sleep.

I woke up later that day (Dec. 20th), not in ICU as expected, but in recovery. My dear wife, Karen, was nowhere to be seen; and I was, of course, disoriented. When it was discovered that I was awake and aware of my surroundings my surgeon was called. He came over & broke the bad news to me; the cancer had spread to a couple of my lymph nodes and was threatening one of my main gastric arteries. He wasn't able to remove it, so he closed me up and was going to send me home.

Well, obviously, I felt betrayed, hurt, confused, let down, and just plain SCARED. I asked what was going to happen. The oncologist had to be brought back in & I'd likely have to go through more chemo and some radiation therapy to reduce or destroy the cancer before I could be considered for surgery again. In the meantime, I was supposed to heal and gather strength. A second feeding tube had been installed, this one called a "G-Tube," which fed directly into my stomach.

On December 24th, I was sent home. I hadn't been able to do any Christmas shopping & didn't expect to find any presents under the tree that hadn't yet been erected in our family room. I was weak, exhausted & just didn't feel very "Christmas-y." I came home, curled up on the couch, and watched a couple of Christmas movies while my sweet wife went about her business. Eventually, she put me to bed.

I woke up the next day, Christmas day, feeling like I'd been run over by a truck. I managed to make it down the stairs and was shocked to tears when I saw what Karen had been doing all night. The Christmas tree was up & lit, the lights and garland were in place on the mantel, and there were actually presents under the tree! I couldn't find words to express what I felt, one of the few times in my life I've been speechless.

This year I'm through with cancer, having had the surgery in May, and I'm making up for last year. There will be enough presents under our tree to last until next Christmas, and Karen & I will be celebrating in real style. We won't have the typical Christmas dinner, since I still have some food issues to deal with; but we'll be toasting our mutual health in style, shredding wrapping paper like a couple of kids, and generally enjoying life. Tomorrow I'm delivering a tray of Christmas cookies to my surgeon & his staff. Saturday evening, we're going out to look at the holiday lights in our area. I really feel like this is my first Christmas. . .