Brain cancer at age 77 doesn’t stop writer from going on with a good life

Ihad been out for lunch with a couple of friends that day, Dec. 23, 2009. I had braised short ribs with a side of mac ’n’ cheese and iced tea. The short ribs were flavorful but too fatty. The mac ’n’ cheese, on the other hand, was creamy-rich, the campanelle pasta the perfect shape to capture the lushness of the cheeses, four in all.

I took a cab home from the restaurant and settled in on the sofa. I read for a while. Dozed off. My wife came home around 5:30. We were going out to dinner later on. She sat down on the sofa next to me to discuss our plans. And that’s when I heard the knock on the door.

(Courtesy of Pasquale Bruno) - “Looking back on what I have eaten over the years and the restaurants I have eaten in, I have probably been a walking petri dish for viruses.”

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Unusual, I thought. We weren’t expecting anyone. I went to the door, opened it and — wouldn’t you know it? — there he was. The Big C. He had a twisted smile on his face, a “gotcha” smirk that really ticked me off. I said, “Bug off” and slammed the door.

Three days later I woke up in the hospital. I was hooked up to the usual plumbing and paraphernalia: IV there, surgical tape here. Suction cups were scattered across my chest like lily pads in search of a pond.

Hospital gowns have never evolved — in shape, style or color. They cover you in all the wrong places. Someone should really get in touch with Michael Kors or Armani about this.

I turned my head to the left and saw my wife sitting there. The right side of my head felt weird. I raised my hand. Bandage? No. Something metal. I traced my fingers down along a picket fence of metal staples that was lying just underneath some wisps of hair. Wait, my hair isn’t that thin. I touched the metal again. This isn’t looking good.

My wife came over and stood bedside. “How are you doing?”

Here is what I learned. I had suffered a grand mal seizure and had fallen on top of my wife. She’d had to crawl out from under me to get to the phone to punch in 911.

The cause of the seizure was a brain tumor, a glioblastoma multiforme, one of the most aggressive forms of brain cancer out there. A quick MRI at the hospital — Northwestern Memorial in Chicago — showed the tumor at its ugly best. They had to open up a good portion of the right side of my skull to get to it. And that was where the Frankenstein braid of stainless-steel staples came in. The staples started just behind my right ear and marched some eight inches, curving a bit, up the side of my head.

Glioblastoma multiforme.

The tumor was a Grade IV. Later I learned that when it comes to this kind of tumor there is no Grade III or II. So I got the top grade, so to speak.

And then three days later I was out of the hospital. I had a headache the size of Cuba. I was thinking that a hospital bed, with all of its controls and symbols for arranging up, down, levels and planes, which probably cost a million bucks apiece, was still, much like a hospital gown, a work in progress, so goodbye to that mechanical marvel and hello to my really nice bed at home.

Glioblastoma multiforme (or GBM, as it is commonly known) is found in only two or three people per 100,000 in Europe and North America. And it is more common in men. The reason for that is not clear. But it may be due, the experts say, to the fact that “males eat more and increase their chance of eating something that is virus-infected.”

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