The Old Man and The “C” Word
by Tom Wilbur
Contributing Editor/ The Salina Post
Over the course of the past few years, my joints have begun to ache. I guess I’m getting old. One obvious sign that I’m aging is the lack of hair on my head. What once was hair down to my shoulders is now but a memory. The early warning signs started a good number of years ago, apparently indicating that my magnanimous brain was beginning to grow to such extreme proportions—it was beginning to force my hair follicles to abandon ship, and hop off my head—primarily in the center of my scalp. Right.
It’s called male pattern baldness, although it’s not the choice I would make if I was picking the ‘pattern’. Maybe the reverse would have been more fun—like a big old Mohawk. Or God could have provided me a checkerboard pattern—and at least my head space would be useful. “King me!” But I was given no options here.
My hearing hasn’t been so good either, but I’m guessing that may be a product of thirty years together with my music brothers in The Last National Band. We’ve pretty much done and seen it all in The Last National Band—so much so, that I’ll curb any further discussion about things I’ve seen, and done. We did have fun, though. We rocked a lot of venues, and played kind of loud. We had this automatic band rule if someone demanded that we turn the volume down, we always turned it up a little. Even when the police came. A few club owners got fines for too much noise here in Salina when The Last National Band played there, and I really am sorry about that.
We were loud enough that on one occasion—a lady called us to ask if we could turn the music down, for a gig we were to play— in two weeks. We kind of thought we should at least set up first before someone complained, but this gal was clearly a motivated individual. So we turned the amps up before we loaded them in the trailer. On the surface, that seemed like a fun response, but you know, I was younger then, and I’m older than that now.
So, anyway yeah . . . back to the aging thing. When I went to the doctor’s office this past summer, to get the results of an annual blood test, I was surprised when my doctor looked concerned. He said that the test I had taken (a simple test guys have done called a PSA) was elevated, and the trend line concerned him. He asked that we do more tests. I said, “Sure, I’ll see you in about six months” to which he responded “Nope, next week.”
Following the tests, I returned to his office and he mentioned a word that certainly had never been directed my way before. The C Word. The possibility of cancer. As he began to describe the possible treatments, I don’t think I was really listening. The C Word? Me? Really?
As it began to sink in, I demanded of him, “Doc, I know your Dad– and your Grandpa, personally. What would you recommend to them given the information you’ve just shared?” And he said, “Removal of your prostate.”
So last August, they laid me on an operating table, and proceeded to insert five robotic arms into my abdomen, invert me (that must have been a sight) and this doctor and his team grabbed the controls, drive the robot around, and removed my prostate. It was called a ‘robot-assisted radical prostatectomy’ and it was done by my newest robo-pal, Dr. Ryan Payne. His name alone, Dr. Payne, should have been a warning sign—but actually, he is a very competent doctor and apparently knows how to expertly run the dang robot that eats living flesh.
Later, following my recovery (that took several weeks) he informed me that my prostate had been tested and that it was indeed malignant, but there was a strong possibility that the malignancy was contained within my prostate– and there’s a good chance that it hadn’t spread. In that moment, I was reminded of the incredible value of a moment. It was a good moment.
Now I’m not naive enough to think that I’m out of the woods. The C Word can strike anywhere. But I’ve had one test since the operation, and the results were very positive. I’ll have another test soon, and I’m praying the results will be good again. Through it all, I learned that prostate cancer is the third leading killer of men—period. And in sharing my story, I’ve been amazed how many men have had to deal with prostate cancer.
But here’s the deal—in the solitude and quiet stillness of the time I had to reflect on my situation, I have to tell you: the value of a single moment spent with friends, or family, the value of a day spent together with my team at work, and the value of time spent quietly with God in reflection and in prayer has made a dramatic change in my life.
I’m excited about the sunrise. And I’m in positive expectation of the great things that might happen today. I have more empathy when someone mentions they might be having surgery done, or that they may be going to the hospital. I take more time to listen, when someone says they have encountered some form of cancer, personally—or with a family member, because now I’m part of the fraternity, I guess. I’m not sitting around feeling sorry for myself, but I’m embracing the day—and am so grateful for God’s blessings. It’s humbling, and enabling. And spiritually uplifting.
It’s been a great reminder to me to take time to turn down the volume of the day, every so often. In the quiet stillness—when we take time out to reflect upon the day’s moments, God speaks to us. In the quiet stillness, we can have conversations about things important. In the quiet stillness, I have found my way again. And in that place, I take time to pray for others who might be facing similar circumstances. It’s an amazing place to be, and I recommend it highly over sitting in front of the TV.
My purpose for writing today is to remind you that you don’t have to go through an experience like mine to understand that every day—no, every moment– is a special gift, my friends. You can choose to live life to its fullest moment by moment, or let it waste away. You can be in positive expectation of the gifts others may share with you today, or the gifts you can share with them—or turn away, disrupt the connections, and miss it all. You can share positive energy with those you encounter, or take their energy away. You can take steps to challenge yourself to go to new levels of positivity, to care more about others, and to be more benevolent. Or you can close the door, and just do what you—ambivalent to the possibilities of a life truly lived. The choice is all yours.
My advice? Choose to soar to new heights, by staying in the moment and celebrating the beauty of the created world around you. Look for the positives in life, and live each day to its fullest. Dream big, but allow a little time each day, for the quiet stillness—a place in which all things are possible. Don’t dwell upon the turkeys who try to bring you down, or the negatives in life. It’s so unnecessary. Most things you are truly afraid of– will never happen. And you know what FEAR stands for don’t you? False Expectations Appearing Real.
Bless you today, and every day. And this reminder– if you have a male friend or family member over 50 years of age, make sure to encourage them to have a regular PSA blood test— particularly if they have a history of cancer in their family. It’s pretty simple, and in my case, it may have saved my life. I’ll keep you posted, about the journey I’m on, here at The Post.
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Tom Wilbur is President/CEO of BANK VI in Salina. He is a lifelong resident of Salina, and has been a regular editorial contributor to newspapers and magazines, and a public speaker. He is President of Salina Noon Rotary, active with various civic and church organizations, and can be contacted at [email protected]