Going
the Distance
by Patrick Booton
Not again.
That’s the first thought that crossed my mind when I learned in 1996 that I had cancer.
This time it was bilateral tonsil cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. I pride myself on a positive attitude, but I admit the news left me deflated.
Hadn’t I already fought this battle?
Twenty years earlier, when I was an athletic 25-year-old and seemingly the picture of health, I was diagnosed with advanced testicular cancer. It had spread to both lungs and my doctors didn’t expect me to live more than a couple of months. My oncologist told me to live every day like it was a gift.
I took his advice--and remembered it 20 years later when I realized it was time for round two. So, yes, my second cancer diagnosis knocked me for a loop, but only temporarily. It didn’t take long for me to remember that, cancer or no cancer, life is a gift--and all the sweeter when death may be right around the corner.
But I had no intention of dying. After all, I had defied predictions the first time when I embarked on an experimental chemotherapy treatment that saved my life. The yearlong treatment was physically and emotionally grueling, but I had my life back. I beat cancer then, and I intended to beat it again.
My first cancer diagnosis prompted me to enter the health care field, and in 1984, I earned a degree in nuclear medicine technology from the Medical College of Georgia. I went on to earn a master’s degree in medical physics from Emory University and eventually settled in Savannah, Ga., where I am a medical physicist at the Curtis and Elizabeth Anderson Cancer Institute at Memorial Health University Medical Center.
With the news of the tonsil cancer, I instantly morphed from healer to patient. This time, I was fighting cancer in my own department. The support and strength of my team members was amazing. It kept me focused on my goal: beating cancer again. I’m so blessed; I can never thank them enough for their support and compassion.
In 2002, to celebrate my five-year anniversary of being cancer-free, I decided to take a one-day bike ride from the location of my first diagnosis--Augusta--to the location of my second diagnosis--the Anderson Cancer Institute in Savannah. A 140-mile ride in one day isn’t easy, but it was something I had to do. And I didn’t have to do it alone. Upon hearing of my plan, several friends and colleagues signed on to ride with me.
Since
then, the trek has become an annual event. The ride has grown to over 40
cyclists, all of whom share my enthusiasm for cycling and my passion for
life. We completed our fourth ride May 21 with approximately eight hours of
ride time and an average speed of 17.9 miles per hour. Group statistics
included one flat tire, one broken pedal, one minor crash and one tooth
pulled out of an energy bar.
I participate in many cancer fundraisers, but the annual bike trek--which I dedicate to the Anderson Cancer Institute--is closest to my heart. Completing the ride is definitely a group effort. Some riders are stronger than others. The strongest help others ease up the hills near the end of the ride, which is symbolic of people fighting cancer. Some people need more help than others. It’s all about going the distance with the support of family and friends.
| Medical College of Georgia Today welcomes submissions to the Reflections column of the magazine. Typed essays (approx. 750 words long) reflecting a professional or personal experience of a member of the MCG community should be submitted to: Christine Hurley Deriso, Editor, Medical College of Georgia, FI-1040, Augusta, GA 30912, (706) 721-2124 (phone), (706) 721-6397 (fax), cderiso@mcg.edu (e-mail). |