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Cancer: a Love Story
Cancer: a Love Story
Cancer: a Love Story
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Cancer: a Love Story

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Dave Faber and Robert McGehee were meant to be together: Less than two years after their first date, they were married.

They ate out together, went to movies, and did everything else a loving couple does. They even decided to train together for the Houston Marathon in 2006. Like every couple, they expected to face hard times, but neither was prepared for Roberts diagnosis of esophageal cancer. But just like everything else, this was a fight they would wage together.

After learning what he was up against, Robert suggested to Dave that he keep friends and family informed about their battle against the disease. This account draws on that correspondence and includes intimate details of their battle that may have otherwise been lost. Dave stands by Roberts side through surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and physical therapy. Throughout his illness, their intimacy and love for each other grows.

Whether youre suffering from a serious disease or illness or caring for someone who is, Dave and Roberts love story and spiritual journey will inspire you to keep your faith in each other and in the world around you even through the most difficult times.

LanguageEnglish
PublisheriUniverse
Release dateNov 19, 2014
ISBN9781491749210
Cancer: a Love Story
Author

Dave Faber

Dave Faber, a professor of music at Lone Star College–North Harris in Houston, is also a church organist and directs the Woodlands Chorale. He has a master’s and doctorate in music education from West Virginia University. He enjoys running and weight training.

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    Cancer - Dave Faber

    Copyright © 2014 Dave Faber.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    iUniverse

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    1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

    Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

    Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

    Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

    ISBN: 978-1-4917-4919-7 (sc)

    ISBN: 978-1-4917-4920-3 (hc)

    ISBN: 978-1-4917-4921-0 (e)

    Library of Congress Control Number: 2014918555

    iUniverse rev. date: 11/14/2014

    Hello, Young Lovers

    By Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II

    Copyright © 1951 by Williamson Music (ASCAP), an Imagem Company, owner of publication

    and allied rights throughout the World

    Copyright Renewed

    International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved Used by Permission

    Contents

    Acknowledgments

    Prologue

    We Begin

    The First Bullet

    Waking Up

    The Long Road Home

    Our Mothers’ Love

    Bliss

    The Second Bullet

    Back to the New Normal

    Managing Pain

    Loving Is Always a Blessing

    Grace

    Remembering Robert

    In memory of Robert McGehee

    1956–2009

    artist, husband, son, brother, uncle, cousin, friend

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    The McGehee family; Father’s Day 2005

    Acknowledgments

    When Robert and I started the cancer journey together, he wanted me to keep a list of the people we needed to call after his first surgery. I decided, as the list grew, that the best way to handle information was through an e-mail distribution list. The list took on a life of its own. In addition to the many people on the first generation of the list, the messages were forwarded to people on other lists. I couldn’t begin to say how many people were finally receiving the e-mails. Those people were our lifeline. They provided prayer, support, and invaluable information as we sometimes only had a few hours to make important decisions. We couldn’t have done this without you. You are our family. There is no greater tribute.

    Thanks to the professionals at MD Anderson, who provided such wonderful care and were incredibly kind and supportive. There was never any prejudice toward us, and I was always treated with the highest respect as Robert’s spouse.

    When I look back over the journals and e-mails that appear in this book, I fear that the only story that comes through is the journey I took with Robert. There were many journeys on this road. Robert’s family has always been incredibly close. Each of them has a story to tell, and they were part of the constant love that engulfed us.

    I could not have traveled this road without the support of my own family. My twin brother, Don, became my lifeline.

    Finally, I must acknowledge the support and skill of our friend and Robert’s surgeon, Reza Mehran. Dr. Mehran was there for us almost from the beginning and through to the end of our journey. I always felt more secure when he was around. He was our greatest cheerleader. When we needed to hear the truth, we could count on him for that, as well.

    To all who have loved us so well, God bless you.

    Prologue

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    Robert and Dave; spring 2002

    I hired movers to help me relocate to Houston in the summer of 1996. Easy, one might think, but not so. Feeling a bit stunned and exhausted after unpacking boxes in my apartment in the Cypress Station subdivision, I drove to a little coffee shop and ordered a fruit smoothie with yogurt. Just as I settled into a small, red-topped table in the corner, the Etta James’ recording of At Last filled the place and overwhelmed me. Her song spoke of finding love in the right person after a long search. I heaved a sigh in frustration. I hated being single. I’d moved to Houston from Valdosta, Georgia, in hopes of finding a mate. Before that, I’d spent all of my adult life in relatively small, rural areas and had learned that trying to meet and date other homosexual men was not easy in those communities. I knew that many members of the LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) community moved to larger cities in order to establish more honest lives in environments where people did not judge based on sexual orientation.

    Six months later, I purchased a home near downtown in the Heights. After that, around four years passed before I met Robert McGehee in January 2001. We were both teaching at what was then North Harris College. I was teaching full-time as the director of choral music, and Robert was an adjunct instructor of visual art. His beautiful smile attracted me immediately. His bulging biceps and chiseled jaw didn’t hurt either.

    I asked my boss, Debbie, about Robert, and she said he was a great person—she knew this because she had been his teacher. She said the students loved him and that he was a wonderful professor. She also told me that he was married.

    I spent the next six months frustrated in my attraction to this man I presumed was doing his gay thing on the side. I did not want that kind of relationship. Robert asked me out for coffee, and I turned him down. He thought I just wasn’t interested. Over the next few months, I complained a lot to my running partner about this very attractive man who wanted to go out with me even though he was married.

    Then, sometime in late July, I was in the office at school with Debbie and one of our secretaries, Dede. I moaned about how nice Robert was and how it was too bad he was married. Dede immediately responded with, He’s not married. Who told you that? Debbie apparently had been mistaken.

    It didn’t take me long to e-mail Robert after that. We had trouble setting up our first date because I was leaving town that Saturday to visit my parents in West Virginia for a month. My only open night was Friday, and Robert spent every Friday night with his family.

    Finally, in the third week of August 2001, Robert and I had our first date. We went to a British pub called the Black Lab for bangers and mash and then had carrot cake at Barnaby’s. Carrot cake became our favorite dessert. We saw each other every week for a while, and then more frequently. Since Robert was teaching at my school, we ran into each other at work. Early in September, Robert had a gallery show at North Harris, and we spent some time together there. Pictures taken of us at the opening reveal that we looked like we were already in love.

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    Robert and Dave; art opening, fall 2001

    I soon learned that Robert’s family called him Bob, but I decided to keep calling him Robert since he had introduced himself to me that way. Things moved very quickly for us. By Thanksgiving, my family knew there was a change in me and that it was because of Robert. We spent Christmas apart but were back together again shortly after the New Year began. In February, I started talking to him about housing developments we needed to look at. I shocked myself with that one because we hadn’t even talked about moving in together, and I had made the mistake with other men of presuming too much too fast. Robert told me later on, however, that he had chosen the frame for the painting he had given me the previous Christmas to go with his furniture, as he was confident we had a future together.

    The speed at which we were coming together was sometimes frightening to me. I wasn’t sure of Robert’s religious beliefs but knew that he did not attend church, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be with someone who didn’t claim to be a Christian. Robert had grown up in the Church of Christ, and it wasn’t a positive experience for him. The first concert I took him to in a church caused him concern because he was afraid they might pray. I prayed to God a great deal about our relationship, and I kept getting the answer, Go, go, go. It was one of the most direct messages I had ever gotten in prayer. God told me not to worry about Robert, that he would take care of him. In April 2002, Robert asked me if I would wear his ring. I told him yes.

    We talked about where we would live and decided to have a house built near The Woodlands, a planned community on the north side of Houston. Robert decided to rent his house in Seabrook, and I sold my home in downtown Houston. I decided that summer that if we could make the decisions required to build a house together, we could do anything. We moved in September 2002, shortly after school started.

    At that point, I was still teaching full-time at North Harris College, and Robert was working as an adjunct at about five colleges around town, which made for a very difficult lifestyle.

    We had a combination wedding/open house in our backyard on April 12, 2003, a beautiful, sunny day. We had rented a margarita machine (double—one side for margaritas, the other for piña coladas). When 2:00 p.m. came, I told Robert it was time to start. He told me that was a good thing because our guests were drinking too fast, and the machine was not getting adequate time to keep the drinks frozen. We had gotten the rings from a jewelry store in my hometown, Shepherdstown, West Virginia, the previous January. My pastor from the church I had attended downtown performed the ceremony, and the pastor of my new church came (good Presbyterians). It was a beautiful day.

    4copy.jpg

    Our wedding; April 12, 2003

    5copy.jpg

    Shortly thereafter, Robert was hired full-time at Cy-Fair College on the west side of town. This was in the same community college district in which I taught. He became one of the founding faculty members for the opening of Cy-Fair College in the fall of 2003. We were incredibly excited.

    Our lives were near perfect. We were both happier than we had ever been. Family was very important to both of us. Robert’s family was in Houston, Corpus Christi, and Austin. My family was all over the country. We travelled often. Between 2003 and 2006, we had wonderful trips to France (for my fiftieth birthday), Alaska, China, New York, Niagara Falls, and San Francisco (Robert’s fiftieth birthday). We enjoyed eating out, going to movies, cooking (we had lots of dinner and breakfast guests), running, and lifting weights. Robert continued to pursue his artwork (encaustic being his new medium), and I continued to conduct, sing, and play the organ. I had run ten marathons by myself at that point, and we decided to train for the Houston marathon together in the fall of 2006.

    Three of our four parents were experiencing significant health problems. Robert’s dad had major difficulties, including pulmonary problems. He became ill on a trip to Kentucky in October 2005, and died there with all of us around. My mother had developed Alzheimer’s disease and had had surgery for colon cancer. My dad had had a knee replacement and was under incredible stress trying to take care of himself and my mother. He was beginning to show signs of dementia himself. My parents were in an automobile accident the day after Thanksgiving 2006, which led to our placing them in an assisted-living facility (a blessing in itself as they needed to go there anyway, though my dad wouldn’t hear of it). Only Robert’s mother remained healthy.

    Always conscious of his health, Robert scheduled a colonoscopy for December 18, 2006, shortly after his fiftieth birthday. Everything was clear, but he had a history of problems with acid reflux, so he and the doctor decided his esophagus should be examined, although there were no symptoms.

    On December 20, I went with Robert when he had an esophagogastroduodenoscopy or EGD. Instead of bringing me back to post-op where Robert would be waiting to wake up, medical staff escorted me to a private consultation room, where Robert was already waiting. We knew something was up. After what seemed like an incredibly long time, the doctor came in and told us they had found a tumor in Robert’s esophagus, which they believed was cancer.

    We Begin

    6copy.jpg

    When you get a cancer diagnosis right before Christmas, people sympathize that it’s a horrible time of year to hear such news. I don’t think it matters when the diagnosis comes. It feels like it’s taking your life away in an instant. You long to go back a few hours to when everything was fine. You know life will never be the same again. I hated the phrase the new normal.

    I cried initially on the way out to the car. I didn’t see Robert cry that day. I tried to get it together a little bit so I could support Robert. Yet, I was the one who needed support. I don’t remember doing so, but we went out for breakfast at Cracker Barrel because Robert hadn’t had anything to eat before the procedure. Afterward, we shopped for a chandelier for Robert’s mother, as Robert and his siblings had decided to give her one for her dining room for Christmas that year. We finally found what we wanted.

    We went to lunch at Panera Bread Company at The Woodlands Mall. I asked Robert if it was okay for me to call my brother, Don, and tell him the news. It was hard to tell someone the first time, so I asked Don to tell my siblings.

    Because we didn’t want to spoil Christmas, we decided not to tell Robert’s mother and family. The one exception was his sister Suzanne. I believe he called her that day.

    I had usually been so good about sharing everything with Robert, but I wanted to try to be brave and not bring him down. I decided to Google esophageal cancer on the Internet and see what I could find out. In retrospect, that was not a good decision. I didn’t know enough to be able to sift through what I found, and what I read was pretty awful. For example, it appeared that the number of people who died each year from esophageal cancer was about the same as the number who were diagnosed. I read about pain, suffering, and eventual death, but I didn’t share any of this with Robert because I didn’t want to scare him.

    We went back for a CT scan on December 22. The pathology report had come back, and it was esophageal cancer. The initial impression was that the tumor had not spread outside of the esophagus. On that visit, we learned there was surgery for that type of cancer and that people did survive. We had been given a folder with information on esophageal cancer that Robert had read. Because of the miserable experience I had had on the Internet, I had been afraid to read anything in the folder, so I was somewhat relieved when I found out Robert would have surgery and his chances for survival were good. If I had just shared my initial findings with Robert, I could have spared myself my own worst fears. Our doctor set up a visit with a surgeon at Methodist Hospital and said we would be referred to an oncologist soon.

    We went out to dinner that night to Los Cucos, one of our favorite restaurants, in a much better mood. I told Robert I couldn’t imagine growing old without him. Talking with the doctor had given me hope that perhaps I wouldn’t have to. I think that’s what got us through that first Christmas.

    7copy.jpg

    Robert and Dave; Christmas 2006

    8copy.jpg

    Robert and cousin Susan; Christmas 2006

    I know people react to scary news in different ways. I cry easily. My grandmother used to say Fabers were born with bladders for tear ducts. Robert’s family tends to be more in control of their grief. Initially, I didn’t see anyone cry but me.

    We had planned a trip to West Virginia to visit my parents and family, and we went. My parents were not doing well. They had been living in a rehabilitation facility since their accident at Thanksgiving. My dad had gone into the hospital shortly before Christmas. He was terribly dehydrated, and we weren’t sure he was going to come out of it. My mother was delighted to see us, but she had Alzheimer’s disease, which left her confused and often afraid. My siblings and I decided to bring her home as soon as I got there, and I learned that I could sleep in the same bed with my mother. At times she confused me with my dad by calling me John (his name), which creeped me out, but that was okay. We decided that we needed to find different facilities for my parents since they had markedly different needs. We put my dad in a combination rehab/nursing facility and my mother in an Alzheimer’s facility. Since my parents had plenty of money, that was not an issue, and we were able to find top-quality facilities to care for them.

    While we were in West Virginia, Robert had discussions with his GP. He wanted Robert to have a second opinion at MD Anderson, so we began the process of trying to get an appointment there.

    There had not really been time to talk with anyone before we left for West Virginia. We returned, as planned, on January 3, before the new semester started. Now we had doctors’ visits to look forward to as well. We told Robert’s mother about his condition in person. I think because we were calm and optimistic, she was able to receive the news calmly (at least on the outside). We told Robert’s other siblings by phone. The news spread fast to the rest of our families and to our friends and colleagues at work.

    One of the things that really pissed me off right from the start was when people told me I needed to be strong. I found throughout our journey that a lot of the time it was all I could do just to hang on. I didn’t plan my responses; I just reacted in the moment as best I could. What I didn’t need was a bunch of well-meaning friends and relatives telling me I needed to be strong for Robert. Instead, I found that we were able to be strong for each other. Throughout our journey, there was never a time when one of us needed to support the other and wasn’t able to do so. I call that a God thing.

    Speaking of God, I found that after Robert’s diagnosis I had a problem connecting with God. As much as I could, I kept up with prayer several times a day and daily spiritual reading of some sort. I kept going to church as much as our schedule would allow. I could never feel God’s response. I was afraid I was going to screw this up for Robert if I wasn’t right with God. There is a lot of comment in the cancer community about the power of the spirit in the healing process. I was incredibly afraid that I would mess up the aura around Robert and hurt his chances of survival. With the council of my brother, Don, I began to realize that even if I wasn’t feeling connected, there were lots of people praying for us. I had to trust in the idea that even if I couldn’t find God, God was finding us. There were lots of God moments throughout our journey that couldn’t be explained any other way.

    I remember initiating sex several days after we found out about Robert’s cancer. It seemed important to continue to live and love to the fullest throughout our journey. I also started to pay more attention to things Robert wanted to purchase or activities he wanted to do. We were both thrifty, but I was downright cheap. We started learning to live more in the moment.

    When we finally learned more about treatment, Robert had me start a list of people to call after his surgery. I soon realized that it would be best to develop a distribution list. And so began the more public portion of our journey, which was shared through e-mail.

    Here is an excerpt from the first e-mail I sent to the group on January 8, 2007:

    Dear loved ones,

    We visited a surgeon at Methodist Hospital on Wednesday last week whom we really liked. He ordered another CT scan (he just wanted a clearer picture) and a PET scan (which we are doing this afternoon). If the cancer has not spread, Robert will have surgery soon. This involves removal of most or all of the esophagus, and rebuilding the esophagus from part of the stomach. The surgeon told us to expect chemo and radiation (although it may not be necessary). If the cancer has spread, they may elect to do chemo and radiation before the surgery. Robert will be in the hospital for about two weeks for the surgery, and off work a total of six weeks.

    Robert is young and fit, and has none of the problems that make this a difficult outcome. The surgery is invasive and takes time to heal, but we have every reason to think that everything will be fine. If I could just tell my heart that … Robert is doing great—I’m the one who’s falling apart …

    Your prayers are appreciated. I just wanted you to know.

    Love to you all,

    Dave and Robert

    After another CT scan and a PET scan, which determines areas of activity such as the brain, the heart, and cancer, the surgeon from the Methodist Hospital, Dr. R, told us he thought the cancer had only spread to one lymph node. He found a nodule on one lung, but since it did not show up on the PET scan, he figured it was benign. His recommendation was to start with chemo and radiation concurrently for four to six weeks to stop the spreading and to shrink the tumor. A subclavian port would be inserted for the administration of chemotherapy. Then Robert would rest for another four to six weeks before having surgery, which would require up to six weeks for recovery. We were very pleased when he told us to go ahead and run the marathon.

    Treatment for any disease is very confusing at first, but the learning curve is very fast. With Robert’s cancer, there would be a team approach. The oncologist was the team leader. The surgeon would play an important role. We would soon learn about anesthetists, radiologists, and other cancer specialists. I had to hope that all these people would communicate well with one another. By the time we finally got appointments set for MD Anderson, it seemed like it had taken forever to get in the door. They explained to us that there was a problem with the holidays and being short on doctors at that specific time.

    Of course, I sent the news out through e-mail. Although not everyone on our e-mail list was a blood relative, I began addressing the recipients as dear family. They were each very dear to us and had been given to us as family, blood or not.

    Here is the e-mail I sent on January 19, 2007:

    Dear family,

    Robert and I had a good day at Methodist yesterday. We were there from 7:45 a.m. until about 3:45 in the afternoon. The installation of the port did not take that long—it was just all the preparation and then rest afterward to make sure Robert was okay. He’s fine. We will see the oncologist, Dr. S, in Kingwood on Wednesday next week. We also have a set of appointments for Thursday afternoon at MD Anderson. These are initial appointments to run all the tests Robert has already had done. We don’t know which ones they will actually want to repeat.

    Again, we were very impressed with the surgeon, Dr. R, at Methodist. Lots of people have recommended him to us. He spent a lot of time with both of us yesterday, and was very respectful of us, our relationship, and what this means to us. After all the tests and discussions, he met with his tumor board yesterday, and they are unanimously in agreement with his treatment opinions. If we stay with their recommendations, Robert will have about five and a half weeks of chemo and radiation. Then they will restage the cancer at that point with the same tests Robert has already had done to know the effect of the chemo and radiation. This will include endoscopic exams and CT and PET scans again. Currently Robert’s stage is N1—that means 1 lymph node is involved.

    After reviewing all Robert’s tests, Dr. R told me for the first time yesterday that, although the tumor could have been caught earlier, this was still considered an early diagnosis. He said he believed Robert was going to be fine—and he told me he wasn’t telling me that to make me feel better, he really meant it. He also wanted me to know that the treatment and surgery would not be easy—that we would both go through a lot. I know that we are up to the challenge.

    It meant a lot to me to hear Dr. R say the Robert was going to be fine. You can’t know how much your support and prayer means to us. Please keep it up.

    Love to you all,

    Dave and Bob

    Robert knew from the first visit that he wanted to be at MD Anderson. I might have wanted to think about it, but I knew right then (another God thing?) that my job was to support Robert in this decision. MD Anderson was huge. It occurred to me that we would get to know the place like the backs of our hands, and I hated the idea.

    I started a list of people who had volunteered to drive Robert to treatments and doctors’ appointments. Robert was more comfortable with people he knew, so when it came down to it, if he needed a driver, we used family members or people from my church. Sometimes he could take himself to the appointments.

    Over the years, I had learned that time with Robert was very important to his family and that trips to the hospital were not an imposition. Rather, they were quality time spent with him.

    The physician’s assistant at MD Anderson had told us they would want to watch the nodule on Robert’s lung throughout the course of treatment to see if it reacted like cancer. For example, if it shrank during chemotherapy, that would indicate that it could be cancer. However, in late January, the tumor board at MD Anderson decided they wanted to know definitively one way or the other about the nodule. If the nodule was cancer, it would change the recommended course of treatment, so they scheduled Robert for a preevaluation that would include a biopsy of the nodule. They decided to do a biopsy on the lymph nodule as well.

    We found out that the biopsy on Robert’s lung was benign. It was a great relief for me. We had a good visit with the oncologist (Dr. A—nickname The King at MD Anderson) and his nurse, Angela, and learned there would be one more combination PET and CT scan the next day. Since the previous one was over thirty days old, they wanted a more current size and position so they could more accurately assess the effect on the tumor as Robert went through treatment. They would monitor very carefully throughout chemo and radiation to make sure the treatment was working and make adjustments if necessary.

    Nurse Angela was to be Robert’s micromanager. Robert was to carry his cell phone with him at all times and have it on so that they could chat frequently. She told us she would become the woman in Robert’s life. It worked for me … He wasn’t allowed to father any children while he was in treatment. That worked for me too. MD Anderson had a website that we could log on to and get all Robert’s appointments. We needed to look often, as things changed frequently.

    We learned later that Angela was a research nurse. Robert was in multiple research projects throughout his journey. Because he was

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