Braunstein Speaks

The Glib Reaper

Ever since I got into this cancer game, people have been asking me how I manage to keep an even temperament; and what’s more, keep my humor.

After almost three years of treatment, I find that my attitude isn’t all that unusual. The last time I had chemo—about two months ago—my seatmate was a young man with mesothelioma, a form of lung cancer caused by exposure to asbestos. The young man already had two surgeries and countless sessions of chemotherapy, but liked to focus on the fact that he was still here.

Only once in those three years did I ever hear a fellow patient publically express distress or ask, “Why me?”

Years ago, I had a neighbor who had two children in a row born with a cleft palate. The first he accepted as fate, but learned it was easily corrected; and after the second was born, he announced: “It’s better that it happened to us instead of some young couple. We now have experience with cleft palate, and we know what to do about it.”

Over a year ago, all the radiation absorbed by my right leg led to a condition called lymphedema, which is fluid collecting in the limb leading to gross swelling, and the loss of knee flexibility. Although I was treated regularly for this symptom, I developed an ulcer behind my knee that would not easily heal.

About six months ago, this ulcer reopened; and despite regular visits to the hospital Wound Clinic, and despite applications of treatments that have worked before, the ulcer behind my knee will not heal.

This afternoon is my scheduled bi-weekly visit to the Wound Clinic. The biggest concern now is not healing, but infection; as this case will now be closed. Before what would have been my next scheduled visit, the ulcer—along with the multiple tumors and calcified skin on my right leg—will disappear.

Ever since I found out about losing my leg, I have been adding one-limb jokes to my humor repertoire. Recall the Black Knight Scene in Monty Python’s Holy Grail movie:

King Arthur has cut the Black Knight’s arm off. “Now stand aside, worthy adversary!”
Black Knight: “’Tis but a scratch.”
Arthur: “A scratch? Your arm’s off!”
Black Knight: “No, it isn’t!”
Arthur: “Well, what’s that then?”
Black Knight: “I’ve had worse!”

As long as my mouth (or my keyboard) is still attached to my brain, it’s not likely that I, like the Black Knight, will “stand aside.”

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