With my prostate-specific antigen (PSA) and testosterone numbers rising, I was terribly worried that my prostate cancer was barreling back into my life. For years, I had nestled comfortably in my remission cocoon. Cancer’s comeback was possible, but I put it out of my mind.
But, I’ve learned that sometimes, we cancer patients must put our worries on hold and laugh at the silly predicaments in which we find ourselves.
I used a big, black marker pen to circle on the calendar the scheduled three-month consultation with my urologist. Deep down I knew that I couldn’t shrug off the appointment. I needed to face the music.
But what happened in the moments leading up to my telehealth consultation threw me off guard, and provided some much-needed humor to counter the dark thoughts about cancer that I was harboring.
Thirty minutes before the session, I put a nice shirt on, combed my hair and trimmed my beard. I didn’t want my doctor to think I was slovenly, or that I wasn’t taking all of this seriously.
I then set up the camera and awaited the meeting link to arrive in my inbox.
I had been suffering from a terrible bout of seasonal allergies. I didn’t want to risk showing a dripping nose during this important meeting. So, 15 minutes before the session, I used a Kleenex to blow my nose extra hard. Big mistake! Out gushed a steady stream of blood.
“Oh no,” I exclaimed to my wife, who was standing by with pen and paper to jot down the highlights of this meet-up. “All I need is a blasted nosebleed!”
Five minutes before the meeting, I still had not managed to stanch the flow, even after using countless tissues and putting pressure on the bridge of my nose. So, improvising, I asked my wife to grab a cotton ball to wedge inside the bleeding nostril, deciding that it would have to do. I needed to hear the doctor’s take on my test results despite my appearance!
Two minutes to go, and yet another problem popped up thanks to my allergies: I lost my voice! Well, actually, I could talk, but nothing above a whisper. I teased my wife that she might have to stand in for me and I would be the one taking the notes.
With one minute remaining, I was grabbing a coughdrop when the phone rang. It was the doctor’s medical assistant.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cooper, but the doctor is running late and we will have to reschedule our session,” she said, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief.
That critical phone call saved me from the embarrassment of showing the doctor my stopped-up nose, and with me struggling to speak coherently.
Naturally, I was still anxious to learn if the doctor would order a new scan or treatment plan. But for the moment, I was taking a little mental health break.
After all, laughter — and a good nasal spray — is definitely the best medicine!
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