Path came down to ‘wait and see’

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from March 23, 2022. While employees and close friends already knew, this is how Jack told the community he had cancer. At the time, he was optimistic. We all were. A month later, he was gone. As we re-run this column, it is had to believe a year has gone by and at the same time seems even longer. His presence has been, and continues to be, missed.



I have cancer.

There. I said it.

Specifically, I have cancer of the liver, caused — at least in part — by “mild abuse of alcohol” over my adult years.

Not too many years ago, that diagnosis would have given doctors little choice but to tell the patient to go home and get his or her affairs in order.

But today there are options for treatment.

And when there are options for treatment, there is hope going forward.

A couple of my best friends are cancer survivors, and they’re quick to remind me that the notion of a “cancer survivor” didn’t exist when we were growing up. They’re also quick to remind me that it’s important to emphasize the positive as my family and I deal with this new reality.

So I’m getting good counsel.

I’m also getting great care.

When this popped up — very suddenly — early this month, Dr. Frank Vormohr took one look at my test results and initial CAT scan and stepped on the accelerator. I was checked into IU Health Ball Memorial Hospital in Muncie the same afternoon and spent a dizzying six days of tests and procedures.

Back home now, I’ve met with my oncologist, Dr. Mark Pajeau, and gone over the options. I’ll have my first immunotherapy infusion the day after this column runs in The Commercial Review.

So what happens to this column? That’s a good question.

Much depends upon how I feel after treatments and how well I can focus.

Writing a weekly column like this for more than 25 years requires time to reflect, to daydream, to stare out the window, to wool-gather a bit and to reminisce.

All of those are hard to do when there’s one big challenge watching me from the shadows.

Surviving cancer is work, hard work. And that requires pretty intense dedication at times. I’ve resolved to be the best patient imaginable, the most positive possible, simply because that’s the course of action likely to lead to the best result.

So I’ll try to keep the column going. But I’m going to try hard not to write about the cancer. Better writers have already done that. The “woe is me” stuff won’t be found here.

Some weeks, I expect Ray Cooney will have to dig through the archives to fill the space on this page. Other times I hope to resume my regular stride.

Like so much of the path that lies ahead, it’s going to have to come down to “let’s wait and see.”

If that’s good enough for you, reader, it’s good enough for me.