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December 26, 2006
Almost three months ago now, during a routine MRI to search for the cause of a constant pain in my back, doctors discovered what is referred to as a "secondary cancer."
After nearly three decades of being clean, several lesions had appeared in my body. The result, I'm told, of the Incredible Hulk-like levels of radiation I received as a child when battling a rare and aggressive form of pediatric cancer.
Understand, I've been living in Vail for about a month when this went down. New job. New environment. And wham, I'm blindsided. The news threw me.
Here I am in this beautiful resort town a long airplane ride away from the legendary cancer treatment centers like Sloan-Kettering or UCSF in San Francisco, and I had no idea what to do.
Those were my first thoughts as I sat stunned on an examining table at Vail Orthopedics after Dr. Peters broke the news to me. Even in my dazed state, I felt bad for the poor guy who usually doesn't have to drop news like this. I had probably ruined his family dinner that night. Then I wondered, "How is this going to work when I live in a town like Vail?"
I am a survivor, and the survivor mode of operation instinctively and immediately kicked in. While I really wanted my mommy, I started asking questions in preparation for what I was pretty sure was coming my way.
Dr. Peters said, "If you can hang out for a bit, I'll make some phone calls for you." I like phone calls on my behalf. Phone calls on my behalf are good. I wasn't getting the solemn pat on the shoulder, a list of potential referrals to pursue, and the polite request for co-pay on my way out.
As I waited for Dr. Peters to come back, I made a number of calls to family members alerting them to the rough sledding ahead.
When he did come back, he told me that I had an appointment in 30 minutes with a Dr. Patty Hardenburgh over at the Shaw Cancer Center. I wasn't yet familiar with the Shaw, but I soon discovered that the national oncology community hides a true gem in this Rocky Mountain community.
Less than an hour after getting the initial news, I met Dr. Patty Hardenburgh and her team. After that first appointment, it was immediately obvious that the stars had aligned in my favor and that I wasn't going to have to go through the unfortunate and tragically typical doctor dance in an effort to get someone's attention or to figure out what I really need to do.
The care I was already receiving was extraordinary, so different from the confusing responsibilities found under the neon lights and bland white walls that surrounded my first experience with this disease and that is the norm for so many in similar circumstances.
As an example, after my appointment with Dr. Hardenburgh ended, I was told at the front desk that they would try to schedule the scans she had requested and would give me a call. I had anticipated that I would be spending the next two weeks placing phone calls, being put on hold for 20-minute stints, and being disconnected at least five times and all without making any progress.
As I was getting into my car after that first appointment, Andy, a member of Patty's team, came running out to me with my scan schedule in his hand. I was stunned. You don't get service like this at the big-city centers. It's not that they wouldn't want to; they just aren't capable.
Not only was everything set up, but Andy called me that same night to make sure I had all the information I needed. He is an excellent offensive coordinator, keeping me scheduled and prepared to juggle the multitude of medical appointments coming my way. (Andy missed his calling. He should be running a small country.) I could not have done any of this on my own. Because I was at the Shaw and in Vail, I didn't have to.
I used my professional contacts to get in touch with Dr. Al Rabson, the associate director of the National Cancer Institute in Washington, D.C. I sent him the names of the doctors I was being referred to and his one line response to my inquiry was: "You're in the best hands." That made my day.
Dr. Rabson also suggested one doctor at the Dana Farber Institute to speak to who had particular expertise in my type of cancer.
When I gave Patty his name, Dr. Marshall Posner, her response was, "Wow, that's awesome. If you'd like, I'll talk to him directly and see what he has to say."
This is the way it should be for a patient. If I tried to get through to Dr. Posner on my own, and I succeeded, and then had to translate his advice back to Patty, it would be like a howler monkey acting as a go-between for two nuclear scientists.
Patty was willing to go the extra mile from the get-go. She was focused on providing me with the most comprehensive and well thought out plan of treatment available, and solicited whatever resources were available to make that happen.
After she had consulted with both Drs. Posner and Rabson, she called me as excited as if she had won the lottery. Dr. Posner had some great insights and ideas as to how to tackle my diagnosis and ordered me to fly to Boston to see him. Additionally, he agreed to be a part of my treatment team, long distance.
Anything that Dr. Posner would recommend can be done in the mountains. In today's cyber village, consulting and sharing X-rays/scans is easily and quickly accomplished. I could not believe I had the best minds from Boston to Denver to Vail involved in my direct care, and it was all doable at the Shaw Center.
Once the team was lined up, a plan for treatment took shape. Patty and I talked and came up with a sort of lockerroom assessment of our strategy. We donned our respective game faces and we envisioned success. I said, "Do you want to just do this!" She replied, grinning, "Yeah, let's just do this. I'm in."
We hugged. We were already beyond the hand-shaking stage as we, a Band of Brothers, headed into battle. I was struck by how inspired and positive I could feel being in a cancer center!
There is a great deal to be said for the impact your surroundings have on your attitude and overall well being. When I arrived for this first treatment, I wasn't sure if I was prepping for radiation therapy or to get a massage. Seriously, it was awesome.
I expected dark, sterile and cold, and got serene, calming, spa-like and comforting. As someone who has walked the walk before, I know that feeling good about where you are and walking out of treatment breathing the fresh air and taking in the scenic beauty of majestic mountains doesn't hurt. Neither do the soft Ritz-like robes you're given for as long as you're getting the radiation, as well as a locker all to yourself, wooden furniture to lay out your clothes and fresh, bottled water waiting for you before you walk down the artistically painted hallway taking you to the state-of-the-art radiology treatment rooms.
Now it has been a couple of months since I began this journey, and I often reflect with amazement and gratitude at how comfortable this tough time can feel at the Shaw Cancer Center. I'm treated like an individual, a human being, not a number.
The entire staff, from doctors to nurses to administrators, is genuinely caring and does everything in their power to take care of you. The clinical oncology nurses are absolutely topnotch, and the pharmacist mixing the prescriptions sits a stone's throw away from the treatment area. And none of these attributes are in lieu of expert and cutting-edge treatment, which are obviously the most important pieces of this complex puzzle.
Still being somewhat of an outsider as I continue my assimilation into Vail, I can easily envision the future of the Vail Valley not just being known for its world-class skiing, snow sports and spectacular scenery, but as an internationally recognized destination for healing.
I'm going through a very manageable treatment at Shaw, which respects my work schedule and lifestyle. I have a team of the best brains there are, and my prognosis is looking very positive.
If you ever find yourself battling cancer, and I sincerely hope you don't, don't forget about the best-kept secret in the cancer treatment pantheon hidden away in these mountains. If you do, it will truly be your loss because the Vail Valley is a life-saver and first-class, personalized care is worth its weight in short life lines.
Allan Goldberg is the executive director of First Descents, a foundation that provides outdoor adventures and whitewater kayaking expeditions for young adults with cancer throughout the country.
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Survivor - Allan Goldberg
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