One of my early symptoms before I was officially diagnosed was fatigue, and at the time we thought it was mildly amusing that I was hunkering down for a two-hour nap each day. I’m still enthusiastic about taking naps, but I’ve also been more watchful for any little sign that my cancer might be coming back. When I met with Dr. Seifter in mid-January I asked if there was anything I should be watching for, and he told me that I was being so watchful that there was almost no chance any abnormality would escape my notice.

Early in February I felt well enough to go see my parents again, and on that same trip we spent time with Edna’s family in Texas. Throughout my treatment her family had been very supportive and it had been much too long since I saw them. In January just about everyone on her side of the family had gone to the Philippines for a memorial service and celebration in honor of Edna’s grandmother, who had died last year while visiting relatives on the island of Panay where most of the family originally hails from. We didn’t go because of the cancer, and it was a heartbreaking decision for me especially because I have not yet made it there and would have greatly enjoyed participating in the festivities. We did get to see a lot of fun photos from the trip, and we’re eagerly waiting to hear whether the pregnant pig in the village of Gama will give birth to a piglet named “Edna” or whether it will turn out to be a male and be called “Thomas.” Fame. Sweet.



In all this I’ve been trying to ignore every little itch and bump and gurgle as much as I can, while weighing the possibility that every little bump and itch and gurgle MIGHT actually be some new sign of cancer. But one big thing that showed up in the latter part of February was some fairly intense back pain, and frankly that had me quite worried. It could have come from shoveling snow, which I did both at my parents house in New Mexico and then twice when we returned to Maryland. The symptom that sent me to the doctor in the first place was back pain, and this was in the same place and harsh enough to get my attention.

I knew if I called my doctor about this, if it really was something serious, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell me much without ordering up new CT scan or similar test. As luck and proper scheduling would have it, I already had a PET scan planned for March 2nd. Thus, for several days after getting this pain I could only wait my turn and fear the worst.

While I was in Texas my old roommate Dean Rutz called. He passed on the disturbing news that my friend and colleague Steve Deslich had taken a turn for the worse. Longtime Basement Gallery fans will recognize Steve as one of the earliest visitors to be photographed but aside from being a good guy and having a wonderful wife and incredibly cute son Steve also was a fellow Cancerista. As far as cancer goes, Steve was Yoda to my Luke, having had a series of brain tumors and several surgeries and chemotherapy in the past few years. He has been through a lot more than I even want to imagine.

I’ll confess that I can’t claim to be a really close friend of Steve, but every time I’ve ever spent time with him I have found him to be one of the warmest, funniest guys I’ve had the chance to meet. At our first encounter some years back Steve sat down next to me at a party and opened with a line that I can’t repeat here (because I know my mom is reading this), but I can tell you it was hilarious and I’ve wished for the right opportunity to use it since then. But unless you’re carrying around a valise filled up with lawn-bowling gear it’s just too hard to work in to your average conversation.

More important, when I was going through my own treatment for cancer, Steve showed an interest in me and exuded a calm confidence about his own situation that gave me a lot of reassurance that I would be able to make it through the difficult times I was having. With scars on his head and having learned over the summer that his tumors had reappeared — again— Steve was jovial and sincere and displayed an attitude as healthy and pleasant as the fittest of people I’d ever met.

Dean told me in his phone call that the latest news on Steve wasn’t good. Late in 2006 some new tumors had developed in his brain that would not be removable by surgery. So when I got back from the southwest I went over to visit Steve and Kathy, and found him in a hospital bed in the middle of his living room. By this time he had pretty much lost the use of his left leg because the tumors were putting pressure on his nervous system. His left arm was also quite weak, and his right trembled with just about every task he tried. But we had a great talk and he didn’t once betray any notion that he wouldn’t get better. At one point Kathy walked in to the room and was surprised to hear us talking about American History rather than about cancer.


One recent Saturday a bunch of friends from Steve’s office, McClatchy-Tribune Photo Service, had a party for him, complete with barbeque ribs flown in from Kansas City. It was a nice gathering of about 15-20 people, counting several members of Steve’s family from Ohio who have been spending time with him in recent weeks. After most of the crowd left a few of us lingered to talk in the living room, and that stretched late into the afternoon. The several of us talked about movies, culture, kids, satellite radio and watched as his son Min flitted in and out playing with all the guests.


Some people have been worried about how I would react to knowing that Steve was dying. I’m not sure that my own cancer makes this any more worrisome than if I were healthy. For several years I’ve been a student of Buddhism, wherein you are constantly taught to focus on death and change and impermanence. The reason: doing so teaches you to live more fully, to be more compassionate to all living beings, all of whom will die. So as I’ve faced my own cancer I’ve known about the possibility that it could (or may still) kill me and that fact has never really bothered me. Granted, I am not eager to suffer and linger in pain, but the passing from life to death isn’t something that I dread. I don’t know what may happen after I do cross that threshold, but I can at least try to live a decent life. I’m not nearly as compassionate or altruistic as the many lamas and teachers I’ve learned from, but maybe I’ve done a little good here and there and I’ve been able to have some interesting adventures. That may be about as much as anyone can really hope to accomplish, and from what I can tell Steve has done that even more richly than I. He and I did talk some about whether having cancer caused either of us to have any insights in to death or the “secrets” of life, but we basically concluded that it did not. “If there was an epiphany,” Steve laughed, “I missed it.”

That Saturday (Feb 24th) turns out to have been, as Kathy tells it, Steve’s last good day. On Sunday he began having seizures, and in order to control them it was necessary to use strong sedatives. As the calendar turned to March he became unable to take any food, and was only receiving pain medication and the sedatives. Edna and I visited on Monday and his family said that he responded some to different stimuli, but essentially he was winding down.

Steve passed away Tuesday night, March 6th, in his home. Wednesday would have been his 36th birthday. My thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends, and I know it meant a lot to him to have those people around him in his last days.


And the PET scan I had last week? Turns out to be completely clear. No sign of cancer anywhere. I just need to stretch more if I’m gonna be shoveling snow. And certainly before I do any lawn bowling.