Cancer Doesn't Knock: It Crashes into Your Life and Nothing Is Ever the Same

By Verna Acker

On April 27, 2001, at 5:50 am, cancer crashed into the near-perfect world of Ivan and Verna Acker. The doctor said the word cancer and nothing would ever be the same. It had always been a word for other people. Now it was a word for them. The diagnosis was advanced Stage IV non-small cell adenocarcinoma, lung cancer with brain metastasis. The prognosis was poor six to eight months was the expectation. The Ackers fought the cancer together. They loved and laughed. They cried and they prayed. Now perfect had a new meaning.
At 76 years old, Ivan was the healthy and happy. As patriarch of a huge family of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, he had seemed to be invincible and timeless.
He met the cancer head-on.
If its going to get me, its going to have to work really hard!
This memoir gives the reader direct access to the harrowing struggle the Ackers lived from the day cancer crashed into their lives. Walk with them, hand in hand, through eighteen months of their life. Its a long walk. Experience the highs and the lows, the joys and the sorrows. Learn with them. There is a lot to learn.
The story goes beyond their physical and emotional battles. It shows the devotion of two people and the power that love and prayer can have over even the greatest odds.

Walk with them.
Learn with them.
Its a long walk.
There is no map.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477270226

Verna Acker

Verna Acker, age 60, lives with her husband Ivan in the small, riverfront village of Waterford, Wisconsin. They share their home with Taro, a shepherd-collie mix and Brandy, their newest adoptee from the humane society. Verna and Ivan have a combined family of 7 married children, 20 grandchildren and 5 great-grandchildren. Verna has been a real estate broker since 1978, owning her own realty business since 1993. Her office walls are filled with awards earned over her many years in the business. She has a bachelor’s degree in education and worked as an educator for 14 years in both the elementary and secondary programs. In 1993, Verna self-published a real estate-related book named Being in Real Estate is Like Being Pregnant – either you are or your aren’t. She has had several articles published in real estate related magazines on the national and local level. Her files are filled with writing projects waiting to come to life. One of her favorite pastimes is to sit on the deck at their lake cottage – just about three miles from their village home – and read or work on her scrapbooks. Fishing off the pier, playing the organ, listening to music, enjoying her grandchildren, and working on community service projects fill out her busy schedule. As this book goes to print, she is preparing to be the President of the local Chamber of Commerce. Eighteen months of a lifetime is chronicled in the pages of Cancer Doesn’t Knock.

Book preview

Cancer Doesn't Knock

It crashes into your life and nothing is ever the same

Verna Acker

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AuthorHouse™

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This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

© 2002, 2012 Verna Acker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/10/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7022-6 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7023-3 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917292

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Second Edition

Revised

2012

Contents

Chapter One The Beginning

Chapter Two How It All Started

Chapter Three The Next Few Days

Chapter Four The Battle Begins

Chapter Five The Circle of Love

Chapter Six Settling In

Chapter Seven Chemotherapy Begins

Chapter Eight The Battle Against Starvation

Chapter Nine Learning to Cope

Chapter Ten The Gamma Knife

Chapter Eleven Blessings

Chapter Twelve August

Chapter Thirteen Moving Forward

Chapter Fourteen October Roller Coaster

Chapter Fifteen Keeping Watch

Chapter Sixteen From Bad to Better

Chapter Seventeen Christmas

Chapter Eighteen Alternatives

Chapter Nineteen More of the Roller Coaster

Chapter Twenty Our Story Continues, in Real Time

Chapter Twenty-One The Holding Pattern Continues

Chapter Twenty-Two We Begin Year Two

Chapter Twenty-Three A Look Back

Chapter Twenty-Four My Journal Continues

Chapter Twenty-Five Remission

Chapter Twenty-Six The Reprieve is Over

Epilogue

In Memoriam

This Man’s Life

Special Thanks

Appendix A Helpful Web Sites

Appendix B Helpful Products

About the Author

Disclaimer

No part of this story should be construed to be either medical or legal advice. This is the story of our battle with cancer and how we dealt with it. We made mistakes. We had victories. We struggled, like everyone else who hears the word cancer. Always check with professionals in the field before you make any decisions on care, medicines, supplements and any advice you glean from our story. All decisions should be based upon your individual diagnosis, your doctors, and your caregivers. No one’s story is the same. No one’s diagnosis is the same. Nothing in the world of cancer is the same. This story was written to let you know you aren’t alone, and what to watch for as you write your own story.

God Bless You. Verna Acker

Some people come into our lives and quickly go.

Some stay awhile and leave footprints on our hearts.

And, we are never, ever the same.

Author Unknown

Prologue

April 27, 2001

The world as we knew it came to a halt.

It was a screeching, jarring, heart-rending halt.

We were wrenched loose from our foundation.

We lost all that we had taken for granted.

We were catapulted into a frightening, dark abyss.

We had cancer.

We had a brain tumor.

We had several brain tumors.

We had lung cancer.

The love of my life and I embarked on a journey with no sure destination.

–––––

I walked out of the hospital room, leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. There were sobs inside. Tears on the outside rolled down my cheeks. Some of our children were at Dad’s bedside. As I left the room, Ivan was rearranging the items on his bedside table. He said nothing.

The grief was overwhelming. Once before I had felt real grief: the morning my father died. This was different. This was my whole life changing beyond measure.

In an instant, everything was different.

–––––

Cancer doesn’t knock.

It crashes through the front door of your world. It hits you square in the gut. It mercilessly attacks your senses. It is an uninvited guest that takes over every aspect of your life. It doesn’t go away, even when you beg and cry and pray. It is there. It is a reality. It becomes your new life.

Today, as I write this, I am better. In the beginning I didn’t do well at all. Have you ever seen one of those science fiction movies where people are sucked into a wall that seems to be moving bright colors around? The wall seems to be fluid. The colors and the textures pulsate and churn. Helplessly you are sucked in. Your body is falling. Your arms are flailing for something solid to grab hold of to stop the descent. There is nothing.

You pray.

You cry out for help.

You pray some more.

It’s a long fall.

You begin to become familiar with your plight, even though you don’t understand where you are. You trust the good Lord, settle back and hope you can handle the rest of the ride. That’s how I felt. All these months later, that’s how I still feel.

We lost control of our life when the doctors said the word cancer. That isn’t really true. We lost control of life as we knew it. The task ahead was to take control of the situation and deal with it as best we could. And, that is what we set out to do.

Walk with us.

Learn with us.

It’s a long walk.

There is no map.

Chapter One

The Beginning

It all began at 5:50 a.m., April 27, 2001.

That isn’t exactly true, either.

It really began long before we will ever know.

Looking back, I can see things we missed. You know what they say about hindsight.

That past summer Ivan got winded more easily when he climbed the hill at the cottage. He took the golf cart up and down the hill more often. He was breathing harder and coughing more. But, he was a smoker. That’s about the only thing we have ever really argued about. Besides, he was 76. He mentioned, now and then, that he just couldn’t do what he used to.

But that made sense. After all, he was 76. In the quiet moments that we sat together, with my head on his chest, I could hear the sounds I hated to hear. But he was a smoker. I didn’t think cancer. I thought emphysema.

Honey, every time you quit for a while, you feel better. But honey knew smoking didn’t have anything to do with anything!

Then we missed the next clue. Actually, I missed the next clue. I should have seen it but I didn’t. There is that hindsight thing again. Ivan told me that he was going to see the doctor.

The doctor was a relative. Ivan was never sick a day in his life – except for the time he tangled with a snow blower and lost the battle. Oh, he had a few complaints here and there. He would go to the doctor. He would get some pills. He would get better. But never did he go without a fight. To get him to the doctor, I darned near had to truss him up with duct tape and drag him kicking and screaming all the way! This time he decided to go on his own.

The pills didn’t work. He told me he was going back. He still didn’t feel well. Those pills didn’t work. He told me he was going back. He still didn’t feel well. The new pills didn’t work. He kept bringing samples home. Once he even got a prescription. The unused pills are still in the medicine chest.

You go to the doctor. The doctor is trained to find out what is wrong. You trust. You take home the samples. You go to the pharmacist to pick up what they tell you will help. You aren’t alarmed, so you don’t even ask what the pills are for. You just take them.

–––––

WHAT HAVE I LEARNED? The guessing game played by the doctors along with the sample pills they send home for you to try shouldn’t last for more than a couple of weeks. If symptoms persist, insist on more tests. Insist that they find out what is causing the symptoms. Don’t take pills unless you know what they are for and why they have been prescribed. When they send you home with samples and prescriptions, go to the internet or talk to your pharmacist. Find out their side effects. In short, get educated. If we had been more proactive, perhaps we would have found his cancer sooner. We will never know.

–––––

Remember those unused pills in the medicine chest? They sat there for months. I forgot they were there. One day, months after this all began, I saw a commercial for Singulair. That rang a bell. I had recently cleaned the medicine chest I remembered the Singulair. Singulair is for asthma. The prescription date on the bottle was February 2; three months to the day before the doctors told us that Ivan had terminal cancer. He brought home a purple thing that was supposed to help. It didn’t. Later I discovered the purple inhaler also was for asthma, too.

Things began to change the day in April he brought home Allegra, a well-known allergy pill, and something that started with a D. I was pretty certain that he didn’t have allergies and the D-thing was for high blood pressure. Ivan has never had high blood pressure in his life! I am the one with high blood pressure. I have a digital machine that I use to monitor my own. I took his several times in the next couple of days. To this day, his blood pressure has never gone high, even when he was at his worst. Still, you figure the doctor must know what he is doing. But, I couldn’t figure out why the doctor would give him blood pressure medicine. It didn’t make sense.

A couple of days later Ivan once again said he was going back to see the doctor. That was the moment that defined the rest of our lives together. I called the clinic.

May I speak to the doctor, please?

He is with patients.

Ivan’s appointment was that same morning.

I have a message I want to leave. My husband has been coming to the clinic for four months. He is getting worse, not better. He usually needs to be tied and dragged to see the doctor. He is coming on his own. I want to know what’s wrong!! I want you to start running tests and I want you to find out what is wrong!

And then I said, Thank you.

Looking back, I should have started thinking outside the box earlier. I should have thought cancer. Hindsight again. The signs were there.

–––––

WHAT HAVE I LEARNED? Don’t be intimidated by the mystery of the medical community. This is your life they have in their hands. You pay them. They work for you. Pitch a fit if that is what it takes to get things figured out and to get answers. I just wish I had pitched that fit a few months earlier. I also learned that you should pay close attention to your family health history. In Ivan’s case, he had two sisters who died of cancer. His doctor knew that, too. We should have paid more attention to that.

–––––

A stress test was ordered. He had never had a heart symptom in his life. To this day, I’m convinced the doctor ordered it to shut me up.

The stress test was Tuesday. The technicians found that every time Ivan stopped on the treadmill, his heart would skip a beat. The doctor ordered a heart catheterization. That was Thursday afternoon. Ivan had some blockages: 90 percent in the main artery to the lung, 60 percent in another artery. There were two other lesser blockages.

It was decided he should have angioplasty the following Monday or Tuesday. Before we left, the doctor gave us the there is a remote possibility that there could be some side effects from the dye speech. On rare occasions the patient can have a minor stroke, but very rare.

When we left the doctor’s office we went to the local co-op store and bought a brand new riding lawn mower. It would be delivered on Saturday. We had a good time buying the mower. My only requirement was that it had to have really good springs under the seat so he could bounce better and not get beat up so badly when he went over the bumps. It even had a cup holder!

That evening, Ivan spent a lot of time looking at the pictures of his new toy. Some of our conversation was about rationalization – why it was OK that we spend so much money on a pretty new mower when the old one was still working. Besides, one of the kids can use the old one. Life was normal that evening. Normal is different now.

–––––

WHAT HAVE I LEARNED? Life changes – suddenly sometimes. What was never is again. Be sure to live each moment like it is your last. The most common moments of your day may become the ones you treasure most when you look back. That lawn mower (his new toy) became one of the things we talked about the next few days. Our grown sons promised ardently that Dad would be the first one to use it, even though they were going to see that his lawn was mowed just the way he wanted it – perfect! Simple things are the most important.

Chapter Two

How It All Started

At 5:50 a.m. on Friday morning, April 27, 2001, I was just beginning to wake from the night’s sleep. I heard Ivan moving around. Something, however, caused me to sit up. He was standing at the foot of our bed. He was trying to button his clothes and his fingers were not working right.

What’s wrong, honey?

No reply.

I look through the morning twilight. There is something wrong. His face doesn’t look right.

I raise my voice and cry out, "What’s wrong with you?’

All that comes from him is a garbled sound like blah, blah, blah. He has no speech. I dive for the phone. Think. Don’t panic. 911. Give your name. Give your address.

I think my husband is having a stroke.

This is all a dream. They are on their way.

Next call is to my daughter, Laura. Her husband, Charlie, is a paramedic. They live a mile away. Second call to Diane, another daughter. Both girls have scanners. I don’t want them to hear the call before they know what is happening.

Dad is having a stroke. Call the kids. We are on our way to the hospital!

Get the door open. Get jeans and a shirt over my nightie. Half the town is on the way. (We live in a small town, population 3,000 and have a volunteer rescue squad.) You know these people. You need to have clothes on.

Somewhere during this time, I laid him back on the bed. He was still, staring straight up. I know he was on his feet while I was calling 911.

He had no speech but the sounds he was making left no mistake what he was saying. He did not want me to call 911.

"I am fine! There is nothing wrong with me!"

When I laid him down, he stayed there. By then, I guess he knew he was in trouble.

The police must have been on Main Street. Two squads were at the house within just seconds. The whole scene was surreal. The officers stood by the bed. Their radios were squawking. The officers were talking into the boxes on their shoulders.

Chuck walked in next. He must have taken a whole minute and a half to get there. Chuck would know what to do. On his heels came the rest of the rescue squad. Our small home quickly filled with rescue personnel and police officers.

We are well known. Ivan has lived in this house since 1956. When the call came over the scanner that it was the Acker house, the whole crew must have come. Some came in their own cars and some came in the rescue vehicles. Even the fire chief was on the sidewalk. Somebody was in the street directing traffic.

Officer Kelly had a job and she did it very well. She asked me some of the dumbest questions you can imagine. I can’t really remember many of them. She might have even asked me my mother’s maiden name. If she didn’t, she probably would have if she needed to. I guess it was her job to keep me occupied and out of the way!

Through all of this commotion, our dog, Taro, never made a sound. Usually he barks like crazy at the slightest noise. I wasn’t paying attention to the dog. Kelly was doing too good a job keeping me busy. In moments, the rescue people had Ivan on the gurney.

Tony, one of the volunteers, called for me. Verna, can you call your dog?

Taro was lying on Tony’s feet and across the wheels of the gurney. Taro is a 112-pound shepherd mix. He was just as worried as the rest of us. Nobody was going to take Dad if he could help it!

The ambulance took off to Burlington, about eight miles away, with sirens screaming. Charlie didn’t ride with them. He was going to drive me to the hospital. I just followed where he led me and got in the car. He put the dog in the outside kennel.

On the road, he reached over and took my hand, I don’t think he had a stroke. His vital signs are good and he’s already talking better. He kept assuring me everything would be okay.

We got to the hospital right behind the ambulance. One by one, our family arrived. We filled the waiting room. We waited. And we waited. Dr. Moran, the cardiologist from yesterday, was called.

After what seemed like a very long time, he came to talk to us.

It looks like he had a TIA.(Transient Ischemic Attack, a/k/a mini-stroke) But he is fine now and that’s confusing.

By now, Ivan was fine and talking to all of us.

I’m fine. I don’t know what you are all so worried about.

The cardiologist was still troubled.

This didn’t act like a stroke. He wouldn’t have gotten better so quickly if it were a stroke. His vital signs don’t point to a stroke. The cath shouldn’t have done this. I have been doing this for 25 years and have never seen this before.

Dr. Moran decided to send him for a CAT scan. It wasn’t long before we were told that Ivan had a brain tumor. It seems that the dye from the catheterization had caused the large tumor to swell against the brain wall, causing the seizure, which affected his speech and made us think he was having a stroke.

About half an hour later we were told he had more than one tumor. There was one behind his eye. They said it was brain cancer. They knew right away because of the nature of the tumors.

Our world, as we knew it, came to a screeching and deadly stop. A lot of the next hour or so is a blur.

He was admitted. We had so much family there they put us in a room by ourselves. There was nothing to do now but wait for the full radiology report. The doctors would come to see us later, when they knew more.

It was 11 a.m. I was still in the t-shirt over my nightie and I had bed-head hair. The kids were with their dad, so I decided to go home, clean up, and take care of the