I was in places during the late 1960's as a young teen Marine at which I was on a steady diet of poisoned water and air for breathing. Good service as a Marine volunteer regular for four years during a bad war and doing my best no matter where I was had me feeling OK with an Honorable Discharge in 1969.

I was always covered by great health insurance during my working years and on my wife's health policy after I retired. And then she retired and carrying me was going to cost a fortune. I was on Medicare Part A & B. On a lark I got in touch with the VA and applied for VA health care. I hadn't been wounded, never heard anything great about the VA and knew that the VA Hospital in Northport was 34 miles from my home. I didn't know about the VA clinic ten minutes from my house.

A woman from the VA phoned me and told me that from my service records I was entitled to 100% free health care and that I needed to get to the VA clinic in East Meadow to catch my VA ID and get tied up with a primary care physician. And I did that. With a choice I chose Dr. Shirley T. She was recommended as a fine physician that a lot of old-fart vets didn't want to see because she is "female". That never bothered me.

Smoking and drinking and being poisoned as a Marine had Dr. Shirley concerned. She prescribed me meds for my thyroid and slightly elevated blood pressure. And then she saved my life - she had me running to the VA Hospitals at Northport and Brooklyn for tests and OR procedures.

I did a colonoscopy and endoscopy at the same time in an operating room all knocked out. Doctors were up my ass and down my throat in a medical doubleheader. I did a lung biopsy. I did CT scans and MRIs with dyes pumped into my veins or circulating from some horrible stuff I swallowed. I was in an operating room for a pancreas biopsy from down my throat and through my stomach that got called off when the surgeon with the camera thought it best to not bust through my stomach and maybe pierce my intestines. There was something tiny attached to my pancreas that didn't belong there.

None of these procedures in the operating rooms or tests at the VA cost me a dime.

In April of 2018 I was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer in my left lung with the lymph nodes nearby catching some cancer as well. My pancreas had a small abnormal gizmo attached to it and the VA oncologists thought I could be doomed and dead without some treatment in a hurry. I figured I had gotten by 70 with a good trip through life and was ready to not make 71. I was told by the VA oncology MDs that they would meet as a group and decide a plan of treatment. I was working on "death documents" with the wife. The treatments included chemotherapy, surgery, radiation and immunotherapy.

The plan of treatment was "immunotherapy" which was OK by me since I could do the 70-mile round trip to the VA Hospital at Northport as a solo without bothering the wife for a ride. I would get a catheter rammed into an arm vein every three weeks and be infused with cancer medicine to slow up the cancer and buy me some time. Every three months I would do a CT scan to see what was happening to my insides.

In July, after a scan, I was told that my cancer had "stabilized" and had not spread. And was receding.

In October the CT scan from my throat down to the old baby makers at my groin showed zero evidence of cancer anywhere. A very pretty young Israeli oncologist with a great rack told me I may not be cancer free but that I would be around for a while. I will catch my next plastic bag of medicine on Christmas Eve. I have to stay with the immunotherapy for two years and that will take me to October of 2020. The "immune juice" is not famous for being a cancer cure but that a cure sometimes happens while it's an ass kicker for slowing down cancer deaths and buying time.

Finally, the oncologists at the VA have decided that the tiny "thingy" attached to my pancreas is a no-problem and non-growing inconsequential cyst. If it was cancer I'd be dead by now. I like not being dead so far.

As in racing you need a little good luck sometimes. Glad to hear you are doing well.

here! but..but...you are doing well...20 months later !

Last Tuesday, December 3rd, I waltzed into the Northport VA Hospital for my cancer infusion treatment. I was wearing my black cap with U.S.M.C. in gold on it. I only wear it for VA medical appointments. In the lobby was a young man in a wheelchair with no legs but he was wearing a sweatshirt plastered with U.S.M.C. He called out to me, "Yo Marine!"

The kid was 8th Marines and I told him that my first outfit was the sister outfit 6th Marines at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina with the 2nd Marine Division 53 years ago. He told me I was tough "Old Corps" and I told him that he was a hell of a Marine for giving so much. I didn't say his legs were gone for not much.

Veterans are strange animals. I'm OK with being one of them.

I'm almost ready to get to the Hempstead Bus Terminal for an evening of flashing.

Whether you like it or not I will include you in my prayers.

When I was a small kid I loved the entertainment sport of NBA basketball and prayed to God every day to grow tall. My brother is 5 foot 7 and I'm 6 foot 4.

You are beating the odds in the right places Marine!! keep it up and all the best!

Every day above ground is a good day Qupe; as long as your ashes aren't "blowin' in the wind."
It's a gift for our kind to have the track and the Board to ease our addled minds..
Thank you for keeping it up and God Bless...

Larry, I'm crying both with grief and joy.
I'm so sorry that you have been going through this, but so grateful that you are doing well. Keep fighting, Marine.
Prayers for you and the family for a Merry Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year!