Cancer Doesn't Knock
It crashes into your life and nothing is ever the same
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
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 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.
… Call the kids.
“Dad is having a stroke. 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…
... 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…
…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…
…That wonderful “puppy” scooted over on the bed. He put his two big paws on either side of my neck. He put his nose on my nose and he looked me straight in the eyes. I put my arms around his neck and I cried, and cried, and cried. I cried as if there were no end…
...Then that dog, my loving friend, proved his understanding and his wisdom. He sat straight up. He looked me right in the eyes and he jumped off the bed. He turned around, laid his head on my leg for a moment. Then he walked to the door, turned to look at me, and then continued down the hall.
WHAT DID I LEARN? There is a time to cry. It is OK to cry. Then, the time is over. You must get up, dust yourself off and keep moving…
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
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 it’s going to get me, it’s 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. It’s 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.
It’s a long walk.
There is no map.
About the Author
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.