Having My Car Destroyed by a Garbage Truck was the Best Part of My Day

I had just finished burying the second of four cats that perished in a fire which had gutted the home of a good friend. The other two cats had not yet been found amid the burned and smoke-filled brick shell of a home. Thankfully, my friend had not been physically injured in the blaze, but the fire had damaged or destroyed nearly all of her possessions, and had taken the lives of her four beloved companions.

We had found her first cat the evening after the fire had occurred, after several hours of sifting through singed and soot-covered belongings in a room in the front of the first floor of the house. A rather emotional burial took place minutes later in the backyard, between several stone markers that had been placed over the years. The second cat was discovered two days later, in a room next to the kitchen. There was more grief, another hole dug, and another stone placed, only a few feet from the previous one.

The damage to my friend’s home was extensive. Nearly all of her possessions were lost, and her four cats perished in the blaze.

It was the first Thursday of October, 2018, around midday, and my week was definitely on a downward trajectory. I’d started the week with a visit to the hospital to have a lump surgically removed from the left side of my neck. The next morning, I learned via Facebook that Nancy’s home had gone up in flames the night before.

Moments after I’d leaned the shovel against a tree near the stone markers, one of Nancy’s friends I’d been working with came up the driveway from the front of the house and told me I was needed out by the street. It seemed a bit odd, but I followed him down the driveway to the road. As I got to the end of the driveway, I noticed a few people standing near my 2007 Honda Accord, which was parked in front of the property.

It turned out that a garbage truck backing down the narrow street had sideswiped the car from front to rear, clearly bringing its useful life to a quick end. As I sat down in the driver’s seat and reached across to the glove compartment in order to find my registration and insurance card, I distinctly remember thinking this week really couldn’t get any worse.

The thought was interrupted by the buzz of my cell phone. “Is this Chris?” the voice asked. After my response, he continued. “This is Dr. Namon. The results of the biopsy are in. I’m afraid I don’t have good news. We found cancer in your neck…”

I felt as if I’d just been punched in the gut. I barely heard the rest of his words, other than the part about scheduling a PET scan that would give the doctors more information about the cancer, how far it might have spread, and what treatment options were available.

I’ll never forget those minutes when I was sitting in the driver’s seat of that totaled Honda Accord, but my reason for writing this article is to prevent myself from forgetting the promise I made to myself as I was driving the 28 miles back to my house (the last trip I’d ever make in that car).

In my 54 years, I’d never really stopped to think about my own mortality. Now, all of a sudden, I realized what should have been apparent all along. We never know how many days we have left, or if this trip up the Taconic Parkway will be our last. I thought about my wife and children, my mom and siblings, extended family and friends. I pondered the things I’d accomplished in my first 54 years, and the things I hadn’t. Things I was proud of, and things I regret. Things I’ve taken for granted…

My mind wandered, and the drive was a blur, but as I pulled into my neighborhood, I promised myself that I’d never take another day for granted.

In the ensuing weeks, my outlook seemed even bleaker when the PET scan showed troubling activity in my chest. The doctors feared the cancer had metastasized to the chest, and if that was the case, there would be no cure possible. I doubled down on my promise, realizing the amazing gift we are given each and every day.

A surgical biopsy revealed that my chest issues were likely triggered by something called sarcoidosis, which I’d probably been living with for years. That meant the cancer had not spread beyond the head and neck, and that the chance of successfully treating it was good, according to the doctors at Memorial Sloan Kettering.

I finished a three-month radiation and chemotherapy treatment plan at MSK in early February, and the results of my PET scan in May showed “no signs of cancer”, according to my oncologist.

I go for my next scan in early August, and will continue to provide updates. In the meantime, I’ll try to put my best into each and every day,

If you haven’t read about how I lost my sense of taste during the radiation treatments, you might be interested in Coffee at Sunrise, and a Few Other Things I No Longer Take for Granted.

Update — the August visit with my radiologist went well. All aspects of recovery progressing well. Next visit first week of November. PET scan and visit with oncologist.