Buddy Harris performs on stage at the Atlantic City Comedy Club.
On Monday, August 1, at 7:30 a.m, my phone rang.
“The ultrasound results came back. There is a tumor on your left testicle. It’s most likely cancerous. You need to see a urologist as soon as possible.”
My first thought, “I hope this doesn’t interfere with my day.” I already had the whole day planned out. It was going to be beautiful outside, and I promised the kids we would spend the afternoon at the pool. I didn’t really have time to be dealing with cancer.
I spent the morning Googling urologists. How do you pick such a thing? This is one of the most intimate, scariest, vulnerable moments of my life, and I’m reading Yelp reviews like I am searching a good place for brunch (by the way, it turns out there are some fantastic places for brunch).
The kids are getting antsy: “Daddy, when are we swimming? Daddy, should I put my suit on? Daddy, I am starving,” —which is impossible since they just ate. “Daddy, Madison got sunblock in her nose.”
I can feel my frustration building, a feeling of anger inside of me that just wants to yell “I HAVE CANCER! RELAX!”
That’s when it hit me. At some point, I will have to tell them that I have cancer. These are the same kids that bought me a Superman shirt for Father’s Day because they think I’m invincible (I didn’t have the heart to tell them I am a Marvel fan). This will be devastating to them and they don’t deserve it. They’re good, innocent kids. They deserve a healthy father.
As my head is spinning out of control, I get a text from a friend that read: “I talked to my dad. He’s a urologist at Jefferson and he wants you to go there right now.”
This may not seem like a big deal, but I should point out that every urologist I contacted couldn’t see me for at least a month. My new hero, Jon, was able to get his father to see me the same day. Some of the places offering brunch couldn’t even do that. Instant five stars.
Only problem? I had my kids.
I had no choice but to put a smile on my face and bring them along. I explained that daddy needed a couple simple tests and that we were going to get to spend a cool day exploring the city. For good measures, I dug up the Superman shirt and threw it on, hoping it reminded them, and me, that I am, in fact, invincible.
As we walked closer to the office doors, I couldn’t help but stare at the kids.
“This must be the definition of being a parent,” I thought. “I’m a shaking mess inside, but a brick wall on the outside.” “Be invincible,” I kept mumbling.
“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist. I must have been standing there for quite a few minutes, just blankly staring. That’s when I heard a man say: “My son’s friend is on his way here. I figured I would swing by to meet him.”
I looked over. “Mr. Koppel? I’m Jon’s friend.”
I had never met Jon’s father before, but you wouldn’t know it from his embrace.
“You should have come tomorrow,” he said. “It’s ice cream Tuesday.” He could see some relief in my face. “You’re going to be just fine.”
I believed him.
I guess we never know when a hero is going to appear in our life, or when we will get a chance to be a hero. Sometimes, it can be something small, like reaching out to your father on behalf of your friend. Or, embracing a worried soul and reassuring that person that everything is going to be okay.
As simple as it may have seemed, those words set the tone for everything that I was about to face.
“You’re going to be just fine.”
And in case you were wondering, we still made it back in time to go swimming.
See also:
Our Rebuild: (Almost) Beaten By A Hair
Our Rebuild: Climbing Past The Plateaus
Our Rebuild: Unity in Our Differences
Our Rebuild: The Lasting Legacy Of 'Tyler's Ride'
Our Rebuild: A Vacation Performance In Florida
