Malcolm Gauld
*Residual Synergistic Healing
If Residual Synergistic Healing (RSH) isn’t a thing — actually, I just made it up — maybe it should be.
As a two-time cancer guy, let’s just say that my car knows the way to Massachusetts General Hospital. Like most MGH regulars, I initially went there for the reputation, the facilities, and the amazing doctors. (Full Disclosure/Shout-Out: With unparalleled expertise matched only by his compassion, Dr. Francis McGovern has guided me through my prostate and bladder cancer journeys since I was diagnosed with the former in 2011.)
But something else happens there, something that took me a while to comprehend. Maybe I was just so focused on what the doctors and nurses were saying and doing that I failed to appreciate what I could learn from my fellow patients. Perhaps three simple, but revelatory (to me, anyway) stories can explain.
RSH #1 – The “A” Word (1997)
This one actually took place at Boston Children’s Hospital just after Laura and I had finished talking with a child development expert. Not yet two-and-a-half, our son Harrison (RIP) was drifting in a decidedly non-verbal direction and we were concerned. Having already received a Pervasive Developmental Disorder (PDD) diagnosis from a Maine doctor — a diagnosis that my cynical side regarded as a diversion created by the medical profession so parents would not have to hear the word “autism” — we wanted a second opinion.
Sitting there at Boston Children’s, we indeed heard the “A” word for the first time. Despite the fact that we had sort of expected it, we were crushed, barely holding it together as we headed for the elevator. I pushed the “Down” button. We waited for our ride to the lobby.
A few seconds later, the elevator door opens and we step into a large elevator car, joining two individuals in wheel chairs. Not sure if they were para- or quadriplegics, but they appeared to be maneuvering their respective chairs via tubes held in their mouths that they utilized in order to push various buttons lighted on panels on their chairs. With a mixture of amazement and inspiration, Laura and I looked at each other with an expression that said, We can do this.
RSH #2 – “Bladdih Cansah?” (2022)
After being diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2011 and undergoing a radical prostatectomy in 2014, life was good. Before long, a “been there, done that” attitude re: cancer had set in to my consciousness. This lasted until 2022 when I paid a visit to Dr. McGovern to see if he could help me with what had become a constant need to urinate. Before day’s end, I was diagnosed with bladder cancer.
Yeah, I was bummed. Then when I stepped out to the front desk to schedule my surgery, a second instance of RSH @ MGH materialized. Here’s an excerpt from a blog post I wrote last year:
Back out at the front desk, I noticed another patient waiting. Standing next to a woman (girlfriend? wife?), he was wearing work clothes and a labor union t-shirt. My first reaction was that it reminded me of yet another reason I hold Dr. McGovern in such high respect. When you visit his office, you are as likely to see a white collar State Street banker as you are a blue collar worker. My second reaction: This guy is trying to get my attention. When our eyes met, he spoke/whispered a two-word question across the room in an accent that maybe only Ben Affleck or Matt Damon could mimic: “Bladdih Cansah?”
Caught off-guard, I muttered something to the effect of, “Looks that way.”
He replied, “This is my fourth time around with bladder cancer and Dr. McGovern. It ain’t as bad as it sounds. Let me walk out with you and we can talk.”…
… After some supportive talk, he shook my hand, wished me well, and said, “Hey, we’re heading to a bar (bah) just a block away. It’s called Harvard Gardens (Hahvid Gahdins). We always go there after my appointments with Dr. McGovern. Sometimes to celebrate. Sometimes to drown our sorrows. Either way, it’s a good time. Stop by later if you want. We’ll be there a good while.”
I didn’t tell him that I had stopped drinking in 1985, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness and generosity of spirit. In my experience, that’s pretty typical behavior of cancer patients. We appreciate support and most of us pay it forward. That guy put me at ease. And he came along at just the right time. Have not seen him since. Hope he’s well.
RSH #3 – Even the Sidewalks Inspire
So, in May of 2022, Dr. McGovern does the TURBT surgery to remove the tumor on my bladder. Since then, 4 cystoscopies (a look inside the bladder) spaced about 4 months apart showed no return of the cancer. I have also had 18 BCG treatments — cancer fighting enzymes injected into the bladder — spaced out over various intervals. And then, on the last day of January (2024), during what was to be the final cystoscopy before switching to annual check-ups, Dr. McGovern saw that a tiny tumor — He described it as “about the size of 2 freckles side-by-side” — had reappeared. Reassuring me, he noted that it’s on the surface of the bladder, but needs to be taken off before it’s able to invade anything else. He said, “Don’t worry. That’s why we do these things (i.e., cystoscopies).”
As much as I trust my doctor, I have to admit that while walking back to my car, I felt bummed. It just seemed that the timing of it all, so close to the imagined finish line of receiving that “cancer free” label that all cancer patients (and their loved ones) pray for, felt like a cruel joke. And then, a “just-like-that” RSH moment materialized when my “sinner in the hands of an angry God” self-pity gave way to the vision of a small boy walking toward me on the sidewalk.
He was maybe six years old, African-American, the top of his head fully bandaged like a skull cap, and walking just ahead of a woman I took to be his mom. But the striking feature of his presence was his cruelly disfigured face, presumably ravaged by fire. Trying not to stare, I felt overwhelmed with a mixture of empathy and inspiration. This kid was the absolute picture of resolute courage. After he passed by me, I had to stop and fake a look at my phone just to see where he was going. Then he and the woman crossed the street and headed into the building right across the street from Dr. McGovern’s office, one I had never noticed during my many visits to Boston’s hospital neighborhood:
It seemed fitting that he was leading the way with his mom following behind. A Google search of “Taking Care of Business” ought to show a video of this kid walking into that building. With tears in my eyes, I realized that I need to make like him, dial up my own resolve, my own courage, and make the best of things in one of the best places on Earth to do it. And what’s more, someone who could use a lift just may be watching.
Onward, Malcolm Gauld
Postscript: So, on February 22, I went back to MGH for my second TURBT (trans urethral resection of bladder tumor) surgery with Dr. McGovern.
Given the tiny size of the tumor — Doc: “Nothing beats early detection!” — it was a fairly quick and easy procedure and I was able to head home that afternoon. What’s more, unlike the initial TURBT surgery (5/22), I did so without a catheter. Although I cannot point to a specific RSH moment on this trip, I did feel a sense of superstitious relief when they wheeled me into operating room #18. Since middle school, that has been my lucky number on the lacrosse field. And I’m sticking with it.
– MWG
