Our older son, Ken, has lived four decades with a chronic condition bringing him pain, discomfort, and unwelcome surprises. Yet he carries himself cheerfully, generous with conversation and appreciation. One of his gifts is his annual tradition of sending holiday cards to friends, family, and anyone who touched his life that year—including his doctors and their staff. He spends hours writing each card by hand, filling every blank space with tiny script.
I once suggested he cut back. He objected: “Mom, I can never repay some of these people for all they’ve done. Writing this card is the least I can do. As for my doctors, I want them to know me. When they understand me better, we work together better.”
“Aha!,” I think.
Ken also loves golf. His method is unconventional, but he finds joy in it. During one difficult year he couldn’t play on a course, so he satisfied himself with the driving range. He mentioned this in a Christmas card, and Dr. Tang, his surgical oncologist, noticed.
In 2023, after decades of autoimmune struggles, Ken developed aggressive cancer that began in his ear and raced down a nerve toward his brain stem. By the time it was recognized, it was advanced. On September 26, Dr. Tang told him it was untreatable, and that he had three to six months to live. It was devastating. Dr. Tang said palliative treatment, by way of radiation, might buy him a little more time.
When Ken met the radiation oncologist, she surprised us: “I’m not doing palliative treatment. I’m going as aggressive as I can.” Four weeks of daily radiation began in mid-October and ended just before Thanksgiving. The visible tumor shrank. By December, Ken had passed the three‑month mark of Dr. Tang’s prognosis. He was still with us. Two months later, a follow‑up scan encouraged both doctors. In her appointment, Dr. Tang asked about his interest in golf that he’d mentioned in his Christmas card.
Ken answered, “Well, you told me I had 3–6 months to live, so I gave my clubs to my little brother. We’ve had some nice days recently, and I kind of wish I had them to go to the driving range.”
I had been offering to buy him new clubs, but he refused, convinced his time was short. So, I asked Dr. Tang directly: “What would you do? He gave away his clubs thinking he’d never use them again. I say he should be optimistic and get new ones. He says it’s pointless. What would you do?”
She turned to Ken and said, “DUDE!!! Get the clubs!!”
As for Dr. Tang’s “prescription” for the clubs, it impressed me that she remembered his mention of golf in his Christmas card, which he mailed about eight weeks prior to this appointment. It showed she’d read the card closely, and gave such close attention that she remembered to ask him about it in her appointment-filled day. Later that week, he picked out new clubs.
His health still limits him from playing nine holes, but we’ve enjoyed many afternoons at the driving range. He’s getting ready for the day when he can play again.
As I write this, Ken is two years past his last radiation treatment. We know nothing is certain. We could have bought the clubs only to see him pass the next day. But he’s been gifted with more time, and every day without recurrence is encouraging.
