His plight reminds me of similar battles fought by two other tough, competitive men:Roger Maris had a long and successful Major League career as well. Most notable was his 1961 season where he broke Babe Ruth's single season home run record while enduring the scorn of New York Yankees fans and sports writers, who would have preferred the record be broken by Yankee legend Mickey Mantle. Roger Maris was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma in 1983 and passed away in December of 1985.
Daniel W. Heaney, my father, was an ex-Army sergeant who was considered as tough as they came. He could not stand to lose at anything. I thought his head would blow off his neck when my mother would put down all her cards and beat him at 500 rummy. Rather than let his young son win at arm wrestling, he would hold his arm steady, not allowing me to budge it at all, but waiting till I gave up rather than pushing my scrawny arm down to the table. He found it almost impossible to say 'I love you' because he had been taught that such a gesture was a sign of weakness. My father was diagnosed with lymphoma around 1981. The cancer was too advanced for radiation and so chemotherapy was the only treatment. I had just gotten my driver's license at the time and would drive him to the hospital for his treatments. The treatments made him so sick they literally broke him down. He would sit at the kitchen table and stare blankly into space, he was incapable of doing anything else.
By 1983, the doctors declared he was in remission. However, the treatment had taken its toll. I don't think my father ever felt 'good' again. In 1985, I came home from college one night to find my father once again sitting at that same kitchen table. He was obviously upset. I asked him why. He had read about Roger Maris' death. "How can a man like that be gone, and I am still here?" he asked. I had no answers for him. But I had gained an appreciation for the humanity inside the hard shell my dad put between himself and the world. The proceeding years saw a deepening in the relationship and friendship between the two us. Part can be attributed to my maturing into adulthood. But part also came from his being broken down by the disease and its treatment. In 1993, my father, a lifelong smoker, was diagnosed with lung cancer. Thanks to his fight with lymphoma, chemo was no longer an option. Radiation proved ineffective. My father passed away in February of 95. Before his death, he got himself straight with God and found his peace.
One might ask if it was worth the agony of fighting the cancer when he would succumb to another cancer later. Well, I cherish those ten years with my dad beyond expression. I know he felt the same. So, for Curt Schilling I say "saddle up!" You are in for the battle of your life. I wish you the best and hope that you come out the other side!
