“You Have Cancer” reveals how four childhood friends, who grew up in the same New Orleans neighborhood and went to the same schools and the same church, suffered from the same dreaded disease at the same time — cancer — and how their individual fights become a united struggle.

Eight years ago, when each of them was diagnosed with cancer, they hesistated to tell each other. They hesistated to tell anyone. The four decided to write the book because they were stunned to learn that African-American men had the highest cancer incidence and death rate (according to the National Cancer Institute). Their book was completed well after the unfortunate passing of one of the authors, Ellis Brossett Sr. The surviving three commented, "We made a commitment to Ellis, who passed away a few years ago, that this book would be published and we fulfilled that commitment."

In the book, the authors share their personal stories to uplift and inspire cancer patients and their caregivers and to show them coping and survival techniques. They also inform them of resources available. Here is an excerpt.

Bad News
As I sat in the waiting room of Ochsner Foundation Hospital’s Outpatient Clinic for my annual physical checkup, I spotted Millie Charles, Dean of the School of Social Work at Southern University at New Orleans. My first thought was to pretend I did not see her because some people do not want to talk about their illness. When you greet someone in the hospital, what do you say? How are you? Then their reply is, “Oh I’m doing fine.” Then why are you here? Don’t lie to me. You must be sick. But, I thought she would think the worse. So I went over and as I suspected, she did see me.

“Hi, Millie,” I said as I kissed her. We always kiss. Everybody in New Orleans kisses. I don’t remember what she said, but the next thing I said was, “Have you heard from Benny?” I always ask about my old friend, Benny Priestley, who taught social work under her in the early seventies. I got to know the distinguished Millie Charles through Benny. Whenever we met, the second question after “How are you?” was always “Have you heard from Benny?” This time she said, “Oh yes, and I know you have.” “It’s been a while,” I answered. I had been extremely busy at the office and had not stayed in touch with my old friend, even though Benny is a stockholder in our company, IMDiversity, Inc. “How is he doing with his cancer?” “Cancer? Does Benny have cancer?”

I was shocked. My mind went blank. I don’t know what I said next. I only remember thinking, why didn’t I know about it? He was my friend. I should’ve known first. I should have been telling her. Did Benny not consider me friend enough to share his illness? I was stunned, really. I couldn’t wait to tell my wife, Rosa, and I couldn’t wait to talk to Benny to find out how he was doing. Was he dying? God! I made up my mind that I wanted to see him. When I left the hospital, I called Rosa to tell her the bad news and to tell her that I was going to Portland to spend some time with him. If I had only stayed closer in touch, maybe he would have told me. I still couldn’t believe that my good buddy had cancer and was possibly close to death. He was my age; he couldn’t be dying. No way. Then I remembered that another classmate, Ann Daste, had just died of cancer. She never smoked or drank. But, Benny started smoking before I did, in high school.

How would I approach him? Hey man, why didn’t you tell me you had cancer? Or maybe, Hey Benny, you doing OK? I did not want to offend him, but I was disappointed that he didn’t tell me. He was my boy, and he should have told me first. We waited until Sunday, the day we usually called him, and he told us all about it. I never asked why he didn’t tell me. I just let him talk. I really wanted to see him. He said he was coming to New Orleans in October for his 40^th Class Reunion from Xavier Prep, Class of 1960 and to visit. He asked if he could stay with us. We said, “Yes!” at the same time, and Rosa said that she would pick him up at the airport and chauffer him around while he was here and that if she had a conflict, he could use her car. It was settled.

It was good to see Benny. It had been a couple of years since his last visit. He had gained a little weight and gotten a little grayer, but so had I. He told us the whole story. I did not ask him why he had never told us. I still didn’t want to press him. I thought that it was not something you’d want to brag about. And, maybe if there was nothing I could do to help him, why would he want to tell me? We remembered that Clara, Benny’s wife, also had a bout with cancer. It was a good weekend. We had a great time and Rosa and I promised each other we would do a better job of staying in touch with Benny and Clara.

The very next month, on November 21^st to be exact, while watching Monday night football, I put my hand on my neck and felt something strange — a small nodule. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. I asked Rosa to feel it. She searched my neck but could not feel anything abnormal. I took her hand and put her finger on the nodule. She asked me whether I had any kind of infection. I answered, “No.” She said that I should call Mike (Dr. Michael Lavigne), my primary care physician and a family friend.

The next day, I didn’t call Mike. I forgot. I forgot, as many people, especially men, especially African-American men do when it comes to going to the doctor. I probably would have put off calling anyway because I was very busy and I did not want to take off during a short week to go to the doctor’s office. It was Thanksgiving week and our good friends Reggie and Dianne Felton were coming to New Orleans from Silver Spring, M.D., for the holidays and for the Bayou Classic football game — Southern vs. Grambling, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Reggie and Dianne — who have been our friends for over 30 years — lived in New Orleans in the 1970s.

Ironically, a friend of theirs had died while he was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras the year before. We had heard about it and asked them to tell us what happened. They told us how the man just dropped dead on the dance floor at a ball. They then told us about another friend who had died recently. While dressing to go out, he asked his friend to help him button his collar. She did, and noticed a large knot on his neck, asking him what it was and how long it had been there. He said he didn’t know what it was but that it had been getting bigger and bigger. She told him to see a doctor right away. He did, but he died within three months. He was a relatively young man in good health, they thought. His death was a shock to all of their acquaintances. Both Rosa and I immediately looked at each other in shock. We told them about my nodule and they pleaded, “Please go to the doctor as soon as possible.” I called Dr. Mike Lavigne the next day (Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving). Mike asked the same question Rosa asked, “Have you had an infection lately?” “No.” He said that if it was still there after the holidays to call him. He said that he would give me antibiotics and that if the nodule did not go away I would have to get a biopsy.

During a reception that we hosted at the Bayou Classic, I asked my son’s best friend, Dr. Charles Aramburo, to feel my neck. Charles, a very light-hearted guy, looked at me very seriously and said, “Mr. Edwards, you need to let your doctor see this as soon as possible.” That scared me. I didn’t tell Rosa. I called Mike on Monday morning and got an appointment for that Friday. I took Friday, but really I should have insisted on Tuesday.

When Mike saw me, he took one look and said that “We need to biopsy that.” “Who do you want to do it?” “Who?” I asked. “What doctor? Joe or another surgeon?” Joe Labat is an old friend. I called Dr. Labat at 9:00 a.m. on Monday and was in his office by 9:30 a.m. He scheduled a CT scan for December 6^th and outpatient surgery for December 13^th. I had the scan done on December 6 and left town that same day on a business trip. On the way back at the Atlanta airport, I ran into another old friend, Rudy Major, who invited my son, Pres, and me for drinks in the Delta Crown Room. I told him I was scheduled for surgery on December 13^th for a biopsy on my neck, and he said that he could see it, the nodule Rosa couldn’t even feel it a few weeks earlier. I was absolutely amazed that he could see it. When I got home that night, I got a call from Dr. Labat about my CT scan results. He said that he had bad news. The CT scan indicated what appeared to be lymphoma. He explained that he had had a high cure rate with lymphoma and told me to come into the office on Monday to talk about it more. That night, Rosa and I talked. We hugged, prayed and talked some more. I didn’t sleep well Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night.

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