Don’t claim it
On Monday, Dr. Labat spent a lot of time with me. He went over case histories of patients whom he treated successfully. He told me that the surgery would last about an hour and a half, but that it would be outpatient and that I would be able to go home that day. He told me not to eat or drink anything after midnight and to report to Pendleton Memorial Hospital at 6:30 a.m. on Wednesday, December 13, 2000. I went back to the office and called our good friends Larry and Brendel Stewart in Atlanta to tell them about my surgery and the possibility of lymphoma. Brendel told me that she would put me on their prayer list. She also told me not to claim it!

I arrived at the hospital at 6:30 a.m., went to Admissions, paid the $200 deductible, and went to the same-day surgery department. The nurses and the anesthesiologist began their work. Dr. Labat came in and talked with us. I was prepped, and taken into surgery.

I was later told about events surrounding my operation. Rosa went into the waiting room. Later my sister-in-law, Lona joined her. Lona, who is very religious, began praying the rosary. After about two hours Rosa became worried because the surgery was supposed to take only an hour and a half. Then two and a half hours passed. Growing worried, Lona told Rosa that she should call my sons.

After three hours, Dr. Labat came out and said he was sorry. It was bigger than he expected. He said he got all he could see. The tumor was approximately the size of a lemon, and because it was attached to the jugular, he had to remove the right jugular, but he said I only needed one. He told her that they would have to keep me for a couple of days. In the meantime, my brother, Edgar, called my office to ask my son, Pres, whether he had heard anything. The operator told him Pres was not in, so he asked for my other son, Scott. She said that Scott was not in either and that all of the Edwards family had been called to the hospital. This information alarmed him, so he began calling other family members to see what was happening, but nobody knew anything.

When I opened my eyes, Dr. Labat was standing over me with a very serious look on his face. He told me that it was not lymphoma; that they would have to wait on the pathology report, which would tell what kind of cancer it was; and that the report would take about 10 days. “I got all I could see,” he said. “It was attached to your jugular vein so I had to cut the jugular vein and tie it up.” He told me that they were going to keep me for a couple of days to take tests and to let the incision heal. Rosa came in and told me that my sons, Pres and Scott, and daughter-in-law, Trina had been there as well as my sister-in-law, Lona. With a tube in my mouth, I was very uncomfortable as they took me to my room.

All of my brothers and their wives and my nephew and his wife and one of my employees came over that night. When I saw all of those people around the room looking at me, I got scared. I said to myself, “Oh, s_ _ _.” They’re looking at me as if I’m going to die!

I couldn’t believe what was going on. “I AM IN THE HOSPITAL. I HAVE CANCER. I am in the prime of my life. I thought I was healthy. I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t hurt. I can’t be sick. What’s going on? Am I about to die?” But, then I remember what my friend, Brendel, said, “Don’t claim it!” I wasn’t claiming it!

Rosa wanted to spend the night in the hospital with me. But, I told her to go home, because there was little she could do that night. She had to get some real sleep. I knew she would need to be rested and prepared to deal with what we were about to face. Our phone was probably ringing off the hook, too. It was time to tell her mother and the other relatives.

As I expected, the next day found me taking all kinds of tests. I still had the tubes in me, and my neck was stiff and very sore. The surgery I had is called a deep neck dissection.

That day, I had an echocardiogram, a nuclear bone scan, and an MRI of the neck. The oncologist, Dr. Reuben Vargas, came to see me. He examined me, and talked with Rosa and me. He told me that he was leaving town for two weeks, but that one of the other oncologist in his office would see me to explain the pathology report, which would not come back for ten days. Dr. Labat would be the lead doctor on my team. On Friday, December 15^th, I was discharged and sent to see an ENT specialist. His examination revealed nothing related to the cancer — unremarkable. When I got home that day, my brother, Lloyd, was there. He had been doing some repairs around the house and told me that he would fix everything, saying “You have a lot to be fixed around here, but don’t worry. I’ll come every day and do the work and check on you.” I’m thinking, “I really don’t want any company and I don’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want any visitors!”

This was mid-December, and I had not done any of my Christmas shopping yet. I always got a big kick out of getting toys for my grandchildren. I had a big bandage on my neck and as soon as it came off, I did my thing. But, I’ll admit, I was doing my best not to get pushed and shoved.

I didn’t return to work on Monday, December 18^th or Tuesday. I did go in for a half day on Wednesday, basically, to let people see me, (that I was still alive that is) and to catch up on e-mail and other projects. We were approaching a deadline for The Black Collegian magazine, and still trying to raise a second round of financing on the road to our IPO (Initial Public Offering) of our company stock. Rosa wanted me to stay home and rest, but I had too much work to do, too many things that needed to be done. I couldn’t afford to get further behind schedule.

We raised a first round of venture capital of $3 million, and we were lining up a second round of $10 million. I had to keep things moving. On Thursday, December 21^st, I was scheduled for an esophagogastroduodeno-scopy with biopsies and colonoscopy to rule out gastrointestinal origin. On Friday, December 22^nd, we had our company Christmas party, a big party. Everyone came with guests. There was a band and lots of food and drink — a good ole New Orleans party. But the strangest thing happened. This young white guy who worked for me brought his girlfriend. He brought her over to me and introduced her, then asked me how I was doing. I started talking and when I looked at her, she had tears just rolling down her face. I tried to be upbeat. I told them not to worry, that I was feeling good. She probably had someone close to her who died of cancer. After that, I avoided other Christmas parties except one — my fraternity’s annual wives’ Christmas party. Everyone told me that they were glad to see me and that they were praying for me. One friend came up to me, looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t you die on us. Your wife is too young and too pretty to be a widow.” I said, “You are right, and I’m not about to die!”

We had a good Christmas. I got the grandchildren great toys. I really wanted this year to be special. I guess that’s what thinking about your own mortality does to you.

During that time, my son, Pres, came to me and said, “Dad, you ought to start going to daily mass. You can go to 7 o’clock mass at St. Maria Goretti and still get to work on time.” I was very impressed that he would suggest this to me. So I started going to mass every morning. Hey, I thought, I need all the help I can get and I am going to ask the Lord to help me. One morning, a friend, Rhesa McDonald, came to me after mass and said, “You know, Preston, you ought to pray to St. Jude, the patron of hopeless causes.” I said, “Yes. That’s a good idea. Thanks.” She told me to put it in the hands of the Lord.

On December 26^th, we went to visit the wife of a friend who had just died. His son and our son were good friends all through elementary and high school. We also visited Rosa’s good friend, who also had cancer and was in the hospital, but not doing well at all. On December 27^th, Dr. Labat called to tell me that the pathology report was back and that we should call Dr. Vargas’ office to make an appointment to get the results. After some confusion over whether their office would accept my insurance, with Dr. Labat even threatening to pay it himself, they scheduled me for December 28^th.

Pres came with Rosa and me to get the results of the biopsy. Because Dr. Vargus was out of town, I saw another doctor in the Cancer Center. The doctor said that I had a stage 111-B metastatic, large cell carcinoma. She said the report indicated that it was cancer of unknown primary, but that it favored the lung. She told us that with treatment I had a 40 percent chance of surviving one year and a 10% chance of surviving two years. So, Pres asked, “Is that with treatment?” She said, “Yes.” He then asked, “Well, how long does he have without treatment?” She answered, “Without treatment he has three to six months.” I felt like my stomach had fallen out of my body. We were devastated. It’s hard to even remember what she said after that. She went on to say that I might be able to get into some clinical trials at Tulane, LSU or M.D. Anderson in Houston. I had heard about M.D. Anderson. Rosa used to go there with her sister every other month. After giving me a copy of the pathology reports, the doctor told us that Dr. Merlin would see me on Monday, tell us about radiation and that Dr. Vargas would see me on January 4^th. But, I remembered what Brendel said: “Don’t claim it.” In just over a month, I had gone from just feeling a nodule in my neck to having 3-6 months to live.

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