The Verdict: Nevada Bob's Bout with Cancer (Part 2)

This is a continuation of the story of Nevada Bob's battle to overcome cancer near 50 years ago. If you want to read part one first, here's the beginning of the story.

Photo: Gary Firstenberg

Bob Gordon's battle with cancer was interrupted by a near fatal accident in the sawmill he was operating at the time. A saw blade at the mill could have gutted him while he was filing its teeth, but only damaged his arm. It still required surgery and the family had to rally while he recovered in the hospital. 

This is an excerpt from the chapter My Ailment in 50 Years with the Wrong Woman. In it he tells how he came to the decision he made.

Monica returned home to take charge of the household at age 14, although my parents drove down from Seattle to assist the kids the next day. Carol was in for a rough time even still. She had a brand-new child, a husband who could soon die, and four more lively children to care for.

We were forced to sell off all our cows because I was in the hospital for 10 days. On my second day, she helped in the cattle sales. I was taking Demerol for pain and I really took a liking to it. 

The little town of Butte Falls had a small church and the minister heard about our bad fortune. He was visiting the hospital to talk to one of his parishioners and stopped to see me, a man he didn’t know, to convey his condolences. He informed me of people in his church that had had some success fighting cancer with laetrile.

“What the hell is laetrile?” I asked.

“It is made from apricot pits,” he said. “It creates a product that attacks certain cancers. You should check it out.” He gave me the phone number of a man in San Francisco who could put me in touch with the appropriate people. I casually put this information in a book.

 

Photo: Piron Guillaume via Unsplash

I was not informed right away that I could be dead in six months. My tumor was, in fact, malignant. When Carol had learned that the test had revealed I had cancer, she met with her girlfriend Darlene Marley. Darlene told me that Carol was sitting in our car with all of our children, including the baby, and said to Darlene, “What am I going to do with all these kids if Bob dies?”

 

One of the days before I was released, a younger doctor came into my room and informed me that he was going to give me cobalt treatments after a few weeks of recuperation. He knew as well as many of the hospital personnel that my wife had just delivered baby number five. It was a sad state of affairs for a mother with five young children and a 34-year-old husband that could die. I asked the doctor if the cobalt treatment would cure me. He stood up, started to cry, and said I would probably die. He then left the room, but that incident got my attention.

I went into a very depressed state. I thought God was getting even with me and that I deserved to die. Besides giving you an artificial high, Demerol--the medication I was on--can heighten anxiety as well. I concluded my future was over. One afternoon late into my hospital stay, I was visited by my wife and my four-year-old son Daniel. Daniel made the most important declaration that I ever heard in my life. He looked a little bit nervous, and said to me, “Hi Dad, when are you coming home?”

Immediately, I said to myself and to him, “I’m coming home in a few days!”

That was when my whole outlook changed and I said to myself, “By God I’m going to beat this thing one way or another!”

The first step was to get a second opinion. We put my two oldest girls in Carol’s sister’s care. Gina went to my sister and her husband. Daniel, Carol, and new baby Keith went with me to my parents’ home. I took my paperwork to the University of Washington Medical Center.

After a few days in Seattle, I was called in for a conference. Beforehand I was told I could bring my wife but no other family members, which made it sound ominous. I met with the doctor, who was accompanied by an intern, a young doctor in training. Carol had no desire to go and hear the news, so it was just me. While there, I was informed they were intending to do a series of three operations. The first operation was to be an investigatory look at my lymph glands. The second to look at my lungs. Then they told me they were going to take out my prostate gland in  the third operation. The doctor asked me if I knew what that meant.

When I said I didn’t know, the doctor explained that I would no longer be able to have sex. When he told me that, the intern looked at me to see how I would react.

I nodded my head. “Thank you for your analysis.” That look I received from the intern decided my position. These characters weren’t going to touch me.

After that disconcerting appointment I went to the records department and asked for my medical records. I was told I couldn’t have them. I demanded my records and told the clerk I would not leave without them. I was told by this clerk that the papers were only to be reviewed by doctors.

“Oh, but I can have them, and I want them,” I said to her. “I’m going to stay here until I get these papers. I will sleep on this couch you have right here if necessary. I am not leaving without those medical records.”

She finally responded to that, went into the proper department and brought out the records. She then handed me paperwork that I had to sign off on indicating where I was going with the papers. I wrote Dr. Contreras, Tijuana, Mexico. The clerk smiled when she saw what I wrote for their destination, as if to say, you ignorant idiot. 

I was still holding out hope for my third option: laetrile.

* * * 

Part 3 of how Bob defeated his cancer will be continued soon. Stay tuned.

Learn more, or purchase his book here on Amazon.com.