The End of a Stadium

Well, Shea Stadium will soon be gone.  There will be no more games, no more concerts and no more memories born in the home of the Mets and Jets.  I know the ammenities at Shea were no longer comparable to those offered at the new breed of retro stadiums around the country.  I even suffered stadium envy as I went to newer stadiums in Baltimore, San Francisco, San Diego, Seattle, etc.  But this was the first stadium I ever attended.

A young kid siting in the Upper Deck looking down on the (often empty) orange seats below wondering, imagining what it would be like to hear the players, or the snap of the fast balls instead of the fat guy with the accent yelling about the ineptitude of Joel Youngblood.  I loved watching baseball and only baseball until there was an Islander team in 1972.  I was alone in my family when it came to sports.  But my father would take me once a year to see the Mets play the Yankees in the annual Mayor's Trophy game.  Other times, I sat alone in the typical Long Island finished basement watching Mets games.  Back then the fans were more integrated into the team.  There were banners in the stadium, and even special scheduled double headers when between games the fans were welcome, no invited to parade onto the field to display their home made proclamations of loyalty to their home team.

I remember watching Mets games when my friends were watching football and hockey.  My maternal grandfather taught me to play baseball and shared his love of the Mets and any team playing the Yankees..  Until I was ten, there was no other team but the Mets.

From the dim memories of 1969 and receiving the pen/ink portraits of each of the miracle workers sold by the Daily News from my fraternal grand mother.  (They remain in my Mets binder today.)  To listening to the radio call driving home from working Saturday construction at the Executive Towers on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx as the bully Pete Rose throttled our Buddy Harrelson at second base.  The Mets were scrappers who never backed down.

The magic of '86 when the Mets beat every comer and excuses that other teams played harder against us were never whispered as we destroyed every team and city in the National league and the mid-summer replacement of the Mayor's Trophy game where my friends and I accompanied the Mets to Boston to watch them beat the Red Sox in the precursor to the World Series.

Entering an evening class at Farmingdale College on October 6 after work as the Mets were playing the Astros, I was bummed that I would miss the outcome, only to emerge hours later to learn the Mets were in the 13th inning and holding on. Prolonging the game so I could watch the end at Aspens in Wantagh.  I was there with friends in the 16th inning as the Mets shut down the team whose fans they had thrown a beating in some bar earlier in the season.

Being in the Upper Deck of Shea for game 2 with girlfriend Valerie as Glenn Close sang (still wince whenever she sings at Shea) the Star Spangled Banner to open the first World Series game I ever attended.  We lost that game, but ..... well you know.

The last nine years, my wife Cathy and I were lucky enough to have Saturday package tickets.  It made me feel so accomplished.  Taking my daughter Helen to the frigid games in April before she was one year old.  Sharing post-season tickets with my brother Bob as we watched the Mets' Bobby Jones pitch a one-hit shut out to clinch a spot in the Championship Series against the hated Cards. 

Cath and I have had the privilege of taking our sons (Michael and Jack) to games as well.  As a matter of fact, taking turns attending games with me (we only had two seats) was one of the first things Michael and Jack did without each other.  I cherish those times of one-on-one with each of my children.

Shea even provided a stage for a great guys weekend with my in-laws a few years back.  My brother in-law Tommy hooked up the entire male crew - father in-law Jack Reynolds, his son Kevin, in (or out)-laws Scott, Chris, cousin John Donahue and I had a ball going from a parking lot where handicap players in wheelchairs played baseball to the best seats I ever placed my bottom in at a professional sports event.  You know -- the ones right behind home plate that are on TV.  They were so good - my sister in-law Maureen even called us on the cell from Minnesota 'cause she saw us.  Yeah - we were the goofy guys waving back at the camera. 

Even the disappointments of the last few years and the spectre of a new stadium rising in left field didn't tarnish some great times.  Cath and I were there when Endy Chavez made one of the greatest catches either of us ever saw against the Cards two years ago - only to then watch Carlos Beltran rest the bat on his shoulder as a called strike three ended another season of hope. Given the Mets history, it was great just having hope that late in the season.  

And this year, while my operation prevented me from attending the last Saturday at Shea, the memories kept coming.  I was able to take by oldest friend Terry and his son Brendan to a game allowing five month old Brendan to one day stake a claim to having been at Shea, just as Terry had been to the Polo Grounds as a child.

The first football game I ever attended was a Jet game at Shea in 1980.  (That would be the only football game I ever attended for almost a decade - unless you count the Generals.  

Shea was also the home for some great concerts.  During the early '80s when sports was taking a bit of a back seat to music in my life, Shea was still there.  I saw the Who and the Clash with some questionable characters no longer in my life. My brother Bob,best friend Terry and Bob's buddy Alder and I sat in the upper deck behind home plate to watch what we were told was the Rolling Stones.  Can you believe some guy a row behind us asked us to sit during Sympathy For the Devil.  The usher did not attempt to enforce the request.  Was lucky to be given priority seating for the Bruce Springsteen Band 'cause of the Mets package seats.  (One very sweet part that night was knowing my boss Randy Sloane was in the upper deck as I sat in the ninth row.)  But the high point had to be this year, with all the challenges I had been facing, my amazing wife Cathy got fifth row tickets to allow me to witness the icon of Long Island - Billy Joel - perform an amazing show at Shea.  Some guests included Don Henley, Tony Bennett and John Mellancamp.  Yeah I had to yell "Yankees Suck" to Paul O'Neill as he walked by. Not a very proud moment.

Don't know if I will be given an opportunity to buy Saturday package tickets to the Citifield.  The Wilpons have not decided if us package holders deserve any special treatment.  We'll have a brick with our names and a quick saying at the new field.  

So the closing of Shea marks the closing of a major chapter in my life.  Maybe this is truly the end of the innocence - at least for me...

The Aftermath

Well, its the Monday after another heartbreaking Mets season.  EVen the great Johan Santana could not save the collapse of this team.  Playing the hapless Marlins again, the could not generate as much offense as a local high school team.  The pall of another team missing passion, persistency and spark fell over the closing of Shea Stadium like so many missed opportunities before.

Maybe it's good that the Wilpons have chosen to cast aside people like me who have held ticket packages for so many years.  (I had Saturday ticket packages for eight years.) Maybe this treatment as income streams no longer needed instead of as fans who bonded with and supported the team through (the rare) thick and (never-ending) thin lead to some of the east acceptance of yet another disappointment.  Most of the folks who sat by me in section 18 of the Mezzanine didn't buy the post-season option this year because they knew they were not valued by the Wilpons of Brooklyn. Wonder when I'll get my post-season ticket money back?

Kind of poetic that the primary stadium of my youth where I enjoyed Mayor's Trophy games with my dad and first saw baseball with my grandfather, where so may memories shared with friends and family were born, is being destroyed just as the organ of my youth and manhood, the organ which enabled my to help create my three amazing children has been removed.

Anyway, the Jets won and I am recovering quite well.  Was up and walking today.  Went outside for a walk around the neighborhood for about a half hour.  Great to move the limbs.  Starting to get better at managing the catheter rotation and had a nice chat with a neighbor about my docs.  He said next to lawyers, he trusted docs the least - sorry to my friends in the Legal community.

Had a chance to read more of Guide to Surviving Prostate Cancer, and am grateful for the ignorance I enjoyed before the operation.  On page 264 of the book, Dr Walsh says, "There's no getting around it, radical prostatectomy is a tricky operation, one of the most difficult in medicine.  There can be tremendous, at times life-threatening , blood loss."  Boy am I glad neither Cathy not I knew that before or during the operation!

The next hurdle is removal of the Foley catheter to see how much urinary control I have.  They say those who are continent immediately after the surgery are blessed.  I know my in-laws and friends are well-connected and praying hard, so hope the quality and volume of prayers is directly proportional to the blessings I have.  We'll know more Friday.

The Beginning

September 27, 2008

Thanks for stopping by to check out a few of my thoughts.  I'm starting this cause I need to vent about a bunch of things and think a great injustice is being perpetrated upon the men of this country by our "health care" system.  

On May 23, 2008 my PSA (prostate-specific antigen) test, which I'd requested since my uncle had been diagnosed with prostate cancer ten years ago, came back with a new high of 4.11.  This showed an increase from the 3.05 test level from 2006.  Now these numbers probably don't mean much to the average person since next to nothing is done to inform men of the importance of screening, the simplicity of testing (just another check mark on the same vial of blood that is typically tested at each year's physical), the values which are "normal" or the potentially devastating side effects.  The big joke about prostate cancer is that diagnosis isn't important because it grows so slowly something else will probably kill you first.  Not true when you have a history in your family.  I was diagnosed at 47.  

When I shared my case history with one of the best surgeons in the country, he let me know his staff at Memorial Sloan Kettering was "shocked" at the severity of the cancer, and pondered why my primary care physicians (PCPs) at Madison Internal Medicine in New Jersey took no action when the PSA of 3.05 was reported two years ago.  I guess they just fixated on the magic number of 4.00, but did not take into account that that level is a reference for men around 70 and the value should be significantly lower for a 45 year old man.

But I digress.....

After receiving no guidance from my PCPs on selecting a urologist with whom to follow up on  the readings of May 23, I wound up with a very reputable urologist in Denville, who digitally examined my prostate and told me there didn't seem to be any problem.  But, to be on the safe side, he was going to do a biopsy on the prostate.  Looking back, I'm amazed that this would not be done as a matter of course for someone with a PSA of 4.11 at age 47, but the deeper I descend into the labyrinth that is the American health care system, the more it appears that PCPs are nothing but gatekeepers for access to health insurance trying their best to minimize costs for those companies.

On July 11, 2008 the biopsy was done by taking 12 tissue samples from my prostate.  This is done by sticking a nice size probe up my ass and clipping off pieces of tissue from the prostate itself.  I am sure there is a sub-segment of the patient group that enjoys anal invasion, but it ain't me.  My urologist was going on vacation for the week, so I received the results on July 21st.  Ten days is a long time waiting with your head in a guillotine to hear if you have cancer or not.  It doesn't feel much better when you hear that ten of the twelve samples came back positive for cancer.  The fact that my in-network physician sent the samples to an out of network lab resulted in a $4,500 bill which I now have to fight just added more distractions.  (That's another whole tangent.)

Well, now I know I have cancer, so we next have to figure out how far it has spread.  That delay between 2006 and now is weighing heavily on me now.  After going for blood tests (CBC/Kidney) and going to St Clare's on July  25th for outpatient tests - CT of abdomen and pelvis with contrast and a whole body bone scan, I am told by the urologist that the cancer does not appear to have spread.  (When reading Guide To Surviving Prostate Cancer by Dr. Patrick Walsh from Johns Hopkins, I learn that the CT scans don't really indicate anything because of the nature of the test focused on large masses.  By the way, any man who has any questions about prostate cancer MUST get this book!)

My urologist says the decision to either go with traditional removal, laporascopic robotic removal, radioactive seed implants or radiation therapy is a personal choice that differs for all men.  When pushed, he says he would remove the prostate via laporascopic robotic surgery done by his associate.  My independent readings indicate this relatively new procedure could be a great way to go.  My readings also indicate that the severity of side effects is directly linked to the skill level and experience of the surgeon.  I am not going to simply trust the word of any single health care professional.

Oh yeah, side effects.  The major side effects associated with prostate cancer, assuming the cancer is removed, is potential loss of continence and/or loss of erection.  Also, if one opts to remove the prostate, there is one certainty.  One will never have ejaculate again!  So I am going to make sure I have the best possible people helping me decide on appropriate treatment and selection of the person to execute the treatment.

Luckily, I have friends who have access to key opinion leaders in the area of prostate oncology who identify a physician at Columbia Presbyterian - Dr Daniel Petrylak - who can review my tests and provide a second opinion.  On August 5th, I went to review my case with Dr Petrylak. After waiting to see him for five hours, he stopped in and said given my age, he would remove the prostate.  It was the most valuable five hour wait I ever endured!  I have now decided to remove the prostate, so I begin focusing on identifying the best person to do that.

After doing more research on my own supplemented by the help of some friends, I decided to attempt to set up a consultation with a gentleman who is supposed to be the best surgeon in the world for this type of operation.  Dr Peter Scardino, the Chairman of the Department of Surgery at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSKCC), I am told has a wait list of three months.  However, I gather all required information and forward it to his office.   In no time I am contacted by Dr Scardino's office and given an appointment on August 27th.  Two weeks from initial contact, not three months.  The urgency of his office does raise a slight red flag in back of my mind.

Dr Scardino's office staff is extremely accommodating, polite and efficient.  I arrive at MSKCC at 7:30 in the morning for our 8:30 appointment.  By 11:00 I have completed the MRI and blood tests.  By 6 o'clock, I learn that Dr. Scardino and his team have accepted my case and recommend removing the prostate via traditional surgery.  While tests still indicate that the cancer is localized to the prostate.  The extent of cancer within the prostate indicates there is a possiblity that some of the cancer cells may have escaped the membrane of the prostate.  So feeling the cells to make sure all the cancer cells are removed is vital in ensuring removal of all the cancer cells.

When I ask how soon we can remove the prostate, I am given the choice of either waiting until September 23rd or going in on September 2 - just six days from the consultation!  My wife and I opt to wait until the 23rd so we can wrap up some things professionally and prepare ourselves and our family for this operation.

On the 23rd, I enter MSKCC at 5:45 AM, and am under anesthesia by 9:30.  The five hour operation then requires about four hours of recovery because of my habit of sleeping with my mouth open and my inability to prevent myself from using the button supplementing the pain medication.  However, when I awake, my wife is there to let me know Dr Scardino was able to remove all the cancer cells and spare the nerves controlling continence and sexual function.  This is the best of all possible outcomes.  The biggest issue now is recovery and the management of the catheter for the next ten days.

The next day I am up and walking around the hospital floor, eating solid food and doing my best to make sure I can leave the hospital on the 25th.  I am thrilled when I learn I can leave the hospital.

It is the afternoon of Sunday, September 28th as I write this.  Being home has been fantastic.  My wife and children game me breakfast in bed on Saturday.  I am weaning myself off the Percocet and walking around the house as much as possible.  

My Mets and Johan Santana sent my spirits soaring yesterday as they battled against the odds to defeat the Marlins inthe rain yesterday.  ensuring their sporting lives for another day. The Cubbies, while at times appearing to TRY to give away their game with the Brewers, held on against the Brewers leaving the Mets in a tie for the National League Wild Card.

So, with my wife and kids out shopping, my biggest challenge is bouncing between the Jets/Cardinal game and the Mets/Marlins game.

To wrap up this first installment.  I hope that anyone confronting prostate cancer reads this and takes the management of the disease or potential of having the disease into their own hands.  Don't trust in the first-line health care professionals who have so many other demands on their time and priorities. At a minimum, get Patrick Walsh's book and educate yourself enough to challenge the people who may not be putting your health first.