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MUSC gave us a precious gift—time by Tom Poland Special to The Catalyst About 225 miles separate Charleston and Lincolnton, Ga. Between April 2002 and May 2003, my family made the pilgrimage to Charleston many times hoping to save my desperately ill father, John Poland.  We set up a base camp in a Mount Pleasant extended- stay hotel and crossed the great bridges daily, making our way to Parking Lot G.  We recall our pilgrimages with love, hope, sadness, and deep appreciation for the Medical University of South Carolina.  My family grew to love 10 East and its wonderful nurses who were so caring to Dad. He stayed in a spacious room with crown molding and an adjoining room with sofa, TV, sink, and small refrigerator—yet another home away from home during the long summer of 2002.  A Wonderful Doctor Dad’s illness, which proved terrible beyond description,  first showed itself in a common way. Choking, he got up from the table and went outside, unable to swallow. In time, he feared eating. He lost weight. Month by month it worsened. He couldn't even sip liquids.  Doctors in Augusta, Ga., dilated Dad’s esophagus several times and eventually operated on him … all to no avail. Meanwhile he lost weight and we lost precious time. After 14 months we requested another opinion. We were told we could consult a specialist in Cleveland, Ohio, or one at MUSC.  One April morning, my sister and I drove Mom and Dad to Boyd Gillespie, M.D., in the East Cooper Medical Complex. I was surprised by his youth but more so by his bedside manner. We knew at once he was a special doctor and a special man. “Dr. Gillespie,” I said, outside the receiving room where Mom and Dad sat, “You’ve got to help this man. He’s starving to death before our eyes.”  “I’ll see what I can do,” Gillespie said. In about three hours we were admitted to MUSC’s tenth floor—oncology. Dad was malnourished and very underweight.  A day and a half later as a feeding tube was inserted, Gillespie took another look into Dad’s throat and saw a granular mass of tissue. That afternoon he told us Dad had esophageal cancer—squamous cell carcinoma.  Dad was too weak to withstand surgery, so we  returned to Georgia while he regained enough weight and strength to endure what would be a lengthy, dangerous oper-ation.  Shortly before his operation, Michael Noone, M.D., told Dad his early years smoking had hurt him. Dad also served in Hiroshima right after the atomic bomb destroyed the Japanese. In a time when we didn’t understand radiation as we do today, Dad walked across soil hot with gamma rays, something that came back to haunt him. An All-out War In July 2002, Gillespie, Noone, and Mark Block, M.D., removed Dad’s tumor, esophagus, and larynx in a lengthy operation—almost 12 hours—that resulted in a stoma and stomach resection so he could eat on his own. We maintained a vigil in a seventh floor waiting room with our minister and friends while the surgical team waged all-out war on Dad’s cancer.  In the many days during Dad’s recovery, we took slow walks with him to the tenth floor visitor’s room. We’d creep down the long corridor, dragging the IV unit behind him. We’d stand before huge windows and look out over the city with its beautiful white steeples and green live oaks. To the left we could see the Ashley, to the right the Cooper, and sometimes we could pick out pelicans soaring near the bridges. In the months to come, despite surgery and radiation, Dad’s cancer returned. He had another operation at MUSC, and this time we crossed our fingers and prayed with all our strength. Again, the cancer returned. Dad elected to undergo chemotherapy, but it took a terrible toll on him and near the end he made a choice: no more chemo, no matter what. As the disease progressed and he watched his body waste away, Dad took his suffering in stride and you could not help but admire his courage. Each day he would pray “Thank you God for my family and thank you for another day of life.” Like Family Dad came to love MUSC. Our whole family did, and especially  Gillespie, who in a way became like another son to Dad, who baked cakes for Dr. G (as we came to call him.) The survival rates for esophageal cancer aren’t good, and we winced at the terrible pain racking Dr. G. as he had to give us bad news time and time again.  MUSC and its wonderful doctors and nurses became an extended family to us. Anand Sharma, M.D., and Tess Morris at the Hollings Cancer Center hold special places in our hearts as does Block.  What matters is this: without MUSC we would have lost Dad in July 2002. MUSC gave us a rare gift, an extra 15 months of precious time. We are MUSC ambassadors, and we waste no opportunity to tell others what a professional, caring place it is. We tell them this: You don’t have to travel the country for outstanding medical expertise. You need only make a pilgrimage to the Holy City.    Friday, April 9, 2004 Catalyst Online is published weekly, updated as needed and improved from time to time by the MUSC Office of Public Relations for the faculty, employees and students of the Medical University of South Carolina. Catalyst Online editor, Kim Draughn, can be reached at 792-4107 or by email, catalyst@musc.edu. Editorial copy can be submitted to Catalyst Online and to The Catalyst in print by fax, 792-6723, or by email to petersnd@musc.edu or catalyst@musc.edu. To place an ad in The Catalyst hardcopy, call Community Press at 849-1778.