My unexpected medical adventure

Ihad never spent more than one night in a hospital or been confronted by serious illness, so my recent surgery for stomach cancer and six-day hospital stay were a life-altering experience. Fortunately, it turned out well. I am all too aware that every day, many thousands of people have medical situations more serious than mine, and not all end well.

Mine began innocuously enough. In 2017 I developed acid reflux, something fairly common and usually very treatable. An endoscopy done by Dr. Michael Barth, a gastroenterologist and a good friend, turned up nothing.

As a routine update, we did another endoscopy in March. Going into it, I didn’t give it a second thought. Just another test that guys my age go through. Just checking the box. I was surprised when Barth told me he had found a protrusion in my stomach wall. He thought it was probably benign, but recommended that I see Dr. Arvino Trindade, a specialist at Northwell Health.

Trindade scheduled a biopsy for April 10, at Long Island Jewish hospital. I had to be there at 5:30 a.m. For Irish guys, hospitals are intimidating enough at any time, but especially in the early-morning dark. Melissa Zimmerman, a retired Nassau County police detective who was on my security detail when I was in Congress, offered to drive Rosemary and me to the hospital.

Before I was taken into the operating room, Trindade told me he was pretty sure there was nothing there. The next thing I knew, I was waking up and he was telling me there was a tumor, and the odds were that it was malignant. That should have been shocking news, but he was professional and calm, assuring me it could easily be removed. Nothing to worry about.

A few nights later, I woke up at around 3 a.m., and it hit me that I probably had cancer. Then, four days after the biopsy, Barth and Trindade called to confirm it: The tumor was malignant, and the surgery would be done at LIJ by Dr. Matthew Weiss, a premier surgeon. Weiss called and told me all looked good for complete success. “Enjoy the weekend,” he said. That night, Rosemary and I had dinner at an Italian restaurant in Manhattan with Melissa and her husband, Lance.

The following Tuesday I met Weiss, who told me the surgery would be on April 24. He was confident that it would go well. It turned out that his college roommate was a son of Frank Macciarola, whom I’d gone to St. Francis College with and who later became president of the college. Small world. I took it as a good sign.

I went to pre-op appointments at Northwell, and saw my cardiologist in Manhattan to get clearance for the operation. With a day to go, I started on a liquid diet, Jell-O being the closest thing to solid food.

Once again, Melissa drove Rosemary and me to the hospital. The Northwell admissions people couldn’t have been friendlier. By 6:30 a.m. I was dressed in my hospital outfit, lying on a gurney with