That’s the normal response whenever the word cancer enters the life of a friend or loved one.

But the big problem is that all those well-meaning phone calls, cards and letters smeared with sadness and tears do little to help an optimistic cancer patient engaged in a pitched battle with his or her cancer.

Why all of the above? Well, let me quote a sentence from a letter I got from a reader. It said, in part: “Mr. Hough, we hear your cancer has returned and, well, we think you owe it to your readers to write something about it.”

Who respects readers more than me? So, I will write about it and bore you with some details. But, when the column ends, any response it brings from you in a letter or call to me had better be presented in my spirit of optimism. Otherwise, you do the patient a disservice.

Some of you already know that about four years ago, my doctor, Kimberly Hanert, was doing an annual physical when she noticed a slight swelling on the left side of my neck. I could not see or feel it, and neither could my wife, Darl. But, Kim, an old friend and a great doctor, insisted on a biopsy. Sure enough, I had a non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and was referred to a Marquette General Hospital oncologist, Dr. Adhan R. Alkhalli (Dr. Al). He said, “Jim, you have a great doctor. She caught this early and it is a low-grade cancer. We can fix it by shoving it into remission, even though a lymphoma cancer cannot be cured.”

Because the cancer could not be found elsewhere in my body, Dr. Al suggested 30 days of radiation. So, Darl and I put our little travel trailer in the yard of Bill and Carol Perry, long-time Marquette friends, and did the radiation.

At the end of the treatment, the cancer was gone. Dr. Al ordered PET scans and CAT scans every six months and all went great until April 2006, when signs returned.

Because the lymphoma was still regarded as low-grade, he put me on a four-month treatment with pills. In November, the main low-grade cancer was gone, but a hot spot showed in a lymph node in the left side of the groin. It did not respond to treatment.

Dr. Al was alarmed and feared one of the rare occurrences in such cases—that the cancer had moved to an aggressive state.

To properly devise a treatment, Dr. Al said he needed a biopsy of that node. However, the surgeons at Marquette General refused to do it, saying it was too risky to pass a needle through intestines and blood vessels to get at the lymph node. We came home depressed. Dr. Al consulted with surgeons who also refused to get a biopsy through a more serious surgery.

So, there we were, between Christmas and New Year’s with what seemed like our only option—returning for another round of radiation.

Dr. John Neuman, one of my closest friends for more than 30 years, and now retired in Florida, called to wish me a Merry Christmas. I told him all that was happening with me. He listened and then said, “Maybe radiation now is your only choice, but I don’t like it because radiation in that area can do great damage to your bowels and intestines. You need a second opinion. I want you to go to the Mayo Clinic. Start the procedure now or I’m getting on a plane and coming up there to get you.”

Dr. Al quickly agreed with Dr. Neuman. “I need a biopsy, Jim, and if Mayo can do it, I will fix your cancer.”

In less than a week, Dr. Al had a Mayo appointment. Darl, a very tough lady, drove me there—550 miles one-way.

Everybody is dazzled by Mayo. All the people who work there would not fit into Comerica Park. There are 55,000 of them and they have so much more than medical skills. It seems as if each one is personally dedicated to help you and your family with an amazing graciousness.

After a week of procedures including blood tests, a bone marrow biopsy, PET scans, and more, we were called for a meeting with Mayo oncologists, Dr. Lacy and Dr. Patriyil. “Mr. Hough, we have a surgeon, Dr. Welch, who can safely get a needle biopsy. We must have tissue in order to know how to treat your cancer.”

Heck, it didn’t even require anesthesia. Dr. Welch did the procedure under x-ray. I asked him if he got a good tissue sample.

“Yes, Jim, I got the tissue that Dr. Patriyil needs, but I don’t want you to be in any way critical of your needle biopsy surgeon in Marquette. Fact is, Jim, he is a very good doctor because he knows his limits and does not want to harm a patient. The difference between us is that I am an old-timer and at it much longer.”

See what I mean about Mayo ‘class’?

Before Darl and I got home from Rochester, MN, the Mayo oncologists had already held long conference calls with Dr. Al and were consulting about a chemotherapy called ‘R-chop’ – whatever that means. I get an infusion every three weeks, probably through April.

Nobody said it was like attending a World Series game. Chemo is not recreation, but I hug it with warmth because it means more time with my grandchildren and a chance to write a few more columns. Because I am very healthy otherwise, Dr. Al thinks I have a great chance at shoving this thing into five years or more of remission. In five years, I’ll be 80; nobody owes me more.

Charlie Reifsnyder, a retired Lansing police chief and long-time very close friend, has been in a severe struggle with lymphoma for six months. Charlie called me yesterday to say, “Damn you, Jim, get tough and hang in there. I have been through all chemo can dish out—catheters, transfusions, hospital stays, and more. Two days ago, my oncologists said I am free of cancer. Emily and I are sitting here planning a spring golf trip.”

After we hung up and I had my tears of joy for Charlie wiped away, the phone rang again. It was my son, Steve, saying, “Hey, Dad, let’s you and I plan a fishing trip to Canada in August. I know you pretty well, Dad, so I also know you won’t let me down.”

The trip is on, son, but one thing will be different: I’ll out-fish you this time.