Fly High

Rick’s Story

Written by: Terri Lansdell

27 years ago, I came to the Cancer Center for a job interview.  I was in love with everything about it within a year. We cry together and laugh together, and last year we grieved together when my longtime love was diagnosed with a terminal brain cancer.  I saw from the other side what my coworkers do, together, as a team.  I was overwhelmed by the support and love shown to us.  This same support and love have been given to our patients year after year. We have all mourned over the years for multiple patients who have become a huge part of our lives.  When I say our patients become like family, believe me, they do. Over the years we have grown so much but still have the “family” that I was impressed with at first.  It takes a very special person to work in this field, and we have a house full of them. People ask me how I can continue to do this every day, especially with what happened to Rick.  My answer is always, how can I not?  I saw firsthand what we do together can mean to our patients and am so incredibly blessed to still be a part of this. 

 On June 20, 2019, I came home from work to find Rick working in the yard, as usual; he was an active man, enjoying his retirement. I went outside to find him having a seizure. An ambulance took him to Floyd, who then rushed him to Erlanger. He had been having some numbness and tingling, “electric shock feelings” in his left arm for the past couple of months and had been to his family doctor several times. He was diagnosed with a stroke. We were there about a week and then sent home. I have worked at the Cancer Center for 27 years, so my fear was that this was a tumor.  We told the doctors about his prior symptoms, and they said it might have been mini seizures.  He told me the second day we were at Erlanger “This will get me; it’s not just a stroke and a seizure.” They reassured us that it was. 

He seemed to be doing OK at first. The restrictions put upon him by the doctors did not sit well with him. He was normally very active, such a healthy man. He couldn’t go outside and work in the garden due to the heat and couldn’t drive. We were back in the hospital three times within those next few months, with the MRI each time showing another stroke/seizure. Each seizure took a little more of his mobility, but we thanked God he was still able to get around.  His mind was good with very little deficits. Every time I asked, “Are you sure it isn’t a tumor?” Every time we were assured, it wasn’t.  On August 29th, he had an MRI with spect and it showed a Glioblastoma, the thing we most feared. We were sent to UAB to get a second opinion. Because of the location, surgery was not possible. We were all devastated. How would we ever lose this big personality, this loving man, this huge part of our world? We hoped, we prayed, and we began to search for the best treatment. Instead of waiting to die, we made plans to live. Rick began treatment in Rome, hoping it would give us some time. My work family supported and loved us through this time. I couldn’t have made it without them. 

We continued to make plans for the future. We planned a cruise for 2021 and spent time with his family. His family was his world. I would help him out to the porch in the morning, and we would drink our coffee and eat breakfast. He loved the outdoors so much.  He would get up with me in the mornings before work. He said I don’t want to miss any time with you. Some mornings we would both cry. He cried when he said to me, “I’m worried if you’ll be OK without me.” I knew how much he loved me, and he showed me every day. He would leave little notes, flowers from the yard, just little things. That is rare and something to be cherished. People come into your lives for a reason, and I was so blessed to have him. Brain cancer is cruel because it takes your personality. God was with us because he had his almost to the very end.  

On October 30, 2019, we went back in the hospital. We had no idea it was the end. I had noticed little things getting worse but was still in denial, I guess. With his loving family gathered around, he quietly passed away on November 15, 2019. The hospital stay was two weeks of crying, laughing, and love as we all surrounded the man who meant so much to us all. Sister, brother, grandkids and kids, we said our goodbyes with no regrets other than we didn’t have more time with this beautiful man. The Saturday before he died, he had us all laughing. He was singing, being silly, and telling us how much he loved us. I cherish that time with him. 

Rick was a kind, softhearted man, so incredibly charming, emotional, and never ashamed to cry as he talked about his love for his family and for me. God was certainly with us as his baby girl and her family moved back to Rome to be near. His boys lived in the Armuchee area, so he had all of his family around him.  He gave me grandbabies that I love as if they were my own, and his daughter and I work hard to keep him alive in their memory. He was so funny at his daughter’s wedding, cried like a baby, danced with the bridesmaids, life of the party. He had a HUGE heart. He loved BIG. He was never ashamed to cry when talking about how much he loved his kids and grandkids.  

I am also thinking about friends and about gratitude. Friends who came from far (and some not so far) and wide to pay their respects and show their love for Rick (Ricky, as we all knew him). When my group of the best friends ever first met Rick (and let me say, these are the most welcoming, loving group of people you could ever hope to have in your lives), it was like, "Is he going to fit in? Will he wear the cape?" (There is an old Guy Clark song that we all love called “Always Trust Your Cape.”) Part of the words in that song remind us all of Rick: 

He's one of those who knows that life 
Is just a leap of faith 
Spread your arms and hold your breath 
Always trust your cape 

The capes are about fun, flying high, and loving life while you can. Rick lived that way. At first, Rick was skeptical about the capes, but he was always up for some fun. The first time he put it on, he was running with it flying out behind him. It brings out the boy, and the joy, in all of us. He loved the capes, the traveling, the friends, and he fit right in. He was my Superman. We had many firsts together. Rick had never been much of a traveler. We took his first cruise together. He loved it all. He was the man that never met a stranger, loved everyone, and they loved him.  

His kids were his life, and his grandkids, his greatest joy. His biggest fear was that he would not see them grow up and be the wonderful adults he knew they would be. I was fortunate to have so many fun times, so much love and life with him. We had eleven beautiful years together, and I am forever grateful for the time we had together. I hold those memories close to my heart to keep him with me always. 

Fly high, my love, I will always remember you. I love and miss you with all of my heart.