In September 2004, Bryan M. Booth had a starring role in Murfreesboro Little Theatre’s version of the Rogers & Hammerstein musical “South Pacific.” Bryan landed the role of Lieutenant Joe Cable, because he had the vocal capabilities and the acting skill to play the part.
On May 12, 2009, as a result of squamous cell carcinoma, a fast growing cancer, Bryan’s tongue was surgically removed. Before the surgery, the surgeon told Bryan’s fiancée and family that he only had a 30 percent chance of survival and if he did survive, he would always be dependent on a feeding tube to eat and a tracheal tube to breath. The doctor went on to say that he would all but completely lose the ability to speak and would have a very limited sense of taste. Apparently, they forgot to tell all this to Bryan. Two days after his surgery, Bryan was attempting to talk and has steadily improved almost every day since. Later this year, Bryan will be fitted with a prosthetic that fits in the roof of his mouth. This device, along with (by his own admission) “patience and practice,” will allow him to once again speak clearly. When it is in place, Bryan has set the lofty goal of being able to communicate normally within a year. He says confidently, when he is ready, if you didn’t know him before, you won’t be able to tell he has any speech impediment. As another part of that one-year goal, he intends to return to acting and eventually, sing again.
Bryan is now in the final stages of chemo and radiation therapy. The radiation has caused him to lose the beard he had proudly sported for the last several years. The loss is permanent; his beard will never return. During the surgery, Bryan’s bottom row of teeth were removed, which he would have lost anyway due to the radiation therapy. He has a tracheal tube protruding from his neck to help him breathe. The bottom half of Bryan’s face is bright red, due to the intensity of the radiation treatment. The treatment causes him constant pain in his joints, along with swelling and soreness in his throat. He has also lost a great deal of weight and walks with the help of a cane.
He has already recovered more than was expected. Although he has constant sickness and fatigue, Bryan has not allowed these things to confine him to a bed. He has returned to work and stays as active as he physically can. He is also quick to point out that the pain, swelling and skin discoloration will subside after the treatments are finished. And when the swelling in his throat decreases, his recovery will begin in earnest.
In many ways, Bryan’s continued recovery is due to determination and his sense of humor. Bryan has a new tongue now that was cut from his right thigh. Although the transplanted tissue does nothing more than give the appearance of a tongue, it does have a blood supply. So, now Bryan has a hairy tongue to deal with. One of the few good side effects of the chemo and radiation therapy is that the hair follicles in his new tongue have died. But, on at least one occasion, Bryan had to shave his tongue. That and his adventures of trying to eat soup by throwing his head back and swallowing like a baby bird are stories that are their funniest when heard in Bryan’s own temporarily muffled speech.
Bryan is also a skilled writer. Since he has had a lot of down time during his recovery, he has recorded a journal of his progress, which can be read at cancercanbiteme.wordpress.com. From just days after his surgery, Bryan has openly shared his pain, his anger and his determination to conquer this invasion into his body.
One of his journal entries is his declaration of defiance to this crippling disease. What follows is an excerpt of Bryan’s own words:

A Love Letter To Cancer
Dear Cancer,
There are so many things that I want to say to you, so many that I need to say. You have come into my life and altered it in the radical way that only those closest to a person can manage. You have forced me to reevaluate my life, my priorities, and my emotions. You have made me more self-aware; and for that, I thank you.
You have brought my family closer together. For many years now, we have been treading water; we have let the disagreements and ideological differences become the unspoken walls between us. We have let these walls close us off from each other and from the tapestries of blood and time that will always unite us. Yet, with a single word, a single appearance, you have ground those walls to dust. There is a closeness, a reunion, that was wholly unexpected–and perhaps, on some level, feared–because of the honesty that it will force upon each of us. However, I now see us embracing that honesty, consequences and discomfort be damned. Life, as you have shown us so powerfully, is too short for anything but truth. So, Cancer, for giving me my family back, I thank you.
You have shown me that it is acceptable to rely on others, that I am permitted to be weak in my own way and at my own time. You have given me the strength to depend upon those I love, and because I have finally taken that step, you have unlocked the door to show me what real love is. I can see it so much more clearly than I ever could before. You have given me the love of my life, and you have taught me to revel in her strength. For teaching me these early lessons in those parts of love I have always overlooked, I thank you.
You have shown me how many true friends I have. Over the past month, I have been awed and humbled by the amount of love and support that I have received from friends I have never even met. My relationships with those I have met have deepened, have sweetened, have strengthened into unbreakable bonds. I have seen parts of my friends that otherwise would have remained hidden until the next time of crisis. I have been overwhelmed by generosity and concern and kindness, and for this, I thank you.
You have strengthened my resolve and my commitment. You have honed my curiosity and my creativity. You have given me a very special set of tools; for these tools, I thank you.
With these tools, Cancer, I will defeat you. The love, the creativity, the concern, the generosity, the resolve–I will ride them as a tide of healing against you. I have a purpose that I will not abandon. I have been the most fortunate recipient of such generosity that I will not abandon. I will bring the love of hundreds and thousands against you. And you will lose. You will fail. You will not claim me.
For all these things, and for the gifts you have yet to bring to my life, I thank you. Yet I warn you, the more you attempt to tighten your grip on my life, the more easily I will best you. My life is mine; it is not yours. Nor will it ever be.
Farewell, Cancer. I will be free of you, and, though I will bathe in the echoes of your passing for many years to come, you will not be missed.
Namaste.