Clair McKean

I’m no stranger to danger.

In the sixth grade, I broke the top two vertebra in my neck when I dove into a swimming pool. Though saddled with a neck brace for the summer, I escaped paralysis.

Throughout college, I drove multiple hundreds of miles back and forth from my home in Pennsylvania to Arkansas to attend a Christian school, yet escaped accidents.

In my early 20s, I fought in Vietnam. Though I escaped injury, the Air Force cargo jet bringing me home barely missed crashing into the Saigon harbor on take off. Its cargo had been incorrectly loaded and had shifted dangerously to one side. Nevertheless, I arrived home safely.

So, in early 2004, when told I had a very aggressive cancer which had already invaded my prostate “90 percent on the left and 30 percent on the right,” and that “only complete surgery will save your life,” my first response wasn’t panic.

After all, I had no symptoms of cancer. I’d only gone in for a routine physical. My PSA score had only risen slightly. And now the biopsy was showing cancer. Was “castration,” as the physician bluntly put it, my only option?

“If I do have cancer, and if it’s as aggressive as you say, what would be your procedure?” I asked.

The physician explained that I’d be given a monthly shot of Lupron for three months to reduce the size of my prostate and then I’d undergo surgery.

After some additional questioning, I requested a second opinion and asked the doctor if he could recommend anyone. The physician told me anyone he recommended would agree with him, and that if I wanted a second opinion, I needed to find someone myself.

So, I took my first Lupron shot and left the office with my wife Jara. At the time, I was a high school principal living with my family, which included six sons and one daughter, in Waco, Texas. My youngest son was 11 years old.

On the way home, our conversation mirrored the conviction of our faith in God. I remember telling my wife, “This has to be in God’s hands. I don’t know where He’ll take us. It will either be back to good health, or He’ll take me home to heaven, but, either way, we need to make the most of every moment. We need to do the best we can and use every chance to reach out.” My wife agreed.

A short while later, we drove to Coweta to visit Jara’s folks. While there, we shared the diagnosis and stated we were going to seek a second opinion. Jara’s folks suggested Cancer Treatment Centers of America (CTCA) in Tulsa. They’d heard good things about it from people they knew but didn’t know the phone number. Just as we were pulling on our coats to get into the car for the drive back to Texas, the CTCA commercial began airing on the television. We wrote down the number and headed home.

At 10:30 p.m., back in Waco, we called and talked to an oncology information specialist. In a few short hours, she had verified my insurance, made travel arrangements for me and Jara to CTCA’s Midwestern Regional Medical Center in Chicago (where I’d have to have treatment due to insurance restrictions) and begun scheduling tests and appointments.

What a treat it was to arrive at CTCA where their holistic approach meant every area of my life was cared for. By the time we finished visiting with other patients in the hospital, all of whom were so satisfied, we were convinced this was the place to be.

I learned the original diagnosis had been right, but that I had other options for treatment. From March-May 2004, I first underwent external-beam radiation to reduce my prostate and contain the cancer and then had a surgically implanted radiation procedure, called brachytherapy, to kill the cancer.

Due to the time I’d lost from work as a result of knee surgery and the cancer treatment, I decided it was time to close out my 35-year career in education. Jara and I had always talked about retiring in Oklahoma to be near her folks. So we packed up and moved to Tulsa. Today, both my daughter and I work at CTCA, she in Marketing, and I in Transportation.

I’m doing well. I have all my follow-up treatment here. And it’s a joy for me to work here, helping people who come to CTCA, hearing what they say, relating to them because of my similar experience. I love what we do at this organization.

I told my children when I shared my cancer diagnosis with them, “I’m not through working with you, so we’re going to trust God with whatever He decides to do.” Even though life is a vapor we mustn’t take for granted, He must have decided I wasn’t through working with them either. So, I still get the opportunity to be effective in this life, not because of my goodness, but because of His purpose.

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