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Team Owner
Bobby Hamilton's goal remains the same: to race
ThatsRacin.com Opinion
By DAVID POOLE
The Charlotte Observer
http://www.thatsracin.com/mld/thatsracin/15369906.htm
Thirty-two times, Hamilton laid strapped to a table with a hard plastic mask, specially molded to fit him, covering his face, neck and upper torso as, for 20 minutes at a time, radiation was fired at the cancer cells in his neck.
Once, about three-fourths of the way through that part of his ordeal, Hamilton began waving his hands signaling for the treatment to stop. Mucus in his throat had build up to the point where Hamilton simply couldn't finish. He had 18 seconds left.
"They've won," Hamilton said. "I am pretty strong, but they have beaten the crap out of me. I don't mind telling you that. I wouldn't wish this on anybody."
That's not a concession. In fact, his medical report is replete with optimism and Hamilton's resolve to return to NASCAR Truck Series competition, perhaps as soon as the final race this year, is as strong as it ever was.
His matter-of-fact honesty, always a Hamilton trademark, also has not changed through weeks of chemotherapy and radiation at Vanderbilt University's hospital.
On March 17, Hamilton announced his diagnosis to a room full of stunned reporters at Atlanta Motor Speedway. He ran in the Truck race that night, then went to the hospital on Monday to start getting better. He had his final scheduled treatment on June 7.
Hamilton had severe blistering on his neck and sores in his mouth.
The swelling in his neck was so bad at one point he couldn't swallow his own saliva. His white blood cell count dropped and doctors warned that even the most mundane form of infection could turn into a major issue.
"I don't mind telling you I've sat up and looked at Lori (his finacee) and said, 'I just don't understand it,' and then burst into tears," Hamilton admits. "It's like, 'What am I doing wrong?'"
When people hear you've seen Hamilton, they invariably ask how he looks. He looks like he's had one hell of a fist fight, and that the foe most certainly got his licks in.
On good days now he can swallow sips of liquid. But on Wednesday he tried to take a small pill and couldn't get it down. Twenty-four hours later his throat still hurt like the pill was still stuck there.
He weighed around 200 pounds when this all started. Doctors told him to gain as much weight when he could still eat, and he made it up to 213. He then went down to as low as 169. Now, he's back up to 180, taking nutrition through a tube in his stomach.
Despite their toll on his body, the treatments have done the job. The prognosis is encouraging, but his lead physician, Dr. Barbara Murphy, doesn't talk in absolutes.
"She's very careful about that," says Hamilton's fiancé, Lori Shuler. "She doesn't say, 'Oh, you're cured of cancer. You're 100 percent clean.'"
A group of doctors at Vanderbilt's cancer center was split on whether Hamilton should have surgery to dissect a lymph node to check for lingering cancer. Dr. Murphy came down on the side of surgery, and now it's scheduled for Thursday.
"I don't want to go to bed at night," Hamilton says, "thinking we half-assed it."
It's still a long road back. Hamilton is weak, but after the surgery his rehab will pick up steam and he vows to start reclaiming the strength sapped from him over the past five months.
"The doctor told me that I'd take two steps forward and then one back," Hamilton said. "My problem is I haven't learned. I've learned a lot, but not enough.
"Last Sunday I had such a perfect day. It was like nothing had ever happened to me and I went all day long. But then it took me two or three days to get over it."
He came to Bristol on Wednesday to see the Truck Series teams he owns compete and wound up going to the infield care center to get two intravenous bags of fluid. Shuler nearly took him to the emergency room that night, but he was better on Thursday.
In June, not long after the final treatment and while the worst of the side effects were raging, Robbie Loomis called. Loomis, who'd worked at Petty Enterprises when Hamilton drove the No. 43 car, wanted to stop by on the way to the race in Sonoma, Calif. He brought Richard Petty, Kyle Petty and Dale Inman along, and they sat around and told stories and laughed.
"I think about that day a lot," Hamilton says. "That meant a lot to me to have them come by. Dale Inman walked up to me and said, 'I think about you every day.' And his eyes teared up."
Fellow Truck series driver Jack Sprague called. "He said, 'I don't handle this kind of stuff well. Just get better.'" Hamilton says.
Hamilton's son, Bobby Jr., has struggled, too.
"He walked in my office the other day," Hamilton says. "I was in there filing away some bills. "He looked at me and said, 'Why is your neck swollen again?' I said, 'What?' He said, 'Right there.' I said, 'That's just where I was bent over.'
"I keep having dreams that stuff has come back," Hamilton Jr. told his father.
Shuler remembers a woman at the hospital.
"Her neck was all blistered up and she'd had surgery," Shuler said. "She said, 'You don't know me but I am a fan of yours. I have the same thing as you do and it doesn't always turn out to be this ugly.' Bobby got up and went around and hugged her and said, 'You're beautiful to me.' I was just crying."
Hamilton says he doesn't know how to put into words how he's changed.
But he tries.
"I know that I treat people differently," he says. "Anybody who's not in a coffin deserves the same respect as anybody else in this world. You're a life, and every one of us is fighting for his life every day. Even if you're not dealing with something like this, you're trying to feed your family and live your life."
If you saw Hamilton right now, even without knowing he's having surgery this week, you'd say there's no way he'll be back in a Truck in November. But if you know anything about him, you wouldn't bet against it.
"Bobby Jr. asked me 'What if you get halfway through the race at Homestead and get tired?'" Hamilton said. "I said, 'I'll park.'
"My goal is to race. If I take the green flag, then I've won."
ThatsRacin.com Opinion
By DAVID POOLE
The Charlotte Observer
http://www.thatsracin.com/mld/thatsracin/15369906.htm
Thirty-two times, Hamilton laid strapped to a table with a hard plastic mask, specially molded to fit him, covering his face, neck and upper torso as, for 20 minutes at a time, radiation was fired at the cancer cells in his neck.
Once, about three-fourths of the way through that part of his ordeal, Hamilton began waving his hands signaling for the treatment to stop. Mucus in his throat had build up to the point where Hamilton simply couldn't finish. He had 18 seconds left.
"They've won," Hamilton said. "I am pretty strong, but they have beaten the crap out of me. I don't mind telling you that. I wouldn't wish this on anybody."
That's not a concession. In fact, his medical report is replete with optimism and Hamilton's resolve to return to NASCAR Truck Series competition, perhaps as soon as the final race this year, is as strong as it ever was.
His matter-of-fact honesty, always a Hamilton trademark, also has not changed through weeks of chemotherapy and radiation at Vanderbilt University's hospital.
On March 17, Hamilton announced his diagnosis to a room full of stunned reporters at Atlanta Motor Speedway. He ran in the Truck race that night, then went to the hospital on Monday to start getting better. He had his final scheduled treatment on June 7.
Hamilton had severe blistering on his neck and sores in his mouth.
The swelling in his neck was so bad at one point he couldn't swallow his own saliva. His white blood cell count dropped and doctors warned that even the most mundane form of infection could turn into a major issue.
"I don't mind telling you I've sat up and looked at Lori (his finacee) and said, 'I just don't understand it,' and then burst into tears," Hamilton admits. "It's like, 'What am I doing wrong?'"
When people hear you've seen Hamilton, they invariably ask how he looks. He looks like he's had one hell of a fist fight, and that the foe most certainly got his licks in.
On good days now he can swallow sips of liquid. But on Wednesday he tried to take a small pill and couldn't get it down. Twenty-four hours later his throat still hurt like the pill was still stuck there.
He weighed around 200 pounds when this all started. Doctors told him to gain as much weight when he could still eat, and he made it up to 213. He then went down to as low as 169. Now, he's back up to 180, taking nutrition through a tube in his stomach.
Despite their toll on his body, the treatments have done the job. The prognosis is encouraging, but his lead physician, Dr. Barbara Murphy, doesn't talk in absolutes.
"She's very careful about that," says Hamilton's fiancé, Lori Shuler. "She doesn't say, 'Oh, you're cured of cancer. You're 100 percent clean.'"
A group of doctors at Vanderbilt's cancer center was split on whether Hamilton should have surgery to dissect a lymph node to check for lingering cancer. Dr. Murphy came down on the side of surgery, and now it's scheduled for Thursday.
"I don't want to go to bed at night," Hamilton says, "thinking we half-assed it."
It's still a long road back. Hamilton is weak, but after the surgery his rehab will pick up steam and he vows to start reclaiming the strength sapped from him over the past five months.
"The doctor told me that I'd take two steps forward and then one back," Hamilton said. "My problem is I haven't learned. I've learned a lot, but not enough.
"Last Sunday I had such a perfect day. It was like nothing had ever happened to me and I went all day long. But then it took me two or three days to get over it."
He came to Bristol on Wednesday to see the Truck Series teams he owns compete and wound up going to the infield care center to get two intravenous bags of fluid. Shuler nearly took him to the emergency room that night, but he was better on Thursday.
In June, not long after the final treatment and while the worst of the side effects were raging, Robbie Loomis called. Loomis, who'd worked at Petty Enterprises when Hamilton drove the No. 43 car, wanted to stop by on the way to the race in Sonoma, Calif. He brought Richard Petty, Kyle Petty and Dale Inman along, and they sat around and told stories and laughed.
"I think about that day a lot," Hamilton says. "That meant a lot to me to have them come by. Dale Inman walked up to me and said, 'I think about you every day.' And his eyes teared up."
Fellow Truck series driver Jack Sprague called. "He said, 'I don't handle this kind of stuff well. Just get better.'" Hamilton says.
Hamilton's son, Bobby Jr., has struggled, too.
"He walked in my office the other day," Hamilton says. "I was in there filing away some bills. "He looked at me and said, 'Why is your neck swollen again?' I said, 'What?' He said, 'Right there.' I said, 'That's just where I was bent over.'
"I keep having dreams that stuff has come back," Hamilton Jr. told his father.
Shuler remembers a woman at the hospital.
"Her neck was all blistered up and she'd had surgery," Shuler said. "She said, 'You don't know me but I am a fan of yours. I have the same thing as you do and it doesn't always turn out to be this ugly.' Bobby got up and went around and hugged her and said, 'You're beautiful to me.' I was just crying."
Hamilton says he doesn't know how to put into words how he's changed.
But he tries.
"I know that I treat people differently," he says. "Anybody who's not in a coffin deserves the same respect as anybody else in this world. You're a life, and every one of us is fighting for his life every day. Even if you're not dealing with something like this, you're trying to feed your family and live your life."
If you saw Hamilton right now, even without knowing he's having surgery this week, you'd say there's no way he'll be back in a Truck in November. But if you know anything about him, you wouldn't bet against it.
"Bobby Jr. asked me 'What if you get halfway through the race at Homestead and get tired?'" Hamilton said. "I said, 'I'll park.'
"My goal is to race. If I take the green flag, then I've won."