Matt Fish wrote home 25 years ago, telling his family in Pembroke that the water at his Marine base in North Carolina had a metallic taste to it.
And that water, poisoned by cancer-causing chemicals, it was learned later, is the reason Fish’s teenage son will have his prostate checked relatively soon.
“If you have a family history you should start at 40,” said Fish, a lifelong Pembroke resident. “Yes, my son will be checked in his 20s.”
A bit early, but early detection of a problem is key. These days, Fish is shouting from the rooftops to anyone who will listen, that waiting until you’re 50 and beyond before enduring one of life’s odd and uncomfortable snapshots is not a good idea.
He’s had a tough year, suffering from a dreadful one-two punch of cancer and COVID. He graduated from Pembroke Academy in 1994 and lives in town with his wife, Penny, who’s been with him every step of the way, and their two children.
He was diagnosed with prostate cancer last March, at age 45. He’s good now, told two weeks ago that his cancer had not spread, his numbers looked good and he was moving toward remission.
“If I had waited until I was 50 to get checked,” Fish said, “it would have spread so far and I would have been a goner. The whole thing was very strange, but I am thankful I’m on the right road.”
The road to get here is another story, a roller coaster of twists and turns, a swing of emotions that, cruelly, saw wonderful news change to horrible news and then back again.
It began decades ago, when the water supply at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina was contaminated with industrial solvents, benzene and other cancer-causing chemicals. As far back as the 1950s.
The wells were shut down in 1985, but the damage apparently was done. Chemicals apparently remained and most likely affected Marines for years. Published reports years later said thousands of Marines died. There were birth defects. There were lawsuits.
Once the arduous legal process ran its course, the Veterans Association introduced the Caring for Camp Lejeune Families Act of 2012.
“Qualifying veterans,” it read, “can receive all their health care from the VA if they served on active duty at Camp Lejeune for at least 30 days between August 1, 1953 and December 31, 1987. For individuals with one of the 15 medical conditions presumed to be related to exposure, there is no charge for care.”
Then it got strange, because Fish served at Camp Lejeune in 1995, outside the window of time documented to receive those VA benefits. The water, reports said, was supposedly cleaned up by then.
Fish says the VA took a keen interest in him nevertheless, checking his prostate each year, starting when he was 35. He said no reason was ever given for the checkups. He had no family history of prostate cancer. He wasn’t close to 50.
“Why else would they have started testing me at 35?’ Fish wrote in an email. “Maybe (the water) wasn’t fully cleaned up. All I can say is there is talk about taking a closer look if those wells were in fact cleaned up by the mid-’90s.”
He took advantage of the opportunities. He knew nothing about the poisonous water that had filled so many canteens for so long.
“They acknowledged what they did, so maybe they thought they needed to check Marines who came like 10 years later,” Fish speculated. “They knew they had not eradicated the cancer by then.”
For the next nine years, Fish’s prostate was monitored. Eventually, his readings showed alarming numbers, spiking and dropping, but always indicating that prostate cancer was a real possibility. Fish thinks he had had it for years.
Then, that wild rollercoaster ride I mentioned above surfaced. “It was a rough year,” Fish said. He said “it gets worse” at least three times as he recounted his life in 2021.
He had a biopsy in March. Two weeks later, he learned he had prostate cancer. The good news was it had not spread to his lymph nodes. The bad news: It had spread to his hip.
Surgery was scheduled for April, to remove the prostate and see if the disease had spread further. Then, Fish got COVID, diagnosed one week before surgery. His breathing was okay, but he got really sick. He felt nauseous, weak. He couldn’t eat, nor sleep. He missed two weeks of work.
But wait. There’s more. His wife, Penny, was diagnosed with COVID, too. She was almost as sick as her husband. The kids tested positive as well, although they felt fine.
Bottom line: surgery was postponed one month, until May. His prostate was removed. The cancer had spread to his hip. Then more testing to see if it had gone elsewhere.
Meanwhile, Fish was given hormones and medication to attack the cancer in his hip.
Then, on the Friday before Labor Day Weekend, Fish got his results back. Not only had the cancer not spread from his hip, but it was shrinking, too.
“Are you telling me I’m on the road to remission?” Fish asked his doctor.
Yes. He was.
Fish drove home. He put on some Dave Matthews and sang his heart out. He looked at his wife in the kitchen. He had been freaking out in recent weeks and months, unsure what lay ahead. Penny had been preaching hope and optimism.
They said nothing at first. Then Penny said, “See, there is hope.”
“We had a great weekend,” Fish said.