Hold Me Closer Tiny Cancer (Part 1)

It was a glorious time for chemotherapy.  President Obama had gathered enough support to reform health care on his terms without retreat or compromise.  A lot of people were not happy with this but armed with a decisive majority, the chief executive came to the realization that he didn't need to care what they thought.  About anything.  He showed little concern about appearing elitist when he admitted that he never much liked the taste of beer and even less about alienating the Christian right when he dismissed the Bible as "a load of crap."

It was in this heady beginning of universal health care when my doctor gave me my diagnosis and then handed me a bunch of brochures for cancer-treatment centers around the country.  I was assured that they all had excellent reputations in the medical community and all I needed to do was find one that was the most suitable and convenient for me.  I didn't have to worry about the expense.  Taxpayer dollars would take care of that.

When I got home, I broke the news to my wife Heidi.  She put her arms around me, kissed me, and said that we were going to beat this thing together.  We spent some time going over the brochures.

"This one seems nice," she said about a treatment center on Lobster Island, off the coast of Maine.

"It's three thousand miles away.  I'd never see you."

"Oh yes, there is that," she said.

"Here's one that's less than an hour's drive.  Let's go with that."

"OK."

"They even have an outpatient option.  I could continue living at home."

"That would make me primary caregiver," she said.  "Richard, you know I would do anything for you but think about it for a moment.

I had to admit that it was a pretty silly idea.  Anyone who wanted proof of Heidi's absent-mindedness needed to look no further than when she drove off with down the road with our infant son Tyler on the top of the car.  To be fair, it happened ten years ago and she felt terrible about it at the time. Tyler had since grown into a healthy young boy, quite big for his age actually.  You would never guess there ever was an accident except for a dent in his forehead and his lack of impulse control.


There was a four-story windowless building at the rear of the complex with "RCU" written in block letters along the side of it.  According to the brochure, this stood for "Resource Storage and Utilities" and held supplies, equipment, and backup generators that could provide electricity for the entire facility in case of power failure.

The rest of the center had plenty of windows and was far more inviting.  Most inpatient accommodations, including my own semiprivate room, faced south and were bathed in natural light throughout the day.  There was a rec room equipped with board games and a wide-screen television.  On some days, this area doubled as a showcase for patient talent shows organized by the center's activities director.  Those willing to take the stage were guaranteed a receptive audience as both attendance and applause were mandatory.

There was one design flaw in the facility that no one could have anticipated.  Almost all the buildings were connected.  The lone exception was where patients went for their chemo and radiation therapy.  This was a major selling point in the brochure.  The idea was if people had a physical break between these unpleasant treatments and the rest of their day, the fight against cancer would feel less daunting.

It was a short walk or wheelchair ride there along a concrete path that cut through the pristinely landscaped grounds.  There was an overhead canvas canopy to shield us from UV rays and the occasional rainfall.  Other than that, the path was open to the elements.  Given California's climate, this was a non-issue.  It was also open to any insult an angry mob felt like hurling at cancer patients.  Given the current political climate, this was a very big issue indeed.

The crowd that assembled on a daily basis was a cross section of America's right wing.  These included income-tax abolitionists who didn't want their hard-earned money spent on people they didn't know, religious fundamentalists who believed that the center was a covert abortion mill,  and those who were convinced that any increase in the role of government moved America one step closer to being just the Soviet Union, or worse, France.  The same venting of spleen that had gone on at town-hall meetings was now being aimed at health-care recipients themselves.  And it was getting worse.

I was scheduled for a chemo appointment later that afternoon.  Fortunately, it was Monos Borrachos policy to have a nurse accompany a patient on the way there and.  Even more fortunate was that the nurse who took me was named Manuel, stood over six feet, and weighed in excess of 200 pounds.  He was a much nicer guy than he looked so his mere presence was enough to persuade even the angriest protesters to keep their abuse both purely verbal and at a safe distance.

I usually dreaded the hours leading up to these appointments but was in much better spirits this time.  I had just spoken with Heidi on the phone.  I had been worried about her.  She must have been even more nervous about the cancer treatment than I was because after she dropped me off, she immediately went off to a bar.  She ended up drinking enough to get pulled over and charged with a DUI on the way home.  Since this was her second offense within a year, she had her license taken away immediately instead of getting to keep it until her court date.

Because of this she was not able to visit me in prison, which made me cherish our weekly phone conversations all the more.  I'd tell her about my hair loss and lack of appetite and then regret that I had.  Heidi loved the best that life could offer and I hated to say anything that might bring her down.  Fortunately for both of us, she had no problem changing the subject of a conversation to one that suited her and was willing to do so repeatedly when I wasn't taking the hint.

We spoke at length about Tyler, who always finding new ways to get into trouble at school.  This time he managed to get himself suspended.  While at a petting zoo on a field trip, Tyler punched a baby llama that had spat at him, knocking the animal cold.  I promised Heidi I would call the principal and convince that it was wrong to punish a child for acting in self-defense.

The best part about our talk was when Heidi announced that she would be coming to see me in person in just a few days.  Her tennis instructor Roger had graciously offered to drive her here.  He had been a true friend to her, going so far as screening her calls when she was in no mood to talk.  I remember phoning Heidi one night just after midnight.  It was outside our agreed weekly time slot but I just needed to hear her voice.  Even at that late hour, Roger was there to answer the phone.  There's a level of dedication you don't see enough of these days.

I couldn't keep the good news to myself and told my roommate and fellow patient Lester Chinn all about it.  Les and I had become buddies since I got to Monos Borrachos.  I truly admired the way, despite everything, he did his best to live each day as if he were in the best of health.

Les had mouth cancer and it had spread to the point where his lower jaw had to be surgically removed.  This would be a terrible blow to anyone (and especially painful if your name happened to be Les Chinn) but he refused to be cowed by misfortune.  Unable to speak, Les kept a pen and Post-it notes at the ready so he could communicate.

He was also a total flirt with the ladies.  Whenever a woman came into the room who he found attractive, and by my estimation this was all of them, he would write down a come-on line and hand the slip of paper to her.  Some of his messages were self-effacing and sweet ("Your smile is even prettier than mine") while others were coarser and more direct ("They didn't cut off my tongue, hint hint").

In response to my news abut Heidi's impending arrival, Les scribbled away and handed me a note.

"Conjugal visit?"

"You never know, Les," I said.