Hold Me Closer Tiny Cancer (Part 7)

I soon fell into a routine of being taken to 38P sessions every three days at 4:30 pm sharp.  I assumed that since the drug was not very powerful, it would have to be administered more often than conventional chemotherapy.  Whatever the reason, the frequent treatments turned out to be a blessing.  Any break in the day-to-day monotony of life in the ward was a welcome diversion.

It was the morning after my fourth treatment.  I was lying in bed staring upward, looking for patterns in the ceiling tiles but finding none.  My view became obstructed by the smiling face of Jason the Christian orderly looking down at me saying it was time to get up.

"You guys juiced me yesterday," I said.

"That's not why I'm here," he said.  "You progressive counseling starts today.

"I don't want to talk to a counselor.  I want to talk to my wife."

"I believe that's what they have in mind."

He helped me up and we walked out of the ward.  I didn't ask him about the religious comic that was under my pillow.  I had overheard talk of even more attacks on hospitals and clinics recently and anyone on the staff who showed even the slightest religious leanings was no doubt under suspicion. 

I assumed he put it there but not because there was any evidence that he had.  I just wanted to believe he was responsible because I liked the guy and I appreciated the gesture.  There was some rebellion in it and I needed some rebellion in my life, more than anything.    

The comic itself was long gone by now, torn into unidentifiable pieces each disposed of discreetly by stuffing into a number of bedpan payloads.

"I can't believe I'm going to be able to talk to my wife," I said.

"If you had some faith, you'd be amazed what you are able to do," Jason said.

"That has never been my strong suit.  Faith I mean."

"That's not surprising.  It is in out nature to doubt and we do so until circumstances compel us to look beyond our suspicions."

I told him I would keep that in mind.  I made a mental note to put in a kind word for him when I talked to Heidi.  He deserved that.  For everyone else here, my words would be far less kind.

We arrived at a door with the sign "Progressive Counseling Room B."  Jason wished me a good day and left.

I opened the door hoping to find Heidi.  She wasn't in the room.  No one was.  All I could see was a table and a chair.  On top of the table were an envelope, letter stationery, and a pen.

"Welcome Richard," said a woman's voice coming from a speaker somewhere in the room.  "It is our understanding that you and your wife are very close."

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Dr. Nadine Carlson."

"Well Dr. Nadine Carlson, yes we are.  You are absolutely right."

Dr. Carlson then apologized that I had not had the chance to write my wife earlier.  She said that starting today, that situation would be remedied with an hour set aside from my busy schedule each week to correspond with Heidi.

"We have found that domestic stability gives a real boost to the progressive-counseling process," she added.

There were perhaps a dozen sheets of stationery on the table.  I would only need one.  I wrote:

My Dearest Heidi,

Get me the hell out of here.  I am being held prisoner and am subjected to some crazed Nazi medical experiment.  I'm not joking.  Bring the police if you have to, just...

"Richard," Dr. Carlson's voice interrupted.  "That is hardly appropriate.  This supposed to be a letter to your wife, not a paranoid screed to be posted on some conspiracy-theory message board."

I looked back over my shoulder.  There was a security camera on the ceiling, its red LED blinking in disapproval.

"What we are trying to accomplish here is to create an atmosphere of a shared positive experience and I feel you are being both uncooperative and selfish.   Think about what your wife must be going through."

I then heard another voice from the speaker.  This one was Heidi's.

"My life has been so hectic lately."

I was about to say something until I realized that this was a recording from Heidi's visit.  They must have had our meeting room bugged.  They probably listened in on all our phone conversations as well.

I relented and said I would try again.  I took another sheet of stationery from the stack and wrote a new letter.  I told Heidi how much better I was feeling every day.  I told her how my new accommodations allowed me to make a lot of new friends.  If a sentiment was positive enough to make me throw up in my mouth a little, it went into that letter.

I then put down the pen and leaned forward to where I thought my body would block the camera's view of the page.  With my fingernail, I scratched "HELP ME" so it was indented in the sheet of paper.

"What do you think now?" I asked after sitting back in my chair.

A few moments passed.

"Much better," Dr. Carlson said.  "You see?  That wasn't so hard.  Go ahead and put the letter in the envelope and we'll mail it for you."

Thank you, Dr. Nadine Carlson, I thought.  Thank you very much indeed.