The best way to view a morning commute into Boston is as a sterling opportunity to listen to music. Since I was driving alone, I had full control over the playlist and VOLUME. Yeah, it’s a pleasure to drown out all the road noise. I left the house at 7:30 am with an empty stomach (clear liquids only before the scan) figuring I had built in an extra half hour for my appointment time of 9:30 am. Forty-five miles, two hours, no problem, right? Ah, Boston, sweet city of art and culture, perceived liberal base of the USA, most noted for its virulent drivers and random cow path roads. On the way in, I listened to Dan Bern’s new live release Live In Los Angeles which our son Dan alerted me to yesterday. It’s a ninety-minute show, similar to the show Dan & I saw him play at Club Passim on the same tour (except the Passim show was on the anniversary of John Lennon’s death and Dan Bern did a fitting tribute – anyone tape that?), but not long enough for my ride. So I segued into JJ Grey & Mofro’s Orange Blossoms, a release highly recommended by Papa Ray. Over the past forty years, I have never been disappointed by Papa Ray’s recommendations and today was no different. As I locked into the teeth of Boston’s urban mayhem, JJ Grey’s hard driving vocals cut my way through cursing criss-crossing drivers. Papa Ray says Grey is the best white rock vocalist from the South since Greg Allman. I wasn’t disappointed.
I made it to the Dana Farber garage at 9:20 am, parked and hustled to L2 and the nuclear medicine department. Made it just in time. Got registered and the CT/PET Scan tech called me in. We went to a “quiet room” and I was given an IV injection of nuclear material and rested for forty minutes. I was able to finish my Jess Walter book and start Christopher Moore’s new one Bite Me: A Love Story (if you haven’t discovered Moore, grab a copy of A Dirty Job, Fluke, or Lamb – he’s twisted in all the best ways.) Then we moved to the scan room. The CT/PET Scan is similar to an MRI only much quieter. Down the tube, in and out as it adjusts, and then it takes a series of digital images from just above the nose to the top of the thighs. I lightly napped for the half hour. The tech came in and said all done.
It was about 11:45 am. I called my sister-in-law Lynne who was with our family friend Fran at Brigham & Women’s Hospital. Fran was in for some diagnostic tests for a likely malignant growth. We agreed to meet up after I had a quick lunch (well, breakfast.) After a trip to the Dana Farber cafeteria, which confirmed that my taste buds are still out to lunch, I walked over to Brigham & Women’s. Fran & Lynne were in the same wing where I had my mask built. We sat and caught up on family news and talked about cancer. Fran dealt with the disease seven years ago and has been in remission. We shared war stories and talked about our positive experiences at the Longwood Medical Campus. A conversation between two people who have been in or are in cancer treatment is a special sharing. It’s not possible to understand the experience unless you live it. It goes beyond the physical and mental effects. The impact on family is paramount in the patient’s thoughts. Chemo, radiation, and surgery are difficult and painful as is the understanding that permanent changes are part of the cure. But it is more difficult to watch the effect on family members. As a caretaker or observer, one is powerless; there are many things that one can do – drive to and keep company during treatments, keep the refrigerator full, be there with love and support – but there is a boundary that only the cancer patient can cross. As I go through treatment, I am still powerless, but I am actively doing something. There is pain and discomfort involved, but there is a plan and I can mark off benchmarks. Today, I can say I have finished my three intensive chemo cycles and anticipate radiation as the next step. It’s no fun experiencing the treatment, but at least there is the feeling of actively seeking the cure.
After her tests, Fran got good news. She has a node that is contained. It will be removed by surgery and followed up with radiation and maybe light chemo. To the non-patient, this treatment sounds harsh; to the patient it is a relief. I went through a range of emotions during my diagnosis. The first surgeon I saw offered a poor prognosis and said that the cause of the tumor was unknown. The team at Dana Farber identified the cause as a virus, offered an excellent prognosis, and a treatment plan that may have once sounded horrific, but put in perspective seemed like a gift.
My ride home was much easier, under an hour’s drive. I finished the JJ Grey album, and moved into the Angus & Julia Stone CD Jeff & Nancy gave me. I fed the dogs early, then collapsed on the couch and slept for a couple of hours.
Tomorrow Ann & I are headed to Chatham on Cape Cod for a mini-vacation through Sunday. We need a break but Ann I think even more than I. See above. Our friend Charlene is coming to dog sit. Lacey Dog is very excited because she & Charlene share a love of long walks. Rudy will nap. I will likely check in via the blog during our break, but briefly. I will stay off email. It is vacation!
Thanks everyone for your support and comfort. You make my days brighter. Knowing you are here with your love makes each treatment gentler. You are wonderful and appreciated!
Love…
Richard
Listening to music and actively seeking the cure: It seems like this is what I do every day with stings and electricity. Your cure and your malady are specific. Mine are vague. But, you inspire me to keep on listening and actively seeking.
ReplyDeleteI hope you have a wonderful vacation, a real vacation this time, not a hospital vacation. I imagine Ann, barefooted, the wind lifting her hair just a little. I imagine her carefree in moments, defying gravity. And I imagine you there with her listening with all of your senses. You are both so lucky to have each other.
You are a marvel.