Essay by Rex: November 2002

My eyes were beginning to blur while looking at a quarterly magazine in the waiting room. It said it was sent exclusively to purchasers of new Jaguar automobiles. Obviously, my doctor was either a lover of luxury cars or managed to get a cool mag by mistake. Advertisements were for Rolex watches and many other types of finery that good incomes could bring. Don't get me wrong, I was not envious of that sort of thing. I don't begrudge the doctor being rewarded for all the years he invested in his education. He is a soft spoken, kind and compassionate man. It just seemed a bit funny to have such a magazine placed in with tattered copies of People and Newsweek.
I was going to find out the results of all those tests I had been having since late August. Even before the surgery by Dr. Gray in September of this year, I knew already in my heart and head. It had come back. Or, never really left. But I had not had much trouble for almost 7 years.
Dr. Di removed some in 1990. Another doctor removed more in an office procedure after that. Then in 1995, Dr. Goodman had me under the knife twice within weeks when lab results got "ugly". It took months to recover physically from those last two. Financially, ...well, I had been torpedoed, amidships.
So, when the post surgery lab reports came back from Stanford recently, Dr. Yee, my primary care physician personally called me 6:40 PM on a Friday to say he was referring me to an Oncologist, "A really good one.", in Stockton. 50 minutes away. He said the Oncologist's office would call me on Monday morning to set up an appointment. Dr. Yee soberly said, "You HAVE to go."
So, here I was in the waiting room for the 3rd time, tests all done, waiting to hear just where I stood. Each of my visits here had impressed on me that I was no longer in the minor leagues of ailments. There were some really sick people in this room. Many were wearing hats or wigs to hide hairless heads. Some were in wheelchairs and no one seemed very energetic. Even the family members accompanying these cancer patients seemed tired. Weighted down from the burden this disease places upon everyone close to it.
As tired as I was, I felt as if I didn't belong here. If this were a scene from a bad martial arts movie with a plot more warped than usual, I could single-handedly take on all 20 to 30 people in the room, at once. Not like the carefully choreographed scenes where only one attacker approaches the good guy at a time. Heck, I was Hercules compared to anyone here.
When she walked in the front door to the waiting room at Dr. Medhi's Oncology Clinic, my first impression was of a very sick middle aged woman. Quite attractive in her day, I thought. Whispy, thinning blonde/gray colored hair, barely covering the sides of her head. On top was a knitted cap, haphazardly placed as if she had been involved in a snowball fight at a family trip to the snow. The big coat, sweat pants and fuzzy booties added to the look of someone trying to keep warm in inclement weather. That it was a sunny, warm, autumn day where short sleeve shirts and sunglasses were more the norm seemed completely lost to her. Darkness under her eyes and her fragile almost see-thru facial skin reminded me of looking at a marble statue. She had a clear plastic tube near her nose hooked around her ears. She was pulling a green oxygen bottle behind her on wheels. There seemed to be a defiant courage in her struggle to pull the small tank over to a seat. She was going to do everything for herself as long as she could. She was followed by another woman in her late 50's and a handsome, slightly overweight but robust man in his mid 30's wearing Levi's 501s and a golf shirt.
This trio's entrance caused me to lose interest in the magazine. The interaction between them as they sat, kept my attention. The man was very kind and attentive, the 50ish woman got a paper cup of water for the ill woman who appeared to have an almost unquenchable thirst. Then it hit me. The woman on oxygen wasn't middle-aged at all. More like, early to mid 30's. The man was her husband. The 50ish woman, was most likely there to help her own daughter who was, in my opinion, not long for this world. She still was beautiful, but the cancer was taking it's toll.
I didn't know if there were any, but I began to think of the possibility of their children being watched by a close friend or family member while Mommy went to the Dr. with Daddy and Grandma.
I couldn't help it, but as I sat watching this loving couple chat, my eyes watered up. A lump grew in my throat. I was looking at a married couple on a journey where they soon would part and go separate ways. One would journey into the unknown, the other left behind pondering life and it's meaning. Perhaps soon, he would have to explain to little curly haired, big eyed children that Mommy still loves them even though she's no longer there. My observation of the scene was one of those moments when you ask "why" and consider the eternities.
My name was called and I got up and went thru the door, following the nurse who three weeks earlier had raised and dashed my hopes to avoid a painful procedure called a bone marrow biopsy. That day, she was looking for something in all the cabinets of the room I was in. She said,"This may be your lucky day. I can't find the needles." Dr. Medhi told me it would be an unpleasant experience. For 3 weeks I considered showing up all 'liquored up' but what good would that do? The nurse said "Oh, here they are." and plunked down a big plastic package on the tray. I stared at the hardware she had just exposed. I asked her,"When do they stop calling them needles and start calling them PIPE?" I had daintier looking tools in my carpenter's tool box. He was right about it being unpleasant.
Dr. Medhi came in and asked me about whether I'd had one particular test. Yes. He called on the phone about something in the CT scan. He sat and said it was confirmed that I had Lymphoma. Fortunately, a low grade or slow growing type. Most likely could be kept under control with radiation and occasional surgery. I have some type of growth on one kidney and another lymph node in the neck which need attention. Treatment will be radiation every day for 4 weeks. A three month check up will see if there is any change. Chemotherapy will be saved for more aggressive treatment later, if necessary. He said if I had to get cancer, this was the type to have. We both smiled. I knew that many prayers were answered. Frankly, I asked for one blessing prior to the September surgery. I suggested to those administering it that I knew they had great faith, but please to not go overboard on what was said in the blessing itself. I was NOT interested in living to be 120 years old.
Heavenly Father has blessed the medical profession to know and understand that treatment of this ugly disease should be carefully measured and monitored. I am thinking of all those people in years past who were subjected to surgery, radiation and chemotherapy in doses where the proper amounts were unknown. Because of their suffering, and the good men who become doctors with a desire to heal and "do no harm" had to do just a little harm to fine tune their research.
I left the Clinic that day greatly relieved that although my future health concerns may not always be pleasant, most likely my condition will not shift gears into something faster. I drove back to Modesto and pulled into a KFC for a big Pepsi and a bucket of chicken to celebrate. Didn't have someone to immediately share my good news with in person but I also didn't have to face what that young couple was staring in the face either. I just hope they were able to smile with Dr. Medhi that day too. I sense that somehow their courage made them smile.