This month we're publishing the third part of a journal by one of our ProtonPals. The Odyssey, Part 3
Two down, six more weeks to go. Monday was a skip date in observance of Martin Luther
King. We didn't find out that the Proton Center would be closed until we were half-way there. I thought it odd that we were the only passengers on the shuttle. The main campus was bereft of the usual hubbub of people and traffic. Duh! A quick recheck of my treatment schedule brought awakening that national holidays are excluded. So, instead of forty treatments over eight weeks, as I first assumed, it works out to 38, which I was told later, is S.O.P for all patients.
My wife left for home on Tuesday. Reluctantly! There is much anxiety about abandoning me to the ill-winds of misfortune. I reassure her. Certainly, unintended consequences can happen; but there is ample medical help nearby if needed, and, in spite of her many doubts, I am capable of cooking and caring for myself. In fact I prepared a nice dinner for myself last night -- salmon, rice, salad, dessert. (Does anyone have suggestions for removing splattered grease from the ceiling and walls? Nah, just kidding (but it might prove useful to know anyway)). She would've stayed if I had said. I'm sure the break away at home for awhile will do her good.
These past weeks have been stressful, what with getting settled at the apartment; navigating to my initial appointments on time; orienting ourselves to a maze of hallways and waiting rooms; coordinating with the shuttle for my daily trips to the treatment center; and just generally forging through the long grind of the day. We've had phone conversations since her arrival home, and I can tell from her voice she is becoming more relaxed and re-energized for the return trip a few weeks from now.
The misbegotten trip to the Proton Center on MLK day had a side benefit. Being alone on the bus gave us a chance to get to know our driver, Michael, a little better. I've made it a point to get chatty with the shuttle drivers in hope of receiving a favor now and then on promptly getting to and from my appointments. The drivers work a rotating shift. Michael drives Monday and Tuesday and generally has become more accommodating to my needs. The others are a work in progress, but are coming around.
Prior to Michael's two-a-day
jaunt with the shuttle, he worked in commercial real estate with a small
brokerage. As you might guess, Houston
has not escaped the recession much better than elsewhere. He was let
go. Ever resourceful, he tells us that the worst of the commercial real
estate market in Houston
is yet to unfold. Even so, on his own he has picked up a few clients
seeking space for commercial ventures. We sometimes overhear his
conversations with clients as he shuttles around. Right now, he tells us,
he's negotiating space for a restaurant and is arranging an appointment with an
architect. He's also working on a marketing deal with one of the patients
he met from Ft. Worth who wants to setup a website for landlords to list
apartments for lease. He would get a cut on the finder fee for each
completed deal between landlord and leaser.
The recession shock is in
evidence on our daily route. We see homeless standing on corners with
cardboard signs looking for a handout. We notice a foreclosure sign on a
major apartment complex. In the newspaper we read about a high rise
nearby that has recently filed for bankruptcy. And, another that filed
awhile ago. Michael tells us that the high rises in question are nearly
empty of residents, and the retail spaces are unfilled.
The recession has obviously
cut deep here, more than might be expected given the presumed impact the Medical Center
would have on the economy. But, there are other factors at work in Houston, the demise of
Enron, for one, and the overall decline in oil prices and refining. Like
so many other cities, residential and commercial property was overbuilt on
great expectations and easy money.
The Medical Center, Michael
tells us, was built originally on 760 acres donated by the M.D. Anderson family
years ago, and has since expanded well beyond that. He says there are 146
different medical entities involved in all facets of medical research,
education, and patient care. And it's not done yet as we see several
different major construction projects underway. For better perspective of
its enormity, take a peek at:
Read More About The Med Center I've written late into
the evening and the day has caught up with me. Tomorrow is another day.
Saturday, 10:00 a.m., CST: Another sleepless
night. Sleep has become a test of will . . . tossing and turning, hot and
cold, awake, asleep, until the rise of dawn when I'm not sure that I've slept
at all. Last week, in a more than realistic dream, I fought-off an
unknown adversary with fists flaying in the air. Some landed on her. Now we're both startled awake. She angered by the affront; me, barely aware of
the reason. I'm told to expect this as
potential side-effects of hormone and radiation therapy. I'm particularly affected by hot flashes at night, which I suspect is the
primary reason for my sleepiness as I cover and uncover the blanket between
episodes of hot and cold. I discuss the problem with Dr. Lee, my primary
physician, during my weekly "see." He advises that I take an herbal
remedy: "Black Cohosh."
I'm on the remedy for three
days now without material affect. On my next weekly "see" earlier this
week, I run into the nurse practitioner, Tay Li, who is my principal liaison
with doctors and staff at the Proton
Center. She gives
me a hug (she's that kind of sensitive, caring person). I tell her I'm
taking the herb, one capsule three times daily according to directions on the
label. "No, no," she says, in her cryptic Asian accent, "you take two or
three capsules, three times daily." She tells me she, too, takes the
herb. I learn that she has been on hormonal therapy for the past two
years, with three more to go to encounter breast cancer
that had been in remission, but is now re-emerging with tumors elsewhere. She remains optimistic.
We also talk of other side effects. She admonishes me to remain sexually active. "Use it or lose it," she tells me. "The wife will be glad to hear that," I tell her, uncertainly. Later, when I return to the apartment, I re-read the label on the herbal bottle: "Black Cohosh (Cimicifuga racemosa) is a traditional herb for woman with mild-estrogen like activity, helpful during menstruation and menopause." (Whoa, does anyone see a difference here?)
A notice is posted in the "gown" room that Dr. Lee will be unavailable this week for my "see" on Thursday. Dr. Nguyen will stand-in. I go to the nurse station on Wednesday for confirmation. I ask the nurse in attendance: "Am I supposed to see "Doctor Nah-Goy-un" on Thursday. "Who," she asks? I try again. "Oh, you mean N'geen." I'm reassured. On Thursday, I meet "Dr. N'geen" (another young, pretty woman). To be certain I have the correct pronunciation, I inquire again. She says it's: "Win, as in Wing." I'm wondering now how "Ngyuen" translates to "Win," but not wanting to divulge my stupidity, I let it pass. Later, I discover her full name is: "Quh-N Nguyen" and "Win" must obviously be her first name. I still don't know how to pronounce her last name.
There must be an Asian conspiracy afoot here: The roster reads as follows:
Drs. Eric L. Chang; Sejungtaek Choi; Andrew E. Lee; Anita Mahajan; Quh-N Nguhyen; and James Cox (how did he get in there?). Nurses and other staff: Tay Li; Lillian Mugo; Navtividad Rupita; Veronica Ramsey; and I'm sure I've just barely scratched the surface. Interesting isn't it?
Riding the shuttle each day gives me a wider perspective of the drama here that I think other members of the "gown" miss by having their own transportation. They go from residence to Proton Center, back and forth each day without other interaction. People of all interest come and go on the shuttle. The other day, we meet a young twenty something who is studying nursing. Her husband works here as a medical equipment technologist. They're from California. She talks about her dream one day to stay at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, but that must await the future as she completes her studies.
On another day, dreary and rainy, a young girl and her father step on the shuttle. Her head is covered with a hood to protect from the weather. She's pretty. Days later, she reappears. Her head is uncovered. She is bald, but in her way, pretty nevertheless.
Yesterday, the shuttle pauses as an SUV stops in front of the main cancer center and temporarily blocks our passage. A five tier decorative cake, iced white with blue trimming, is being placed delicately in the cargo area. A plush teddy bear, and other toys, dangle from each tier. I wonder: is it a cake to celebrate a child's completion of treatment, or is it in recognition of a birthday or similar event? There are many children treated here. I see them sometimes. They, too, show baldness or thinning hair. It's a sobering reminder of the insidious affect of cancer showing no boundaries.
The fellow that sits across from me on the shuttle tells me he's back for treatment for bone
cancer. He was diagnosed four years ago and told to wrap up his affairs. He was given six months to live. Fortunately for him, an experimental treatment worked. He went into
remission. But, it has now recurred. He tells me that he's back for several weeks of additional treatment involving bone marrow transplant. That will be followed by intravenous infusion of "killer cells." Radioactive isotopes will be attached to some of his blood corpuscles with capability seek out and destroy cancerous cells.
An older couple at our apartment complex waits with us for arrival of the shuttle. We introduce. They're Mr. and Mrs. Jack Renfro from Ft. Worth. He's back for follow up radiation after thyroid surgery some months ago. He's carrying small bags containing jars of salsa which he will gift to attending medical staff. He shows me one of the jars. I recognize it as "Mrs. Renfro," a brand that I have purchased many times at my local grocer. He tells me "Mrs. Renfro" is named for his mother. I'm impressed.
For a PDF version of Gene's entire story please go to the ProtonPals website.
