“It might be a good idea,” I said, and shrugged, “You know . . . it’ll just remind us who has command of the aircraft.”
Patrick sat thinking for a moment. And then seemed to make up his mind, nodding firmly, “Okay. I’ll call you Captain . . .” and then added with an impish grin, “But only if you call me Daddy.”
I laughed. How could I not be charmed? I did my best to call him “Daddy” when I was in the left seat thereafter.
But it pointed out something—for all Patrick’s generosity and openheartedness, he liked to be first. And in case you haven’t noticed, he could be competitive. What else can you say about a man who would take on cancer as if it were some mere mortal enemy that he could defeat by sheer will and intention? My calling him “Daddy” was a cute joke, but it couldn’t help but point out the contradictions he embodied. He would be the first to brag about me in every area of my life, how talented, how smart, how beautiful I was, and he included flying, always saying with pride, “I created a monster when I talked Lisa into flying. Now she drops me off when I’m working.” And, “Women make better pilots because they don’t make decisions from their crotches!” But when push comes to shove, he really liked to be the Captain.
Much of the time it looked like I was the one whose will prevailed. That I got “my way.” But on a closer look, I could see that Patrick always got his way. The scoreboard gets a little fuzzy here. If you really analyzed it, it would be difficult to figure out where one of us left off and the other began. Who really is flying this plane? I guess that tradeoff made us unusual and perfect complements. Balanced us.
Patrick was like the perfect “bad boy.” Charming, unpredictable, exciting, and sometimes unreliable. Now, most women I know have devastating experiences when they get involved with bad boys. Bad boys cheat, treat them badly, leave and don’t call . . . not Patrick. He could drive me crazy and that’s what bad boys do, but he could also be faithful, commit fully, and love fiercely without question for over thirty-four years. He was like a wild bird who let himself be tamed but somehow always remained wild. Or, appropriate for his Leo astrology sign, like a lion, big and dangerous, yet relaxed and cuddly as he lies there, surveying his kingdom. His kingdom. Him as the center of the world.
And I was his queen. His “Bad-Ass Goddess,” as he liked to call me.
—
EVEN THOUGH Patrick wasn’t afraid to fight for certain projects, he didn’t like to push too hard for someone else. He was down to earth and I’m sure he worried about people thinking he was throwing his weight around and using nepotism. Also, I think he secretly wanted me all to himself, so that I would be watching and paying attention only to him. Actually it wasn’t all that much of a secret, as other people noted this. And I don’t blame him for that. There were shows I did that I would have given anything for Patrick to be there watching behind camera. It’s incredibly valuable to have someone there whose eye and opinion you trust, because not everyone is looking out for you, and in some cases, no one is. It’s also great to have that person there to steer you in the right direction when you’re going off track. And you know that person is not selling you down the river for some personal gain, that his intentions are pure.
There was a moment when Patrick started to slide back in his conviction in helping me get the job on The Beast. It was becoming clear that he might have to use some muscle in the situation and pull out his “star card,” and he started to look uncomfortable. Seeing this, I started to back off, too. And then I thought about it . . .
It was late one night, and I walked out into the living room where he was tapping away on his computer. “If you think about every project where there was a possibility that I could be involved,” I started, “I don’t think it worked out because we never hung in there and went the distance. We always backed off. And in each of these projects . . . if you really think about it . . . if I had gotten the job, it would have been at least as good a choice, if not better in some cases.” I was able to name every instance, and in every case, what I was saying made sense. “So . . . why did we let them decide? As if they knew something we didn’t?”
Patrick nodded. He got it. Funny, but . . . the only person I hadn’t sold the idea to yet was Patrick.
And a few weeks later, I had the episode.
—
ROY, THE writers, the crew, and I were elated that I was going to direct what would be the last show we would shoot. There was only one person who didn’t seem thrilled. Oddly enough, the moment I was actually confirmed to do the episode, Patrick suddenly ceased being so generous! I couldn’t believe it! In his eyes it was like I had gone off to the other side, the enemy team. I think he was having one of his “oops, now I really have to call Lisa the Captain and I’m not sure I like it” moments. But it was to prove to be only a momentary reaction. Patrick was a different man now. He abandoned his first little knee-jerk reaction and stepped to my side. And he would show what a stand-up man he was in the weeks to come.
Now it was time to pull out the backup plan I had been holding in my back pocket. I called Donny . . .
“Donny, is there any way you can come to Chicago for the last two weeks of shooting and walk the dogs for me, track Patrick’s medications, get him to appointments, and make sure he gets up, and . . .” I went on with the list.
“Uhmm, sure. I’m not doing anything right now. Sure, I’ll come,” he said. “How soon do you need me there?” Later he confided that it took all he had not to say, “I thought you’d never call!” He had been in agony sitting at home in California not really knowing what was going on and not being able to help. He was actually grateful that I called; it was a godsend for him. And his coming to help me out certainly was a godsend for me!
Thank God for Donny and for his being such a good brother to Patrick. Even with Donny’s help, Patrick’s illness weighed on me, and it was a lot to ask of myself to direct this episode under the stressful and emotional burden I was carrying. There was a moment I worried that I had bitten off more than I could chew. That I might not have that much energy. At some point, everyone hits a wall. But I gauged that mine was still a ways off. And I was already committed. I was going to direct.
After his last scans and in the weeks leading up to the episode, Patrick had started to feel bad, bad enough that it was making it much more difficult to work. And though there were times that everyone had to wait on the set for him, sometimes up to four hours before he felt good enough to shoot, he still got the work done, and he never missed a day.
Of course he was tired. Everyone was tired and beat up from the hard schedule they’d been on for almost five months. But the abdominal discomfort had amplified. So much so that it was hard for him to get going in the morning and he never wanted to stray too far from a toilet. He described it as intense cramping, or the feeling of having a crippling kind of gas, sometimes sending him to the bathroom floor until the waves passed. We scrambled to do everything we could to relieve his discomfort. Still he refused to take pain medication unless he was finishing working and he’d have plenty of time to get it out of his system before reporting back to the set the next day. He was going to do this the hard way! I know it was tough on him, and he knew it, too, but not taking pain medication was still the choice he wanted to make. But his increasing pain was concerning.
I felt like I was on hyper alert—I had a full plate with the upcoming episode, and still I wanted to monitor and gauge how he was feeling in case . . . in case of anything. I asked him if he still felt up to work these last weeks. And though he wasn’t feeling well, he grinned.
“Absolutely.”
But I was grateful that there were only a couple of weeks left in the schedule. He only needed to hang in there a little longer, and he would have completed shooting the whole show. A phenomenal feat to have finished shooting an entire series’ season.
So, we pushed on to the end. And it was even more special because we were working the last show together.
—
/> I KISSED the doggies good-bye and left them in Donny’s capable hands, and I was launched into the wonderful, thrilling, and extremely challenging experience of directing a TV episode. I had done as much as I could to prepare, I had a wonderfully strong script, I had my locations, etc., etc. But prepare as one might, there are still many unknown factors until you get on the set. Things happen, the schedule can change . . . But I love that. You have to be fluid. You have to think on your feet. And television in particular is like tearing down a mountain in a downhill ski race. You have to come up with creative solutions quickly. I knew the schedule was fast, but I didn’t know it was that fast. I had worked quickly before when I did a low-budget feature. But this . . . this was faster! And that made it very challenging.
I loved the show and what they were doing with it. Of course I was determined to do the best job possible.
Hard as the show was to shoot, I had additional pressure that none of the other directors had to deal with, and it wasn’t just worrying about Patrick—it was people watching me closely. In the South we call it “bird-dogging.” When I was sitting behind camera there were at least four people sitting behind me! And then on another day, I had five more people added to that for my behind-camera audience. These were A&E Network folk, who came on set to observe. And then, Barbara Walters’s crew showed up to get some footage of Patrick and me working so they’d have it to use in an interview scheduled for next month. It was very difficult to be a pheasant under glass like that, but I wanted the job, and if that was going to make everybody comfortable, then so be it.
The support from the crew, the actors, and everyone was fabulous. It was a great group and there were so many people who really cared that I was doing this. And Michael, the original director and the show’s consultant, was there to act as my mentor at any moment I needed him. After I completed shooting my first scene, I could swear I saw him almost get a little teary-eyed and puff up proudly. Little did he know just how much this meant to me.
After a couple of days, the seats behind me became emptier and emptier. I guess everyone figured they had better things to do than to watch me all day. As entertaining as I might be.
We were getting into late November, and the temperatures at night were starting to get very cold. During one long night shooting a fight scene, it was eighteen degrees, and we started having snow flurries. But I had my Canadian Snow Goose down jacket from Manitoba, my super gloves, high-tech long underwear, and LL Bean headwear. I was bundled up, ready to take the cold, and having fun.
I worked hard and loved the whole experience. What surprised me most was how much I loved the “boy” story. The Beast was very much a macho kind of show with lots of fights, intrigue, criminal acts, and aggressive male behavior. And I loved it! Where that came from, I don’t know. Later, when I mentioned how much I liked shooting this macho action stuff to my choreographer friend, Doug, he ventured, “Uhm, do you think that’s because you’re a strong woman? And you can pretty much kick ass yourself?” I laughed. I never think of myself that way. I always think people see me as this very feminine, delicate sort of individual. And I feel that way a lot of the time. I guess it’s good to have friends who remind me otherwise!
I’d always wanted to do the style of shooting that we did in The Beast, that kind of docudrama, fast-cut, urban-grit style. And once I was off and running, I quickly understood how it all worked. Also, shooting the fight scenes was tremendous fun. Patrick was always excited to shoot a fight scene no matter what movie he was doing. He’d always try to get me to come watch, and I’d try to find something else to do because I found them incredibly boring. And now suddenly, I realized that the reason I was bored was that I wasn’t the one doing them. Because now, shooting them, it was like heaven. I could shoot fight scenes all day long! It’s like dance choreography. It’s like getting to punch a pillow over and over. And no one gets hurt! It has all these emotions you do your best to avoid in the cold light of day. After my first fight scene I went straight to Patrick. “Now I understand why you love it so much!”
Patrick pulled out his best for me. I know he wasn’t feeling well, but he made sure he was there when I needed him. And it took monumental effort for him to do so. He knew the schedule was tough for me, and he walked onto the set to work at times when I knew he would have been better off in the trailer. I know it was hard for him, and I know he was doing it for me. But like I said, he was a different man now, and he was going to be there for me every step of the way. And I needed him to know what he had done for me.
My hopes had been raised in a way they hadn’t for so long. The future had looked so bleak for some time now. Working on this project reminded me of what I loved to do. It had been so . . . positive for me.
We were back at the apartment, and when I found the right moment, I turned to him, and it was hard not to be emotional. “I just have to tell you how much this has meant to me. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a future, and it’s something that I thought I’d never feel again.”
Tears had filled my eyes and now brimmed over and rolled down my cheeks.
He stood still and looked at me. He didn’t say anything . . . he didn’t need to. He just smiled. And I saw that he had concern for me . . . He knew the future that I was afraid of. And he was afraid for me, too. If there was any way, any way at all he could change it, he would. I knew he loved me . . . and for those last two weeks in Chicago, it was his pleasure that I was his Captain.
—
WE HIT our last weekend and were able to catch our breath for a couple of days. I still had one day left to shoot on my episode, one that would be the hardest of all. And not just because of schedule.
On Sunday, November 23, we had an appointment at Northwestern Hospital, and Patrick had another set of scans done. The always-dreaded scans. We sat in the small dark room with Mary Mulcahy, studying the results together. The number of spots on his liver had increased. And the mass on his pancreas had grown. It was very clear now that the treatment he was receiving was no longer working.
—
WITH EVERYTHING we had on our agenda, our brains had been going in what felt like hyperspeed. When we got the news that the cancer was growing, it landed with a dull thud right in the middle of everything. I looked at the scans, and though I saw the spread of the disease, my mind had to peer at the screen, focus closely, to understand what it really meant. I looked at Patrick, and his face was a mirror of everything that I was feeling. Fear crept in, but it was like it was some foreign body that had suddenly insinuated itself into our lives. Keep thinking, Lisa. Just keep thinking . . .
Quickly, we made plans to change his treatment, nodding at Mary’s suggestion of a new drug. And before I went to the set for my last day of shooting, I picked up Patrick’s new medication at the pharmacy—Xeloda. It seemed strange to me that you could just pick up what we hoped to be Patrick’s life-saving drug at the local pharmacy. Like you pick up aspirin or ibuprofen. The chemo was in pill form and could be started immediately. When we got back to California, it would be perfect timing for him to start the heavier Oxaliplatin, another intravenous drug that would be taken in conjunction with the Xeloda.
My final shooting day was hard and took a lot of concentration after having just gotten this information the day before. And of course, we didn’t share what we had found with anyone, lest some kind of leak happen. Still, there was a wonderful sense of completion when the day was done. The series had officially wrapped, and there were smiles of celebration. The next day was scheduled for additional shots that were needed for various other episodes (and one for my own). That next night, Patrick and I were standing out on the street with two of the writers, Vincent and Bill, talking about the shots that were coming up next. We were just about to launch into deep discussion when Patrick put his hand up.
“Listen . . .” he said and took a deep breath, “before we go any further, I just gotta say. I can’t believe I just made it through this whole thing.”
He had gotten through it. And it had been an amazing thing. Not only for everyone involved with the production, but for people who were grappling with their own tough illnesses. We had started hearing of people who had renewed hope from watching him—“Patrick Swayze has the same thing as I do and he’s still here.” Even Mary Mulcahy at Northwestern Hospital shared with us, “I can’t tell you how many people you’ve inspired. I have patients that are hanging in there more than ever and living their lives, and you know why? They say, ‘Well, Patrick’s doing it.’”
As if this was all the reason they needed to keep going.
What a gift.
—
STRAIGHT FROM directing the show, I spent the next two days packing up the apartment before we moved back to LA. The last few weeks had been exhausting, and still there was so much to do before we had to leave. Packing up a five-room apartment felt like a Herculean effort for me. But I committed myself to doing it. I’ll rest when I’m back in LA. It had been so busy, still was, and there was hardly any time to think about this change of direction in Patrick’s health. But inside I was fully aware. And while I was all alone in the apartment and sitting in the middle of packed and unpacked boxes, I stopped and wrote this:
Sometimes I feel like such a little girl
A little girl that is on the verge of being lost
That Buddy will let go of my hand and leave me.
I am so strong
I feel the blood in my body
course through me
Like a tidal wave
a force of nature
I can bend steel
with my bare hands
& bend spoons with my mind
But I do not know how I will survive
Without him
’Cause when you turn on the light
Worth Fighting For: Love, Loss, and Moving Forward Page 13