“I tried to read it. I can’t. It’s too raw and too sad. I’m sorry. I’d rather hear it from you — sort of a buffer of news.” Kaethy had become more of an older sister than a boss. You could feel it in her genuine concern and in her hugs. “I look forward to having him back at the office. I miss his smile. Everyone does.”
“Yeah, me too.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, November 29, 4:30 p.m.
Subject: plans
just got back
from sending off my disability application to the dr.
went to the grocery store to buy some wet ones and soft TP,
ended up buying a bunch of everything…
getting ready to make some eggs and hash browns
for lunch…
yum.
miss you,
looking forward to cuddling tonight.
I didn’t expect your body to go through cancer unchanged. I knew there would be physical scars, weight loss — all obvious changes I read about, but selfishly, I wanted you confident and aggressive. I wanted you sexy and always affectionate, the Anthony I knew you to be.
It was a challenge to stay physically connected. Not having sex didn’t make it any easier. It made you feel insecure. You joked, “What thirty-year-old is too sick for sex?” I never once thought that cancer would affect my sex life. That seems absurdly self-serving, but it was a topic of concern. I was reluctant to bring it up. Hey, it’s not like you brought it up, either, Anthony. I think we just both figured it would happen when it happened.
So, I stepped up my game. I needed to set the mood, set the stage. I lit a dozen candles. I cooked. Clearly I was up to something as I put on our favorite album, Ray Lamontange’s Trouble. I wanted to renew our connection with some romantic music, something flawless, something hypnotic. The music had you on your feet, and you gracefully grabbed my hand and slowly twirled me into an embrace. I don’t remember what song played. I can’t remember if I was singing or humming or swaying along with your body against mine. I don’t know if it was a sad song or one that made me want to turn up the volume as loud as it could go. There was music, though, and you were close enough to touch. That much I know.
“I miss feeling your body. I miss being close to you,” I said in the middle of the chorus, my face burrowed in your chest.
“I miss being inside you.” Your words tickled my neck. “Can you teach me again how you feel?”
I practically moaned.
You clutched my wrist, led me to the bedroom. Just breathe, I told myself. Breeeaaathe… I removed your clothes. Not fast. Not slow either. Then carefully slipped off my dress, letting it drop to the floor. Kissing the bare skin of your shoulder, you gently pushed me back onto the bed. I was speechless, arching to feel your body. I hesitated. I wondered if it was unhealthy if my body touched yours, your incision. I didn’t want to cause pain or discomfort or infection. I didn’t want to squish you or hurt you or rub too rough. You too hesitated, unsure of what move to make next, cautious of your bare skin touching my belly, your exposed scar laid carefully on top of me. Neither of us moved, afraid it might be injurious.
“If my senses fail, don’t be mad at me,” you whispered tenderly. “I just want to feel you again.”
My heart was temporarily suspended in the sentence as your fingers trailed from my brow around my cheek to my chin. We were completely connected, completely free.
“You feel perfect. Exactly as I remember.” My voice barely a whisper.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, November 30, 7:00 p.m.
Subject: feeling better
showered and dressed at your place,
decided to come home
and mail the doctor’s checks from home (don’t ask)
and i ate a couple bowls of cereal when i got here,
wrote the checks out and immediately felt like shit.
staggered to the post office
to send the envelopes out,
and then came home and passed out
for about four hours…
got up a little while ago,
feeling better,
still gross, but better,
and i’m getting my appetite back…
but what should i eat?
and that part of me that i was complaining about this morning
is still driving me fucking nuts!
It’s my upper left leg…
tingly pain… fuck!
sorry it took me so long to write,
but i hope you’re having a good day,
and not worrying about me too much…
it was a nice morning of cuddling,
and a good way to start a day
that just couldn’t quite keep up…
“Simply Beautiful”
Al Green
…
There’s no use in wondering why a bad day leads to a fight. You were discouraged and you didn’t want me to see that you were not improving anymore. You turned away, took the bad nights alone. You’d blow up over petty things, like whether I changed the toilet paper roll and how. I know your anger didn’t mean you no longer loved me. People are terrible to the ones they love sometimes. They’re mean for no reason at all. And for my part, I was mean. I yelled back.
“Change the goddamn roll yourself!”
I instantly regretted yelling, but it was already out of my mouth. Ours was not the worst relationship in the world. Other couples fight about stupid things, right? It’s just that we were all we had. We depended on each other, every moment of every day and we expected a lot. Worse, it was difficult to enjoy the moments in between the bickering and simply forget ourselves.
I kept trying to pick up the pieces, waiting for a hint of a spark of something outside of cancer.
“C’mon let’s go for a walk,” I said, pulling you off the couch.
“I am so fucking tired. I just want to go to bed.”
Regretting it before I even said it, “You know, I need you to rally for me, too. Not just for your family on the phone or your friends, but for me, too! Just give me something good, one goddamn good night, that isn’t about cancer and feeling like shit and being tired or crabby or any other excuse you can think of.”
You tuned out and said nothing.
…
Thursday, December 1
so, yesterday sucked.
ate two bowls of cereal in the morning,
and it completely knocked me into nasty.
felt all bad things while trying to function,
and finally surrendered to a four-hour nap.
(is four hours still considered a nap?)
i watched a movie, and spent the rest of the day
in a grouchy, vegetative state.
yeeeesh.
needless to say,
i’m planning out my diet today
with a little more discretion.
i know there will be more bad days,
that they’re part of the process:
expecting anything else is naive.
but in recovery you get used to progress,
accustomed to improvement,
so much so that when you take a step back
it feels like it’s so much farther than it is.
this morning,
showered.
rested.
a long list of things to do,
things that will get done
instead of slept on.
people to call back.
out of minutes on my phone, but fuck it…
make today as good
as yesterday was bad.
It’s all part of the process.
posted by Anthony Glass at 8:17 a.m.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, December 1, 12:05 p.m.
Subject: this morning
made my list of things,
showered.
clean.
wrote a new entry in my blog,
planning on writing more later for myself.
nothing inspires a good day
more than a bad one.
it seems you have the bad shift again…
coming to see me at night,
after the day has taken its toll on me,
and i have nothing left to offer
except sad, confused stories from the day
and an exhausted head in your lap.
that sucks.
"Details of the War"
Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah
“I just want to see you happy again,” I told your voicemail. “We all just want to see you happy again — your family, your friends, your girlfriend, Gladys… That’s all I was trying to do. I’ll call you later tonight when I get home. I miss you.”
chapter thirty-one
song for a sleeping girl
You spent a great deal of time drafting an appeal letter to Blue Cross. I didn’t understand why it was so time consuming. It wasn’t until you asked your parents and me to proofread it that I understood the burden.
From: [email protected]
To: mother
To: stepfather
To: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, December 2, 3:03 p.m.
Subject: appeal letter
Dear Blue Cross Person:
My name is Anthony Glass. I am 30 years old, and in August I was diagnosed with advanced stage 3 rectal cancer.
It was finally the answer to questions I had been asking, complaints I had been giving to a variety of physicians, for over five years. My symptoms had been disregarded by my doctors, and consequently, disregarded by me. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that taught me that my health is my responsibility. When I was referred to a general surgeon to perform my coloanal anastamosis, a surgeon who was not board-certified in colorectal surgery, I felt it was my responsibility to find a specialist.
Dr. Beart, the chief of colo-rectal surgery at the USC Norris Cancer Hospital is one of the leading specialists in the country. He is a board-certified colorectal surgeon, and treats cases like mine on a regular basis. However, my referral to him was denied by my medical group.
Unfortunately, this was no surprise. When I was first diagnosed, I asked to be referred to a nutritionist so that I could modify my diet to suit my condition, and help prepare me for the rigors of chemo/radiation therapy, as well as surgery. The referral was denied. Although I don’t understand the logic behind denying a cancer patient a meeting with a nutritionist, I accepted the decision. However, a surgeon is another matter.
I am writing to appeal the decision to deny Dr. Beart as my surgeon, and ask for Blue Cross to assume the responsibility it owes to me in providing me with the kind of care my health requires.
Thank you for your consideration,
Anthony Glass
— Forwarded Message to [email protected]
From: stepfather
To: mother
To: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Saturday, December 3, 5:21 a.m.
Subject: Re: appeal letter
Hi, Anth. I have a few editorial comments on your Blue Cross appeal, below. It was easier to rewrite it than to change your version, which was a good take-off point. It will seem to the medical director that you may have had help in writing this. That is not a bad thing, as he will see that you are backed up and well advised, and he may even worry a little about adverse publicity or malpractice action. He is well enough paid that a little worry is part of his job description.
I hope your recovery continues, and each day is better than the last. It is encouraging that you are eating real food and doing a little work from home. Whatever is going well can of course be attributed to the excellent nursing care given to you by Chas.
We think of you often and you are always in our prayers.
Love,
Dad
To: Medical Director
Subject: Appeal of disallowed out-of-plan services
I, Anthony Glass (age 30) have been diagnosed with Colorectal adenocarcinoma, stage 3.
I believe that I have not been well served by my health plan and have been forced into getting out-of-plan care for which I have personally paid $36,550, which I can ill afford. My previous request for coverage was denied, and I could not wait, in the face of advancing cancer, for prolonged wrangling with Blue Cross.
Failure to diagnose: I have had bowel dysfunction for over five years and have made repeated visits to my plan physicians, only to be reassured that it was nothing to worry about: this, despite diarrhea and blood in the stools for many months. Finally, at my insistence, a colonoscopy revealed cancer and imaging studies showed multiple lymph node involvement. A program of local irradiation with chemotherapy adjunct, then surgery, and then chemotherapy, was recommended and commenced.
Disallowed services: I had significant problems with diarrhea and was facing radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy. Therefore I requested consultation with a nutritionist to avoid making my condition worse by wrong food selection and to build myself up for this ordeal. It was disallowed.
More significant, I was referred to a general surgeon for this major colorectal cancer surgery. In getting a second opinion, I became aware that colorectal cancer surgery is a boarded surgical subspecialty, and that USC has a center designed for this purpose which handles a large number of such cases. I requested authorization to have my surgery there and it was disallowed.
The surgery has been performed, and involved dissection about the rectum at the pelvic brim, removal of a segment of colon and regional lymph nodes, primary re-anastomosis, and extensive dissection in removing a large, tumor-containing node which lay just under the left kidney and rested on the aorta and renal vein. My surgeon was Dr. Beart, chief of colorectal surgery at the USC Norris Cancer Hospital. I feel I had the benefit of state-of-the-art surgical care. However, I was required to personally pay $36,550 up front, out of pocket, to avoid having my surgery cancelled. It seems that Blue Cross was toying with my life and my future by only allowing a general surgeon in a non-cancer center for this specialized procedure.
Request: Accordingly, I request that my out-of-pocket expenses for the surgery be allowed and reimbursed by my Blue Cross plan, and that I be covered for surgical follow-up with Dr. Beart and his group.
Thank you for your sympathetic consideration.
Anthony Glass
“I read your stepfather’s letter. It’s concise, I’ll give it that.”
“Yeah. It’s rather formal sounding, but if he thinks it’s what we should send to my health insurance…” Your voice was hoarse over the phone. “Oh, I got a call from the hospital, checking in. I couldn’t think of anything bad to report, so I told the doctor I was doing fine.”
“Did you mention your tingling leg?” This was the only symptom I could think of, even though there were a dozen more.
“No, it hasn’t been bothering me.”
“Well, that’s good…” My tone deflated.
“Sooo?”
“Yeah?”
“I bought a Baja guidebook at the promenade today and am geeking out thinking about all the different ways we can spend Christmas together? What do think? Christmas in Mexico?” I could feel your excitement through the phone. You were eager to share a spark of something good.
“I thou
ght you’d never ask.” I said through a smile.
“I’m waiting for Zach to call me back, I get the feeling he wants to hang out tonight. Maybe you should come over anyway, and I can show you the book while we all watch the football game? Yes? Maybe? One big happy family? Football and Baja?”
“As long as you cuddle with me and not Zach.”
…
Monday, December 5
this is what it’s like to be at home sick
the days go by infinitely faster.
it’s frickin’ monday again? really?
puritanical work ethic = guilt
whenever someone calls, i feel compelled to give them detailed accounts of what i’ve done with my time, and the things i have accomplished, even if its utterly asinine “…and then i changed from my walking shoes, to my house shoes… mmm, comfy they are!”
what have i done?
secretly, i thought this recovery period could be recalled in later years by scholars as “anthony’s most prolific creative period, a time from which his genius was truly unleashed…” rather than a time in which he watched movies and took walks and short naps.
man becomes dog.
i feel myself coming to understand the relationship dogs have with the mailman: when you’re least expecting it, all of a sudden, there’s someone AT YOUR DOOR! i can see his shadow, the lid on my mailbox slams, and then he’s gone! such an invasion of privacy, i almost barked this morning. just take my netflix and go!
i have become one of them.
there was always a mystery to the masses of people i would see mulling about when everyone else was working (and no, i’m not just talking about the homeless). i mean the cult of people who hang out at the coffee bean on an idle tuesday afternoon, the small mass of hipsters shuffling along abbott kinney boulevard, seeming to have no destination or time frame. they can’t all be actors, can they? walking on the promenade early this afternoon, i looked into a storefront window, and in the reflection (gasp!) saw that i had become one of them.
do you think they all have cancer too?
posted by Anthony Glass at 6:18 p.m.
…
I was half awake for a good chunk of the night, enduring that in-between state of confusion and wakefulness and fatigue. So, I just lay in bed trying to sleep, thinking of us in Mexico. I played it out like a daydream, making it up as it went along: lying on a deserted beach, salt water shedding our winter skin.
even if i am. Page 13