“Chas bought a bunch of Ensure a few weeks ago, and I swear they almost made me poop my pants.” We all laugh loudly. “I got two blocks from the house and had to turn around and come home. So disgusting.”
“You’ll get used to them. Try the vanilla one, on ice.”
“I’m gonna need a lot more than ice to keep that down. Though, I don’t mind the strawberry one.”
Bob says, “Try mixing the chocolate with strawberry.”
“Was it hard for you to put weight on while still eating healthy?”
“Of course,” he says.
“We’ve been reading this book about the correlation between nutrition and cancer. It seems utterly obvious but we keep reading it.”
“What’s it called?”
“Beating Cancer with Nutrition by Patrick Qumillan. It’s interesting.”
“I’m sure we have that book. We’ve tried everything.”
“Yeah?” You sounded surprised. “Us, too.”
“Rose even has me sleeping with a healing crystal at night and eating apple seeds for the poison.”
You looked at Bob funny.
“I don’t know,” he shakes his head and does the crazy circle with his index finger around his ear. “I’ll try it if it keeps her happy, but you just never know, this disease still might kill me.” The room goes quiet, as you and Bob look at each other with understanding only the two of you know. He repeats it, looking you directly in the eyes. “You might die from this. You just never know.”
It was the first time I heard the word, die. Maybe I heard it or read it before, but this was the first time I considered it. Death. I got up from the table to see if Rose needed help in the kitchen. I want to be a part of the understanding, what it means to be fighting for your life, but really, I don’t understand. Maybe this trip was a bad idea.
chapter thirty-six
how it ends
Monday, February 27
new school
how to beat cancer:
step 1. combine a generous portion of delicious lemon-pledge tasting super immune-building powder supplement with OJ.
step 2. enjoy!
a vanguard approach
in the multi-pronged attack of cancer therapy
is to drink something so putrid and disgusting
that the cancer cells
are fooled into thinking your body has started to decompose,
and they die on contact.
amazing.
i feel it working…
posted by Anthony Glass at 3:43 a.m.
…
Your mom came again with her whirlwind of ideas and solutions. We took notes and nodded and said yes to things to improve your health. I learned how to cook broccoli in the microwave and sweet potatoes. I loved her idea of spending the money to buy a new mattress. Surely that would help your backaches. And yes, I thought getting a second opinion after the next round of chemo was an excellent idea.
That was when she first mentioned a lawsuit. I now understand why she wanted to. Paying for the surgery up front was a lot of money, and what for? To have the cancer return? I honestly didn’t think filing a failure to diagnosis suit was such a bad idea.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, February 27, 11:42 a.m.
Subject: something familiar
woke up with the dawn this morning
(and a little bit of parrot screeching)
and felt very, very good.
rested, not sore, just good.
sat down with my mom for morning tea
and had a nice long talk about everything.
nutrition, of course, but also jay, you, me, work,
and how maybe we can all fit under this roof.
making breakfast now, amending the to-do list.
the french doors are wide open, and fresh cool air
is slowly breathing in while the rest of the world awakens.
sending you a familiar song.
thanks again for the movie last night,
little miss sunshine.
it was brilliant.
"How It Ends"
DeVotchKa
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, February 27, 11:42 a.m.
Subject: Re: something familiar
good song to start the day with.
last night was fun.
I am glad we watched the movie together,
as a family.
I’m curious to hear the details of
your morning conversation with mom,
her thoughts about nutrition,
about Jay,
about me,
about work.
I hope you guys have a wonderful day
filled with love and a new mattress. I can’t wait.
I have a somewhat slow day today,
so feel free to call or e-mail me often!
I missed you last night…
it feels much safer
lying next to you.
I was starting to understand your mother’s concerns and her ways to help. Okay, maybe my opinion turned after I found out she too thought it was the right idea to live together. And maybe I really liked her after you told me that she thinks I’m great. Who doesn’t like someone after they praise you? “I’ve always admired your mother. What? Don’t give me that look.”
…
You asked Jay. He said no, just like that. Not a single word more. You told him you needed me here, but I don’t think he understood the severity of it. I think he thought of me as a roadblock to your friendship. He might have even hated me. I was always around. Cooking in his kitchen, lounging on his couch, watching his TV. This was his house. You were his best friend. He didn’t want to share that with me.
There was another hurdle, too. It was time to tell my parents about our relationship, especially if we were considering living together. I told my mom first. She was easier to win over — as long as I am happy, my mom is happy. My dad, on the other hand, he’s a tough nut to crack. In high school I used to say that if I were dating Jesus, my dad would still find faults with him. He’d say, “I don’t trust the guy.”
I didn’t mention to either of them that you had cancer. Instead I told them about your parents, age, where you grew up. I e-mailed them pictures of us on the beach in Cambria, and the one of you and Gladys napping on the couch. I also didn’t mention the idea of us living together, not yet. My dad responded in his usual short, cold, all caps (as if he’s yelling) e-mail.
Another one of our self-photographed dates, and Anthony’s favorite photo of us.
Many afternoons looked just like this, Anthony napping on the couch with Gladys.
Like I said, a tough nut to crack, yet he still calls me darling:
HI DARLING DAUGHTER, THANX FOR THE PICTURES. THE GIRLS IN THE OFFICE THINK ANTHONY IS A HUNK. THEY ALSO THINK GLADYS IS CUTE. I LOVE YOU, DAD
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, March 1, 1:25 p.m.
Subject: rentals
just took a look at westside rentals
and almost got swallowed up by all the listings.
thinking about buying a membership
and seeing where these places actually are.
still need to talk to jay again.
it is easy to get excited about a new place.
a place with you…
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, March 1, 1:38 p.m.
Subject: Re: rentals
I wonder what jay will say this tim
e around.
I am not looking forward to moving,
but yet I’m sorta excited by the idea.
the good thing is,
we have plenty of time to look,
until we find the perfect place
for both of us, and gladys.
we’ll figure it out.
…
“Your back hurts again?” Shaking my head pityingly I said, “Maybe you should try taking a bath?”
“I can’t fit into the tub.”
“How do you know? When’s the last time you took a bath?” I tried to be good-natured about the suggestion. “I’m gonna run one and you’re getting in. End of conversation. I promise it’ll help.”
I ran the hot water with just a splash of cold. You settled into the tub, letting your body adjust to the slowly filling heat. I poured lavender bubble bath, added a little more than necessary so it felt playful and sudsy. You looked boyish as you splashed around arousing the bubbles. By the time I returned with a fluffy towel and washcloth the bathroom floor was soaking wet. You were climbing a mountain of lavender sparkles.
“Okay, you were right.” Your eyes shone brightly as I kissed the tip of your nose. “This feels amaaaazing.”
Your smile made me want to splash around with you. “If only the tub was big enough for two.” I sat on the floor, wet the washcloth and wiped your back.
“Ohhhh, that feels good.”
“Is this when I get to say, I told you so?” You wrinkled your nose, then blew a pile of suds flying towards me as I giggled.
“Do you believe in God?” you asked.
“What?” Dumbfounded by your frankness and at a loss on how to answer.
“I don’t know, just wondering.”
I took a deep breath. “Yes. I do. You?”
“No.”
“I can’t believe we’ve never had this conversation before. Really? You don’t believe in anything? Something bigger than all of this?” I displayed the bathroom cream tiled walls with a wave of my hand, palm facing up.
“Not at all. I believe you live and you die and that’s it.”
I was concentrating on what you were saying, waiting for something concrete to come out of your words. This was kind of profound for bathtub conversation. “And that’s it? Nothing more?”
“I can’t get my head around the idea of grand father figure, a higher power. Seems absurd.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. Maybe you need to feel Him instead of think Him. Maybe your head is in the way of your heart?”
You smiled, shrugged and paused. “I’m ready to have children.”
“Whoa, babe! Where did that come from?” The comment threw a sad switch in me. “Weren’t we just talking about God?”
“I was just thinking about the song, ‘He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,’” you sang and splashed. “I can see our daughter singing that. I can see her mother teaching her the melody and her singing it out loud, imitating her mother’s beautiful voice.”
Your lips curled and I saw heaven in the corner of your smile and I just wanted to find my way inside. Be in that vision with you, watching our daughter sing. I choked back tears. “I’m ready to have children whenever you are.”
Your eyes started to water. “Our daughter is absolutely beautiful, isn’t she?”
“She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” I whispered. “She’s got your smile.”
“I think we should name her Chanthony.” We both laughed as I wiped the tears from your cheeks and left a trail of soap suds.
“Uncle Zach would be so proud.” My breath was uneven, and I was trying not to have a complete meltdown.
“Maybe we should get through this round of chemo first.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Do you think the next treatment will be as bad? Do you think I’ll get sick again?”
I mumbled, “God, I hope not.”
“Promise me you will be okay without me. Promise me our family will be beautiful. That our children will know the words to ‘I’ve Got the Whole World…’” Just then your shoulders gave and you cried. You cried with your eyes, with your hands, feet, lips, ears, chest, you cried. And I cried right alongside you.
Afraid I might say the words wrong, I hesitated, took a deep breath, wiped the tears from your face with my pruney fingers and swallowed. “You can’t die, babe. Because I’m not done loving you.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, March 2, 6:08 p.m.
Subject: miss
jay was on the computer all morning,
cleaning up his pile of papers and getting himself together.
jane came over for lunch, and york showed up, too.
we biked down to the beach, had a great lunch,
and when we got back, Jay’s ex-girlfriend’s bike
was parked out back.
his door is ominously closed.
meaning i won’t get the chance to talk to him.
at least i can get on the computer and write.
doing laundry (separating all your frickin’ colors)
and getting ready to go to yoga. yeah, its been a good day.
although i feel like the lymph nodes in my shoulder
are bigger today than they were before,
although i’m probably getting neurotic.
miss you.
…
“I had this dream about you. You were shoveling snow.” The voice sifted through weak television speakers. “I… what?” replied Sarah Jessica Parker. “You were just a little girl in a flannel night gown, and you were shoveling snow from the walk in front of our house, and I was the snow. I was the snow. And everywhere it landed and everywhere it covered, you scooped me up with a big red shovel. You scoop me up.” My lips tightened at the actor’s earnest expressions, and my eyelids blinked at tears. I got up to get a glass of water. I don’t think you noticed as you stayed bundled in the Everest of blankets and pillows piled high on the couch.
I stood at the sink drinking my second glass of water. I wasn’t even thirsty but the act of drinking washed down my tears. I didn’t want to watch the movie, but I promised you it would be a night of snuggling. I jumped back under the afghan. You were thin. Your embrace felt bony.
Ten more minutes and the plot took a horrendous turn. If I had known that the mother would die of cancer, I wouldn’t have recommended it. Before I could suggest another movie, I felt you sobbing behind me. Your shoulders were shaking and tears streamed down your thinning face.
I didn’t know what to say or how to comfort you. Minutes passed.
“You are my big red shovel. You scoop me up.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They came pouring, splashing with each blink. After a few hard silent minutes you grabbed my cheeks with your wet hands, “You are my big red shovel.” I was looking up at you and nodding. “And I hate that I cannot be your big red shovel.”
The truth was heavy. I shook my head no.
“I’m not ready to lose you.” Your words filled the room.
chapter thirty-seven
orange sky
From: [email protected]
To: mother
To: stepfather
To: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, March 3, 11:51 a.m.
Subject: appointments
hey guys,
so here are my current appointments:
3/6
11:00 a.m.
USC dietician
3/7
9:00 a.m.
oncologist —
chemo
3/7
10:00 a.m.
acupuncturist cedars
3/11
10:30 a.m.
eye doctor
3/16
3:30 p.m.
USC oncologist (still on the fence)
3/17
1:45 p.m.
dentist
3/19 – 24
simonton clinic in mendicino (haven’t made plans yet)
the biggest question for me is the usc oncologist.
i was given a rate of $400 for the appointment,
$117 for the facility fee, and anywhere from $0 – 500
for additional doctors needed to look at slides or scans.
so i’m looking at $500 to $1000 to get in the door
and just sit down with this person and be told
that we’re doing everything right.
i could discuss the idea of testing the cancer cells
to find what treatment would be most effective.
seems like something they should already be doing.
i’ll bring it up with my oncologist on tuesday.
calling my medical group tomorrow to find out
if there are other oncologists within my network,
but i’m skeptical.
went to see the hong liu, the qi-going master on tuesday,
and despite the seemingly hocus pocus quality of it,
i certainly felt different when i left.
have qi exercises to do and new tea and ginseng supplement
to incorporate into my current batch of treatments.
so that’s it from here.
i hope colorado is treating you well,
with long runs and short lift lines.
be well.
even if i am. Page 18