in other news it seems that chas and i may get the house we’ve been pining over. at first it seemed as if gladys might be the deal-breaker, they had just redone their hardwood floors and didn’t want a dog living in the house. after explaining gladys’s demeanor, and taking full responsibility for her, and pushing and pushing, they seem to have come around. should get the final word today. if so, we’ll be able to move in may 1st, just in time for our visitors.
talk soon.
— Forwarded Message to [email protected]
From: mother
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, March 28, 2:45 p.m.
Subject: Re: layer status
When you talk to the lawyers, are you asking for coverage of your surgery? Or are you stating your case regarding failure to diagnose?
Holding my breath about the house!
From: stepfather
To: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, March 29, 6:50 a.m.
Subject: Re: lawyer status
Now that I have had a night’s sleep, here’s further response to your last e-mail. There are two types of actions that may be getting confused. One is to sue the health plan for costs they should properly pay and have denied. That requires that all regular appeals have been exhausted, and is for the amount of the denied benefits, plus costs. Lawyers make a fee but not a bundle on these, and usually do not take the case on contingency.
The other is to claim malpractice for failure to diagnose. Both the primary physician and the health plan can be named. The amount can be huge (five million). Lawyers typically take these on contingency. They pay all the costs, but if the suit wins, they get a third of the award (a bundle). They don’t win them all, but the ones they win make them rich. Records can be obtained by subpoena, and expert witnesses will be required to testify about failure to achieve the standard of medical care. If the defendants are scared, they may settle without a trial. If the lawyer doesn’t think the case is strong, he/she generally won’t take it. If there is a trial, it is usually with a jury, which is often sympathetic if the patient can show significant injury. A particular doctor needs to be named as having been guilty of the malpractice.
Sorry I didn’t lay all this out before. It is so familiar to physicians that it is like explaining how to walk. Good luck. Let me know if you have further questions.
You continue in our thoughts and prayers every day. Right now I am particularly hoping about the house.
Love,
Dad
From: [email protected]
To: mother
To: stepfather
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, March 29, 3:06 p.m.
Subject: Re: lawyer status
okay, hold on.
first, i am not comfortable filing a million-dollar malpractice
lawsuit for a variety of reasons. do we have a case? maybe.
is it where we should be putting our efforts right now? no.
i’ve got enough on my plate
without adding something that big to it.
in addition to having a distaste for law,
being ignorant of its relation to medicine,
it seems like one huge ball of stress and anxiety
that i would like to avoid.
my priority is getting the money back
that we spent on the surgery
and hospital visit.
this is where i need help.
if there is a place to put your energy,
help me by picking up this torch,
and finding the type of lawyer
who will take that type of case.
i love you both.
talk soon.
…
The air was damp and gray and dreary, June gloom in April. It’s tough to stay cheerful in gloomy weather. The Cruiser didn’t want to start, too cold out, but the engine finally turned. We didn’t say much as a song played on the radio and we merged onto the freeway. Sometimes moments of silence get heavy, for no reason at all. Especially under the circumstances, and on our way to hear the latest test results.
I cast a look over at you, at your thousand-yard stare over the steering wheel. “Hey, babe, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it might be time to ask for help?”
“Yeah?”
“Putting a big legal battle on top of everything else feels like too much for me.”
“It’s a lot…”
“I feel like my doctors should shoulder some blame, but I don’t feel like launching a million-dollar suit against them.” You continued thinking out loud. “Is this where I should be putting my energy right now? I want Blue Cross to help pay the money we’ve spent out of pocket for the surgery, but adding ‘talk to lawyers’ to my to-do list sucks. Adding it when I don’t even understand what I’m talking about sucks even more and feels like a waste of effort.”
Little voices in my head were telling me this was a task for your parents. You knew it, too. They should be calling the lawyers — they were the ones wanting to file the suit, after all. I didn’t understand why you had to call them, as if you weren’t already fighting for your life.
…
Wednesday, April 5
news
listen.
it was a cold and rainy tuesday morning when chas and i
set out across town to see my oncologist, to get the news
from my latest CT scan, and see how this bullshit cancer
was responding to the latest chemo i had started.
the weather wasn’t helping our nerves.
does good news come on dreary days like this?
apparently not.
it wasn’t good news, and yet it wasn’t terrible news.
the cancer is still spreading in my lungs. a little.
i will stop taking the avastin, go to USC immediately,
and discuss some new options
with their oncology department.
it wasn’t altogether a surprise. the lymph nodes in my neck
are still swollen, and have become my own informal way of
determining if the treatments i am taking are working or not.
very much looking forward to the day when these fuckers
go away.
so here we go again.
setback. regroup. attack.
break down. pick up. breathe.
it’s the morning after now, and thankfully, the sun is out.
my list of things to do is long.
it’s time to get started.
posted by Anthony Glass at 7:24 a.m.
chapter thirty-nine
vein of stars
From: stepfather
To: mother
To: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, April 7, 2:16 p.m.
Subject: Next Week
Your mother and I will be coming for your oncology visit Thursday at 2:00 p.m. and to share a little time with you. We arrive at LAX on Southwest Airlines, at noon on Thursday, and depart at 12:25 p.m. on Saturday. We are eager to see you. Let us know if these arrangements will work.
Much love to you both.
Dad
I couldn’t keep up with the changes and progressions and now more visits and appointments. It was all happening so fast. I was counting sleepless nights, trying not to think of dead things and lawyers and a spreading disease. I often thought of meatloaf and mayo. I know, weird. But my Mom makes the best meatloaf, and who doesn’t love mayo?
Babe, we spent that night fighting and now I can’t even remember what we fought about. I’m sure it had something to do with canc
er and the never ending what-if’s. The fight wasn’t you and it wasn’t me. But, I remember both of us tossing and turning, angry in bed. I remember falling asleep with you still talking to me, saying you weren’t afraid to die. I didn’t want to hear it, I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep through the night, all through my life, though I couldn’t fall into it. I had dead things on my mind. Like fallen leaves and wilted flowers and patches of dead grass and the sound of a dead phone and dead ends and dead air and deadlines and road kill. The minute I thought I was past it, it started again. Meat loaf and mayo. Meatloaf and mayo. I wanted to wake you, I wanted to hear you laugh. I don’t think I ever loved you more than when you laughed.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, April 10, 11:52 a.m.
Subject: yuck
where do i start?
stayed up late because i wasn’t tired,
took my supplements somewhere therein,
and proceeded to sleep like crap.
obviously supplements before bed is a big no-no.
all those pills in my stomach, it’s no wonder
my body is freaking out trying to digest it all.
no shit, right?
slept reasonably well from 5 a.m. to 8 a.m.
that was nice. jay just took off, leaving his
dishes in the sink, of course, and me shaking my head.
so curious to see how he pollutes his new place.
perhaps he will keep it all immaculate. right.
sending a song i listened to last night.
most of the songs on this album are pretty weird,
but this one stood out as special. enjoy.
getting ready to eat some food, shower and cut my hair.
when i walked out of my bedroom this morning,
i looked to the french doors like i always do
to exchange “good morning” looks with gladys
and was surprised that she wasn’t here.
me without my two ladies.
hope you have an amazing morning.
i’m a little jealous of the fact you get to be at work.
i miss being there. my office. editing.
fuck.
need to get that going again…
in good time… first things first…
miss you.
"Vein of Stars"
The Flaming Lips
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, April 10, 12:37 p.m.
Subject: Re: yuck
being at work is weird yet comfortable.
the coffee is as thick as I remember,
the toilet paper is as(s) scratchy,
the people have familiar faces…
it’s like going back to your hometown.
I am already knee-deep in
“hellos” and updates.
I wish I was there.
or you were here.
did we get the house???
sorry you didn’t sleep well.
it took me a while to fall asleep, too.
maybe it’s time we look into a sleep aid for you?
ok, I’d best get to it. people keep stopping by.
I’ll talk to you later
I miss you more…
…
“I can’t wait to get into the house, get settled, get things the way we want and live. It’s going to be beautiful. You should see the backyard!” Your stepfather was in the passenger seat, and you were gushing nonstop about our new home, smiling at me and your mother in the rearview mirror.
Jose Gonzales performed live on KCRW. His lyrics lingered in the pit of my stomach as his guitar tugged at my heartstring. The music intertwined itself in our complaints of the doctor’s demeanor during the first opinion earlier that day.
“He didn’t even look over your records before our visit, and then gave us such dismal news…” We all agreed the doctor had absolutely no bedside manners and was a complete ass. He was an easy person to hate.
On our way to a second opinion, we were somewhat giddy. I think it was the idea of moving in together and imagining our new home. We sneaked in grins and rearview-mirror kisses. Jose was now singing “Crosses.” Don’t you know that I’ll be around to guide you. Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you. You had one hand on the steering wheel, the other reached behind the driver’s seat to hold mine. I tightened my grasp in yours. I watched the city pass, and the cars and the conversation pass — we’d been here before. Catch some light and you’ll be all right, for now.
God, it was strange, watching you peel away clothes, settling into a sterile exam table like a specimen under florescent lighting. The room was crammed and crowded. Your parents and I stuffed ourselves in the cornered chairs, merely watching you undress. It was uncomfortable, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I subjected you to an endless pep talk as I tied the back of your gown. It made me feel capable, gave me a purpose. Even in my pep talk I couldn’t help but snicker at the stupidity of the whole thing. Wondering why we were even here. What could this doctor say or do that the others didn’t already try? Two opinions in a day. Did we really need more bad news? Your parents kept discussing the first doctor’s suggestions of clinical trials and possibly another surgery. I didn’t know what a clinical trial was, so I asked. He was agreeable and informed me that clinical trials were studies of new and innovative treatments for cancer. I liked the idea of options. And, that’s when she walked into the room. Taline, the nurse practitioner, turned with the word hello then closed the office door behind her. We all greeted her in unison, “Good afternoon.” She smiled at our response, her wrinkles curled before her lips. She in a white lab coat, with eyes that sparkled and glittered, she was beautiful. You rubbed your hands together to ease the shake. I noticed. I was sort of jealous, but you looked too cute and shy to tease.
The room’s energy shifted as she asked general health questions. You were chatty and flirty, your parents beaming. All of us crowding the tiny exam room. It now seemed bigger with her in it. She had that way about her. She made us feel lighter and thoughtful, we concentrated on her every word. We were impressed with her thorough review of your surgery and treatment. She found discrepancies in the notes and formed opinions about previous treatment regimens. Things we needed to hear to confirm our perspectives of previously crappy care. She checked your blood pressure, heartbeat, temperature, made notes then asked to see the swollen lymph node. It had grown from the size of a pea to a tomato in only three weeks’ time. You could see it when she moved your gown to the side; you no longer had to feel for it.
“When did it get so big?” Your mother whispered to me.
With a blink of an eye Dr. Heinz Lenz came in, much like that of the animated Tasmanian Devil. In a flurry of wind and handshakes he introduced himself. He went right up to you. Grabbed your knees and looked you directly in the eyes. Close. A close talker. You shifted, awkwardly inching back.
“Let’s do this. Let’s beat this cancer,” he said.
He had all of us on our feet, cheering. Your stepfather beaming with relief.
…
Friday, April 14
it gets better
enough bad news.
it’s time for some good.
granted, it has to be looked at carefully,
like those weird images they used to sell on campus,
where if you stare at it long enough, or from the right angle
you see a hidden image of the space shuttle or something…
right.
so here it is: superman is alive.
he is living and breathing and living in los angeles.
admittedly, he does come in the odd pac
kage
of an overly excited,
relatively short, middle-aged german oncologist
at USC’s norris cancer treatment center.
his name is dr. heinz lenz, and he is my hero.
going into the appointment, i felt a sense of dread.
i was ready to be underwhelmed by someone like “apathy,”
and given some half-hearted experimental trial
with a shrug of the shoulders and a pat on the back.
instead, i was given hope.
and it was a welcome change.
he was intense.
he was passionate.
he was almost impossible to keep up with,
and i think he’s completely fucking nuts.
i’m in.
i go back to USC next week for some tests
and will begin treatments shortly thereafter.
superman, let’s fly.
posted by Anthony Glass at 11:22 p.m.
chapter forty
theme song from the x-files
Most of my co-patient routine involved hospital reception areas. Blood Draw was the worst wait. Small and crammed, with a window and a woman peering through, staring, kinda like the nurse’s station in high school. I use to skip class faking sick and lie on the cot until the period was over. I figured that’s what you did after the nurse called your name and you’d disappear behind a door. Jealous you got to skip third-period Blood Draw.
I read one of the dozen brochures lined against the reception wall. Today’s glossy choice: Loving Someone with Advanced Cancer. A brochure condensed into a fifteen-minute skim-through. You appeared just as I turned the last page. You had a cotton ball taped to your arm and a piece of paper complete with numbers and markers and counts that only Superman could decode.
Sipping the last sludgy inch of the hospital coffee gave me the kick I needed as we headed to the Outpatient Clinic and the last stop of our day. This part of the building wasn’t much different from the rest. It still had the uniform gray-, green-, and tan-striped carpet, same rows of chairs covered in patterned cloth. The same plants and lamps and smell of Purell mixed with piss, bleach and sickness, creating the usual hospital odor that stuck to your clothes and in your hair. Yet, this side of the hospital was slightly different. It was open. There were couches that matched the chairs. Gossip magazines and trades, news, sports, even novels to read. Meals were eaten in these chairs. I snacked on vending machine treats. The lobby was large and triangle shaped. The tip was the hallway to Superman and his staff. One side of the triangle was a window overlooking construction of a new cancer research center. There was fresh coffee and tea in another corner, and a flat screen featuring daytime television in the other. We’d spend hours in this room waiting, or at least what felt like hours. We’d sit. And sit. And sit. I’d read first chapters or finish books. I’d stretch out on the couch, head in your lap and nap. We’d take turns napping. The lobby could easily seat fifty. In the lobby, women snuggled close to their spouses for comfort, children played on the floor as mother and father talked seriously. A girl about twenty seemed to have the same routine we did, sat in her wheelchair, nodding a hello for the third time that day. Whole stories played out on the faces of each patient, family member, and friend. I wanted to hear their stories, but I kept to myself. You did, too.
even if i am. Page 20