Even if I Am
Page 16
How did I find the bracelets? I Googled “fuck cancer.”
— Forwarded Message to chasityrae@gmail.com
From: mother
To: anthonyglass@gmail.com
Sent: Monday, February 20, 6:00 p.m.
Subject: Treatment
I spoke with our chief oncologist here at my hospital. He said you are on track with your new treatment! Go for it! I’ll be thinking about you, especially tomorrow.
— Forwarded Message to chasityrae@gmail.com
From: anthonyglass@gmail.com
To: mother
Sent: Tuesday, February 21, 11:47 a.m.
Subject: Re: Treatment
chas and i are both reading
“beating cancer with nutrition” by patrick quillin,
and getting a lot out of it in terms of what i eat
and need to eat.
it’s been fascinating.
went to see a holistic doctor yesterday
and had a good experience
discussing supplements that i can take to help boost
my immune system both in fighting the cancer
and against the side effects of the chemo. a good resource.
went to a chiropractor in the afternoon,
and he felt more like a salesman than anything else.
we laughed about it on the way home.
today of course, is the new chemo.
chas and i are on our way out the door now.
i will see when the next appointment is,
it might make sense to come out the following weekend
instead of next weekend in order to be here for that.
i’ll let you know how today unfolds.
be well.
love,
a.
“I hate tubes.”
“Me, too,” I confirmed.
“I hate Dr. Apathy.”
“Me, too.” I snuggled into the crook of your arm, the one not receiving chemo and turning your veins black. I continued my distraction by reading the high-glossed pamphlet Dr. Apathy handed us before walking out. It was more like a magazine: “Coping with Advanced Cancer.” I read that chemo kills fast-growing cells, which are often cancer cells. That’s its purpose. However, your body has other fast-growing cells that are also affected — in your hair, the lining of your mouth, and digestive tract — stupid pamphlet. I skimmed to the last paragraphs. A living will lets people know what kind of medical care patients want if they are unable to speak for themselves. A will? Are you kidding me? “You don’t need to read this. It’s stuff we already know. Fuck cancer.” I threw the pamphlet on Dr. Apathy’s cluttered desk.
I thought we went through treatment smoothly, even the follow-up chemo went well. You kept active, ate healthful food, and spent time cuddling me, laughing with friends, phoning family. So what if you had a backache or two — whatever. We were on the final countdown. I even sang loudly, it’s the final countdown da na na naaaa, da na na na naaaa. The song always made you roll your eyes, but laugh.
Yet, here we were again, not counting down the last rounds but hoping for a miracle. This bullshit swollen lymph node appeared on your left shoulder and neck, ready to fight back. I didn’t know what this new chemo cocktail meant. When Dr. Apathy handed you his wastepaper basket “just in case,” what did that mean? Just in case what? We sat, passing time, helpless to do anything but wait, staring at the wastepaper basket.
We made it home, even ate a bit of lunch. But then it happened, the “just in case” he was talking about. First a spell of dizziness. You should have told me you were carsick on the drive home; you seemed so chatty. I handed you two puke pills, but alas, too late. You couldn’t take a sip of fluid without vomiting. I was mad — at what, I don’t even know. I handed you two more puke pills, as you hugged the toilet. I thought it might help to run a cold washcloth under the faucet. I placed it on the bend of your neck. You didn’t thank me, but it seemed to help.
I never told you, but I saw it. I saw it in your movements. The embarkment. The self-defeat. I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there on the edge of the tub. Speechless.
Once the nausea started, it was hard to stop. You had me worried and angry that it was never going to pass. Such a strange combination of feelings. After hours of coughing up anything and everything, your stomach settled enough for you to lie down and take a nap. I thanked God.
“Don’t tell my mother. I don’t want her to worry.”
“I won’t.” I wanted to, but I never did. Instead I waited to see if things got worse. I lay with you in bed and rubbed your head in my lap.
“Mm, that feels sooo good.”
The next few days weren’t as miserable. At least you were able to keep some food down. The nastiest side effect was serious constipation. You kept taking a natural laxative, which worked occasionally. You often overdosed, and then resorted to plain old-fashioned charmers like milk of magnesia and Imodium for diarrhea. The ebb and flow of digestion was either runny or rocks. But I will say, even though the side effects sucked, it was something we could manage. Something we could focus on. Surely this time the chemo would work. It had to.
Wednesday, February 22
for fuck’s sake
this blog began shortly after i started fighting cancer,
as a place to inform family and friends,
as a rug where i could sweep up my mess,
and an outlet, as i fought.
and so, although i should be calling people on the phone,
and really talking and explaining the news,
this seems like a better place for it:
do you remember what page we were on?
let’s see, we had the diagnosis, covered the chemo/radiation,
got through the surgery,
and were dancing through post-surgical chemo,
on our way to candy mutherfucking mountain? right?
detour.
a few weeks ago i started feeling some swelling
in the lymph nodes
on my left side, between my neck and shoulder.
weird. called my oncologist: “don’t worry.”
e-mailed my surgeon: “wait and see.”
continued with my chemo, returned to see my oncologist
a few weeks later for a standard blood test.
took another look at my neck,
and sent me for a needle biopsy:
cancer cells.
fuck.
underwent a series of scans to see where it was,
and discovered that my cancer has returned,
with a fucking chip on its shoulder.
the cells are highly differentiated,
which means it’s a much more aggressive type
than what i was initially diagnosed with.
it has metastasized to my lungs,
and obviously, localized lymph nodes.
fuck.
so here we are. stage 4.
wait a second, how did this happen?
how did we get here all of a sudden?
feels like just a minute ago my biggest concerns
were what to eat for dinner and having clean underwear.
now i’m fighting for my fucking life?
fucking serious?
you know how in every medical drama,
the surgeon comes out of the operating room,
rips the mask off his face, and with a sigh of relief
tells the family, “he’s gonna make it. he’s a fighter.”
i always wondered if i was that guy,
laid out on the table, what would happen?
would i have the fight?
“uh… sorry folks, he just ate it. seems he was a big pussy.”
no. this is my fight:
started a new kind of chemo yesterday,
hopefully with better results.
reading literature about cancer nutrition,
fascinating stuff. eating right.
yoga every other day. building the mind–bo
dy connection.
started an entire regimen
of immune system building supplements.
(one of them is a powder drink,
and i’ll fucking gag if i have to describe it.)
meditation and positive visualization. fruity, but i’ll try it.
walks. bike rides. stupid movies.
laughter.
love.
silver linings are lame, but here’s mine:
it’s been less than a week since this latest chapter unfolded,
but the quality and quantity of love,
of help, and of support i have felt in that time
is something i will never forget.
truly.
i am blessed.
(aw, crap, getting schmaltzy… quit it.)
point is.
this cancer has come back aggressive. nasty.
it hits hard, and so i’m hitting it back. in the balls.
the IV of chemo pumps into my veins,
and thousands of little laser-wielding spacemen
are swimming in my blood, zapping the fucking cancer cells.
i take a bite of broccoli (and all its anti-cancer nutrients)
and i imagine i’m biting cancer in the fucking face.
bending into some impossible yoga pose,
i’m sweating cancer out of my fucking body.
fuck cancer.
leave it to my creative director to give me perspective:
“this cancer is a burglar, he’s in your fucking home,
and he wants to kill you. what are you going to do about it?”
I’m going to kick its fucking ass.
posted by Anthony Glass at 7:43 a.m.
chapter thirty-five
don’t die before your day
I was too rattled to absorb exactly what it meant. It was a new stage in our relationship, Stage 4. My phone started ringing, the first call of many.
“Hi, it’s Julie. How are you doing?” Her voice sounding shaky, but sweet.
Truth was, I was feeling sorry for myself, lonely and empty. “I am good, crazy-busy juggling, but things are good. How are you?” It was easier to be positive.
“We’re okay. I read Anthony’s blog and I know he and York talked so we are pretty much up to date on the situation. I just wanted to see how YOU are holding up and if there is anything I can do to help. Anything at all?”
The feelings came in waves quite strong and sudden. I swallowed my breathing and my rising heart and tried to become one of those slightly more together types. I lied. “It’s definitely been a tough week for all of us, but considering the news, I think I am holding up pretty well.”
When people started calling, asking if they could help, there was no right or wrong way to feel or react, but still, something compelled me to try to be hopeful. “Anthony is unbelievably strong and his spirit always amazes me. Not to mention we are surrounded by friends like you, making this situation a much easier one. Thank you for reaching out, and thinking of me… it means a lot to both of us.”
…
Paperwork piled to the point of tipping, as I thumbed for the folder I needed, titled The Devil Wears Prada. Emily handed me a stack of messages and appointments written on scraps of paper. This is the moment I knew I was in over my head. There were far too many scraps to sort through. Scraps of scraps. Handwriting I could barely read.
“Sorry,” she said, her tone sounding a bit like my grandmother’s after I spilled milk on her carpet.
Life has a way of being absolutely ridiculous. I was working on a movie staring Meryl Streep. I’d been waiting for this day, proving myself capable of such a high-profile project. Even if I felt I was walking backwards, or spinning circles, I could do this. I could drive this project. It would be brilliant. I started drafting a to-do list. I needed to pack clothes, grab Gladys’s food bowls, what else, what else, pay electric bill. I hadn’t visited my own home since we got the news. It wasn’t your fault — I made the choice to stay with you, babe. Yet, I couldn’t remember the last time I slept in my own bed. I’d been warned that the natural response of most caregivers was to put their lives aside. That they tend to focus on the person with cancer. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t about to surrender and give up on work.
I asked you for cancer cheat sheets. Tacked them to my bulletin board whenever I needed a reminder for the next appointment. Planned my days around chemo, interviewing filmmakers, cat scans, director screenings, biopsies and edits. There would be days missed, but my boss understood the circumstance and helped. How lucky were we to have Kaethy? She was a blessing. She found people to cover my off days. She organized and guided me in the direction I needed to go next. Work was my escape from the pressures of home. I felt like a criminal for having the outlet. Maybe there wasn’t enough of me to go around, but I would certainly try. I honestly thought I could tackle if not solve all of our problems by myself. I could take care of the two of us.
From: anthonyglass@gmail.com
To: chasityrae@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 12:52 p.m.
Subject: cheat sheet
halfway through the to-do list,
but still need to call kaethy
and work out all that work stuff.
just talked to york, as the word has spread from the blog.
he is concerned, wants to help, but doesn’t know what to do.
i told him to keep being himself,
that we should try to get together
for a bike ride sunday afternoon, or at the very least talk.
gladys is sitting next to me
on a giant sunbeam coming in the back door…
i give her two minutes before she passes out.
blazing through my morning.
feeling good.
here’s the cheat sheet. let me know if you need anything else.
CHEAT SHEET:
DATES:
july: diagnosed stage 3 colorectal cancer (adenocarcinoma)
august: began daily radiation treatments with chemo (xeloda)
november: surgery (coloanal anastamosis)
january: began post surgical chemo — oxaplatinum iv every three weeks, xeloda, two pills twice a day
february: restaging of cancer. stage 4. began new chemo: avastin and cpt-11
blood type: unknown
wbc count 2/21: 3.6
SUPPLEMENTS:
wholly immune: 1 scoop twice a day after meals
immune support longevity pack: twice a day after meals
vascuzyme: three pills twice a day on an empty stomach
ip-6: one pill twice a day on empty stomach
From: chasityrae@gmail.com
To: anthonyglass@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 12:52 p.m.
Subject: Re: cheat sheet
please include what they removed during surgery.
how many lymph nodes?
maybe call the doctor to get your blood type
and I think you are missing a supplement? ellastic acid?
otherwise looks good! thank you.
glad to hear you are blazing through the morning.
I feel like I just got here.
I am busy. have a producer’s meeting now.
will you send me your new favorite theme song?
the one you played for me yesterday?
I miss the shit out of you!
From: anthonyglass@gmail.com
To: chasityrae@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 4:00 p.m.
Subject: Re: cheat sheet
miss the fucking hell out of you.
call me when you go to lunch.
“Don’t Die Before Your Day”
The Arrogants
— Forwarded Message to chasityrae@gmail.com
From: anthonyglass@gmail.com
To: mother
To: stepfather
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 4:19 p.m.
Subject: the latest
hey guy
s,
wanted to write and give you the latest.
the chemo went fine on tuesday,
feel a little nausea today, but nothing serious.
adjusting to the new supplements, and the new diet.
quite a change to the system, but a good change.
still exploring all options.
on march 2 i will be meeting with the chinese
qi-gong master who’s book i read: the healing art of qi-gong.
it sounds fruity, but it should be an interesting session.
researching the simonton cancer center.
there’s a session in mid-march chas and i may go to.
creative has been amazing with everything going on,
and i have yet to work out the details, but i am told by chas
that they are planning on keeping me on the payroll.
wow.
chas went into work today,
so gladys and i are hanging out, going for walks,
and barking at dogs that walk by the house…
well, i do most of the barking, i guess,
but things feel good, i feel good,
and hopefully i will be good.
love,
a.
P.S. I attached some photos of us on Valentine’s Day.
Anthony and me wearing our matching red jumpsuits on Valentine’s Day.
— Forwarded Message to chasityrae@gmail.com
From: stepfather
To: mother
To: anthonyglass@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, February 23, 5:46 p.m.
Subject: Re: the latest
Hi, Anth. Thanks for your cheerful note. I have talked to our senior oncologist, and he thinks your new regimen is excellent. As a backup regimen, if it is possible to be loved into recovery, you are well on the way and the outcome is assured. Gladys alone could probably achieve it, but all of us are pouring out the prayers, loving thoughts, and holding you closely in our arms. It is impossible for me to think of Chas in any other way than as a precious member of our family.