by James Ross
“What they’re willing to pay won’t even cover my cost for the medicine,” Dr. Lincke informed him.
“And we’re just finding out about that?” Curt asked.
“All it means is that you’ll have to go down a floor and get the drugs administered to you through the hospital. They can do more with the benefits than I can,” Dr. Lincke proposed. “From now on, you’ll check in with me, I’ll okay the medicine, and you’ll go to the hospital facility.”
“This is a fine way to start things off,” Curt stated skeptically.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I already called them and reserved you a chair,” Dr. Lincke assured him. “Go back up front and tell the girls where I’m sending you.”
Curt nodded, took the forms and paperwork from Dr. Lincke, and headed back to the front desk. “Here are all the instructions from the doctor,” Curt said as he handed the paperwork over to the receptionist.
She looked over the forms. “But we don’t have you scheduled today.”
“That can’t be right,” Curt pleaded. “It was all arranged through Barbara three days ago and Dr. Lincke just told me that he reserved a chair for me.”
“Let me call her and see what’s going on,” the receptionist said as she picked up the phone.
Within a couple of minutes, Dr. Lincke’s nurse, Barbara, walked up to the desk. She was an attractive, middle-aged woman, however, the events of the day clearly had her mind scattered in different directions. “Now who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Curt Schroeder. We spoke three days ago.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. You told me to call the surgeon, have a port put in, and show up for chemo treatments this morning,” Curt said impatiently. He reached for his shirt collar to show the port to the nurse.
“There’s no place to put you,” Barbara stated.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Curt said. “You folks were late seeing me and now you have no record of me talking to you. Dr. Lincke said that he reserved a chair for me. Or do you want me to come back next week?”
“No, no, we’ll do something.”
“Well I hope that whatever you do is correct. Dr. Lincke said that my insurance won’t provide for treatment up here. He said that I would have to get treatment on the hospital floor and that he had everything arranged.”
“Let me call down there and check on that,” Barbara said as she reached for the phone. Curt witnessed the conversation and saw Barbara nod her head several times. She hung up and approached him face to face. “They don’t have a chair that’s available for a five hour sitting.”
“Five hours!” Curt roared. Dr. Lincke told me that I would be there for two hours.”
“Are you sure?” Barbara asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” Curt said indignantly. “Something’s wrong here. I’ll say it again. The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.”
Barbara grabbed Curt’s file, opened it, and studied the contents. “No, we know what we’re doing.”
“It sure doesn’t seem like it to me!” Curt wanted to scream. “You don’t recall our conversation, there is no place reserved for me, and Dr. Lincke is telling me something different than what you’re saying. I’m getting real cold feet about all of this.”
“There’s no need for that. We know what we’re doing,” Barbara assured him.
“I’m not so sure. I don’t want to be the error for the day,” Curt said. “And I’m sure that you don’t want to have an error either.”
“Well no,” Barbara replied.
“Then let’s take a timeout and get things right,” Curt suggested. “I want to make sure that I’m getting the right medicine and the right dose and I’m spending the right number of hours getting treatment.”
Barbara looked at Curt and let his words sink in. “Give me a few minutes,” she said. “Let me do a little work on this.” She turned and walked off with the file.
“I can’t believe this,” Curt said to the receptionist. “Is it like this all the time around here?”
“Believe it or not we really do keep everything safe. Dr. Lincke was on vacation last week and everything is double-booked today. It’s normally not like this.”
“Put yourself in my shoes,” Curt proposed. “This is my first trip for chemo treatments. I’m scared as it is. Then I get up here and nobody knows what’s going on. I feel like I should leave and come back next week when everything slows down a little bit.”
The receptionist glanced at him and smiled. She had returned to her busy phone and was placing people on hold. Barbara returned with some news. She called Curt over to the side and opened the file. “It’s our fault,” she stated.
“I’m not so concerned about whose fault it is,” Curt interrupted. “I just want to make sure that whatever we do is right.”
“We’ve got a chair for you reserved in the hospital. You’ll be there for two hours or so. Then we’ll hook you up to a portable pump. That will allow you to go home. Then we’ll send a nurse out to disconnect the IV the day after tomorrow,” Barbara affirmed.
“That sounds more like it,” Curt said in a calm voice. “Where do I go?”
“Take the elevator down one floor and ask for Kyunghee.”
Curt looked at Barbara in disbelief. He forced a grin, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. As he headed for the door he glanced over his shoulder and said, “This is pretty important stuff to me. Does Kyunghee speak English?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Curt’s world was about to change once again. As the elevator door opened he looked in both directions and chose the path to the right. That led him in a circular route that ended up on the back side of the elevators. An open window got his attention. He stuck his head into the opening to be seen. Nurses were scurrying about. He tapped on the frosted window. “Excuse me.”
A nurse turned in his direction. She smiled from ear to ear with a wide, white, toothy grin. “Can I help you?”
That’s a wonderful way to greet someone, Curt thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. “I came from upstairs. They told me to ask for Kyunghee. Am I pronouncing it right?”
The nurse smiled again. “Not bad. You must be Curt Schroeder.”
Curt nodded. “ . . . Yeah. Yes, I am.” Hmmm, maybe I’ll be getting some special treatment after all. She knows my name.
“Kyunghee is expecting you. Come right this way,” the nurse motioned for him to follow.
Curt slipped through the door that was opened for him and it seemed like all of the demons in the world were leaving his body. The relaxing atmosphere, the soothing music, and the supportive and accommodating staff all helped to make him feel comfortable. The cancer center sat on a hill and offered a majestic view of the St. Louis countryside through its wall of windows.
A young woman, probably in her late twenties, appeared. She looked like a mixture of Asian, Indian, and Eastern bloc of Russia all rolled into one. “Sorry for the confusion,” Kyunghee apologized. “Can I get you a blanket?”
“It is cold in here, isn’t it?” Curt was dressed in a short sleeve shirt and shorts. He noticed that all of the nurses had on sweaters. “It feels like they keep it as cold as a meat locker.”
“Every day is like that,” Kyunghee answered. She led him to a recliner at the far end of the row of chairs. Virtually every one of the chairs was filled with a body taking some sort of chemotherapy.
“This is my first day,” Curt informed her.
“We’ll try to make it as comfortable as possible,” Kyunghee stated. Curt climbed into the cushioned recliner. “Make yourself at home. Here is the remote.”
Curt reached for the side of the chair, pushed a lever, and lay back at an angle. The lower part of the recliner rose into the air to elevate his feet. This is just like home, he thought. He flipped through the channels until he came to the Golf Channel. Kyunghee covered his legs with a warm blanket. What’s the big deal with this chemotherapy st
uff? Curt thought. These folks are making me feel as if I’m staying in a five-star hotel.
Kyunghee took his food order and asked him what kind of drink he would like. She brought some anti-nausea pills for him to ingest. In a short period of time, two IV bags carrying the chemotherapy drugs were inserted into clear tubing and administered through the port that had been placed in his upper chest. A little over two hours later, after each bag was emptied, Curt was unhooked and free to go . . . with the exception of a minor detail.
“Is that all there is to it” Curt asked as the process was completed.
Kyunghee smiled. “That’s it. All I have to do is give you a boost for your next drug.” Curt needed to be hooked up to a portable pump that could be carried in a pouch that was worn around his waist like a fanny pack.
“I wear that for two days, right?” Curt checked on the details.
“Yes. The IV bag will be in the pouch and the pump will administer the dose at a programmed interval,” Kyunghee explained. “A nurse will come to your home when the dose is completed. She’ll take your vital signs and unhook you and then we’ll see you two weeks later.”
“You can’t make this any easier,” Curt said in amazement. “Is this all there is to it?”
“Every person experiences different side effects. You’re healthy and have a positive attitude. You’ll do just fine,” Kyunghee said reinforcing his peace of mind.
“I don’t know what I was so bent out of shape about. That was nothing,” Curt repeated.
“Let’s check and see what your side effects will be like. Here’s a prescription from the doctor for some anti-nausea pills. Take them as needed,” Kyunghee said.
Curt got up from the recliner and headed for the door. “Thanks. I’ll see you in two weeks.” As he headed down the corridor to get hooked up to the portable pump he reflected. What was I all worked up about? If the side effects are minimal, then this will be something that I can handle.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Julie remarked as Curt entered the door to the clubhouse. Justin and Keith were finishing lunch at the counter. The back booth was occupied by several of the guys. BowTye was wiping down tables in between placing a shine on a pair of golf shoes.
“The worst thing about it up to now is that I have to wear this pouch for another day or so,” Curt said as he motioned to the fanny pack around his waist. He pulled his shirt out and covered the fanny pack. “If I wear my shirt out like this then you can’t even see the thing.” J Dub entered through the door after Curt.
“No loss of appetite or nausea?” Julie asked.
“Not yet. I feel fine,” Curt insisted.
“He’ll be okay,” J Dub interrupted. “He already took a nap in the car.”
“Do you want something to drink?” Julie persisted.
“Sure, I’m thirsty,” Curt said as he accepted the offer. “But it has to be room temperature. I can’t have anything cold while I’m on chemo.”
“Why is that?”
“Evidently my body will react negatively to anything that is colder than room temperature. They said if it enters my throat I might experience a feeling that feels like my throat and windpipe is constricting,” Curt detailed. “Supposedly it will make me feel like I’m choking to death.”
Then we’ll serve you some hot chocolate in July,” Julie joked. “I’ve been around enough to know that you’re not a coffee drinker.” She went to the coffee pot and activated the hot water tap. She placed a Styrofoam cup of hot water in front of him along with a packet of chocolate mix and a swizzle stick.
“Let me see what you’re hooked up to,” Justin commented curiously as he walked over and extended his fist for Curt to tap his knuckles on.
“It’s not really any big deal,” Curt began as he lifted his shirt up for Justin and Keith to view the pouch. “The miniature pump is in here and so is the IV bag with the chemotherapy drug.” Curt pulled back a flap to show the boys what was inside the purse. “The nurse programmed the dosage amount into the computer and I get a drip through the tube every so often. I can go out and do everything that I want to do except swing a golf club.”
“You won’t miss any time out here the rest of this summer,” Justin surmised.
“Only if I don’t feel like it,” Curt said. “Maybe I’ll feel nauseous. Maybe I’ll feel tired. Who knows? We’ll see what happens after the drugs get in my system.”
“When are you going to be able to play golf with the guys?” Justin continued.
“As soon as the nurse unhooks me,” Curt said with a big smile. “The stitches are healed and I’m good to go according to the doctors.”
“Good!” Pork Chop yelled from the back booth. He had been kibitzing. “We can use some of your quarters.”
“Heck, that’s not enough action for you, is it?” Curt fired back. “I heard that you’ve been living on the boats lately.”
“More than I care to admit,” Pork Chop admitted. Ever since he made that killing on the penny stock, gambling had been in his blood. The quarters on the course weren’t enough to keep his mind interested in the game. He had to have the bigger action that the casinos provided.
“Here you go Mister Doc,” the deep voice resounded through the room as BowTye handed a pair of golf shoes over to Dr. DV.
“BowTye, these look brand new,” Dr. DV said thankfully. He peeled off a few bills and stuffed them in BowTye’s hand causing him to smile from ear to ear.
“Hey, if you’re feeling up to it Curt, then why don’t you meet us at the Aqua Mermaid tonight?” Pork Chop hollered.
Curt liked the suggestion. “That sounds good to me unless I start throwing up or something. I haven’t been over there since it became a land-based casino.”
“I don’t think that it is actually land based. I think they have it sitting on top of a barge or two sitting in a water retention area with river water backsplash,” Pork Chop corrected.
“If that isn’t a smooth way to get around riverboat gambling,” Curt noted. “What time do you want to meet?”
“I think that we’re going to try and get over there around seven and get something to eat,” Pork Chop replied.
“You know if the fat boys are going, then there would be food involved,” Fred boasted as he smacked the top of his belly.
“Don’t you have to work?” Curt asked.
“I’ll go over and eat and then go to work from there,” Fred reasoned.
“That’s a great idea. Who all is going?” Curt asked.
Pork Chop looked around the room. “I think that it will be Fred and me and Dr. DV and Captain Jer and maybe Elia. Rollie can’t take all the smoke. He’s not going.” Pork Chop looked toward the corner of the room. “BowTye, do you want to go with us?”
BowTye’s smile was contagious. “I’d love to, but I don’t have any money to gamble with Mister Pork Chop.”
“Don’t worry about that. You’re welcome if you want to go,” Pork Chop said as he extended the invite.
BowTye smiled. “We’ll see.”
Curt looked over to Justin and Keith. “That’s one event you two are going to have to miss. What do you say we go out and hit some balls?”
“Yeah! Let’s go.” Justin was ready.
“Cool,” Keith added.
“Let me get a hat and a pair of sunglasses. They said that I’d be sensitive to sunlight.” Curt grabbed a straw hat and a pair of shades from a shelf behind the counter. “Let’s go hit ’em.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Money had been pouring into the coffers of the Aqua Mermaid from the minute they got their gambling license in the State of Illinois. Little Italy Gaming Incorporated had made a small fortune in the last decade on the banks of the Mississippi River. What had started as a double-deck paddleboat giving cruises every even hour up and down the river had turned into a gambling Mecca with elaborate chandeliers, plush multi-color carpeting, and marble tile. An eight-story parking garage had been constructed ne
xt to a twenty-two story hotel. All of this was what seemed like only a driver, three wood, and eight-iron away from the Gateway Arch and the St. Louis skyline.
The buffet at the local riverboat casino was probably the last place Fred and Pork Chop should eat dinner. Elia showed up to make the group an even six pack. It turned out to be a bonus extravaganza at the buffet—all-you-can-eat crab night. If it hadn’t been for all the comps that Pork Chop had, the group might still be standing in line. However his pull with the casino host got the boys up to the front of the procession. It seemed like every busload of people that the casino could get from the inner city and retirement centers was waiting to be fed that night.
Curt felt lethargic and his appetite was non-existent. Rather than pick at his food and nibble, he chose to sit at the table with the guys and be entertained. To say that Fred and Pork Chop had voracious appetites would be an understatement. Fred was a glutton for crab and had three helpings. There were more shells on the table than in the bucket by the time he waved his napkin in the air to signal that he was finished. Pork Chop craved every piece of fried food and drop of gravy and sauce the chef could muster up. Despite tucking a napkin under his chin, he managed to land an assorted array of food stains all over his shirt.
Captain Jer kept the waitress busy circling the wagons every eight or ten minutes for a refill of beer. Elia ran to the restroom four times. He had a large part of his colon removed after being nailed by shrapnel in Beirut while growing up. He could simply look at food and run to do some dirty work. Dr. DV exhibited the best manners of the group and could only watch in amazement as Fred and Pork Chop devoured helping after helping. Even though he didn’t eat, the dinner invitation took Curt’s mind off the events of the day and the medication that he was receiving.
“Are you guys about ready to do some gambling?” Pork Chop suggested after sounding a hearty belch. He had just finished decorating his shirt with a drip of blueberry pie and a dollop of whipped cream off a piece of strawberry shortcake.
“I might need a nap,” Fred said, punctuating his comment with a nasty hiccup that caused him to reach for his cloth napkin.