The Cure Conspiracy

by Clayton Jones

  We bought the car. It almost made it all the way home. I still remember Vicki in the rear view mirror, white knuckles on the steering wheel of her Volvo, as she followed us home after picking it up Monday night. It wouldn't have been so bad if Shawn hadn't wanted to put the top down. On the other hand, it was good that we did. Between the oil blow-by and the side pipes leaking, with the top up we would have been dead in short order. By the time we got home I couldn't decide if Vicki was furious or just queasy from the oily smoke and exhaust she had driven through all the way home. I didn't mention price did I?......good!

  The next six months consumed a lot of time and money, but it was time spent with Shawn. Nights and a good part of each weekend, in the garage or chasing parts. Vicki came to tolerate the car because she saw what it was doing for Shawn and me. Through all of this Sam was supportive and would often come down and sit in the car, offering advice and placing a reservation for some distant senior prom. Shawn worked hard. He did well in school and he threw himself into learning and doing as much as he could on “Brutus” as he came to call it.

  Many nights I would get home after a hard day at work and all I'd want to do would be to sit down in front of the TV with a beer and vegetate. For the last fifteen years, life at work has been a bitch. Every American company is going through the agony of becoming competitive in the global economy, something we never had to do before, and it hurts. More and more I buy American because I see other governments waging economic war against us. On top of that, many American companies are shipping jobs overseas to save money on wages and taxes. The middle class is getting hammered from every direction. The same people whose money drives our economy are being laid off in droves. But the tide is slowly changing, foreign “cheap labor” countries are starting to have economic problems with wage demands and civil unrest. The pendulum is swinging back and American labor is looking better all the time.

  “Dad” Shawn roused me from my flag waving. “Do you want to put the heads on tonight?” there are some dreams, some moments as fragile as egg shells, a wrong word, look, or gesture can crush them. The danger is, you may never know it. It can be a cross word because you had a bad day at work and got chewed out by your boss, or a customer, when it wasn't even your fault. You may be worried about making ends meet or more important things like your health or the health of a loved one and how do you pay your medical bills. So many facets of life closing in on you, demanding your time and attention. Into this world comes someone you think you have some measure of control over, asking you to put aside all your “real” problems and share yourself with them over something you may perceive as trivial, not really worth your time, or even ridiculous. Do it. Do it because if that person were gone tomorrow, you would forever regret not having spent enough time with them when you had the chance. “Sure, let's put those heads on.”

  Over those months, working together in the garage, I came to know my son better than I ever thought I could. There is something about doing a job, not just getting it done but doing it to the very best of your ability. When it is completed you know it is done right. Working like that is very rewarding. Pride in what you do. Pride in accomplishing something, no matter what, gives you a satisfaction you have to experience to understand. Shawn and I shared that in bringing Brutus back to life. There were many frustrations; stripped bolts, others that broke off and had to be drilled out. These are physical things to be overcome. The real accomplishment was the building of the man, not the car. The car will run because it is governed by the laws of physics. Provide the right combination of spark, fuel, air, and compression, at the right time and the mixture will burn and drive the piston down to produce a rotational force. Provide all of the right ingredients to the boy at the right time and the boy can reject them. Humans think, physical things do not yet we often lavish far more attention and importance on physical things than we do on the humans around us. Somehow in an effort to provide a better life for our children, we have worked to give them what we thought they should have: more money, bigger and better cars, houses, and careers. Maybe we should have been going back toward less physical things and more emphasis on the human values of life. I'm as guilty as anyone of trying to give my children the Madison Avenue version of what they should have or be reaching for. Maybe it's time to revisit the covers of the Saturday Evening Post and look at the images they portrayed; that's exactly what they were, idealistic images. Like so many TV series of the fifties and sixties, with the perfect families that everyone thought was every other family but their own. They may not be attainable, but they can be reached for, and maybe we'll find some happiness in the attempt.

  “Dad, can you do the final torque on these?” Shawn was asking me to finish the rotational pattern of tightening down the head bolts to their final torque so the head gasket won't leak. “Sure, what's the matter, are you ready to call it a night?” “No, I just can't get the indicator up to what it should be.” “Well, step back son and let me take a crack at it. What's the spec?” “Seventy-five foot pounds.” Without thinking I said “Shawn, you're almost sixteen, for your size you should be able to torque these.” “I know Dad, but I just don't have the strength.” His voice was quivering and he looked dejected. “No biggie Bub. We'll dust the weights off and start doing some exercises along with putting the finishing touches on Brutus. OK?” “Sure Dad.” I didn't say anything more about it to Shawn that night, but I made a mental note to get him scheduled to see the doctor as soon as possible. Those old fears from six years ago were coming back.

  The car came together over the next few weeks while my world fell apart.

  Chapter 3 The Call

  I was at work when the doctor called. “Rick, this is Doctor Stevens, we need to do a few more tests to see how Shawn's doing. Can you bring him in today?” We went to the doctor's office and Shawn had some blood drawn. Doctor Stevens said he would call me tomorrow with the results.

  About 10:00 am my phone rang. “Rick, I don't know how to tell you this but Shawn has cancer. I felt like all the air had been sucked out of me and I got clammy. “You're wrong! I know he's been sick but he's just run down; he'll be fine.” Even as I said the words I knew they weren't true. I knew no amount of denial would change the fact that my son had cancer and I couldn't take his place. All I could do was try to help with whatever resources love and money could provide. The rest of the day was a blur of garbled thoughts racing through my head; guilt, rage, self-pity. I was utterly destroyed. Vicki can read me like a book so I knew I couldn't see her until after the kids had gone to bed and we could be alone. I called home and talked to Sam. “Mom's at work until 5, then she has to show a place so she said go eat out and she'll see us about 7:30 or 8.” Sam was really growing up. “OK, I'll be home early.” I have a good job as a Director of Development for computer systems so I have a lot of freedom to come and go as I please. I closed up shop and was home within the hour. Sam was swimming with a girl friend and Shawn was sleeping on a lounge chair. All the way home I was trying to remember everything I knew about cancer and what progress was being made fighting it. It's sad that unless something affects you personally it can go unnoticed for years other than for occasional moments when you're forced to acknowledge that there is very real sickness and suffering in the world. Such was my situation regarding cancer. It's level of recognition was only slightly higher than “save the whales” or helping the starving people of wherever, and that was because my grandfather on my mother's side had died of cancer when I was eleven; I loved him very much,still do. Now here was cancer again knocking, no pounding on my door. If I had it I could deal with it better than a loved one having it. I felt responsible. How could I live in such a vacuum of indifference to the wants and needs of the rest of the planet. My whole existence has been self-sufficient, be prepared, common sense thinking. Now I just got nailed by life and I can't do a damn thing about it. Vicki on the other hand is concerned about everyone and everything. She catches wasps inside the house with a tissue and puts them o
utside. If it has a need she's ready to help. I kid her about being my social conscience “if it wasn't for you I'd be in a garage somewhere waxing an exotic sports car.” There's probably more truth to that than either of us would care to admit. She's a wonderful caring person and it's going to be very hard to tell her about Shawn.

  Sam and Shawn and I went to the golden arches and, at my suggestion, they each brought a friend. I dreaded spending time alone with them trying to act “normal.” We got home and as luck would have it, being a Friday night, they both got invited to sleep over at friends; of course I agreed; good old Dad was never so easy!

  Vicki came home about eight. I was downstairs trying to lose myself in something mindless on TV. I heard the garage door open, the car pull in, and then Vicki was in the room. “Hi I'm home.” “Hi, how was work? Both the kids are sleeping over at friends.” I tried to be casual but as always she knew right away something was wrong. “What is it?” She was curious, not yet overly concerned. I got up and walked over and put my hands on her shoulders and gave her a kiss. “It's Shawn, doctor Stevens called me at work today and apparently Shawn is sicker than they thought. “How much sicker?” Fear in her eyes and voice. “It's cancer.” My hands tightened on her shoulders. “They made a mistake! That's all.” Her lower lip was quivering; she was rapidly losing it. “I know” I said and held her close to me. She cried softly for a few minutes but it seemed like a lifetime of pain and sorrow. We went upstairs and like a zombie, I put water on for tea. The realization of what I had said was sinking in and Vicki was trying to come to grips with it. She sat at our breakfast table with a blank look on her face. “We'll get in touch with the doctor first thing in the morning and see what our options are. Then we'll come up with a plan to make him better.” I was trying to convince both of us that would be some options. The water was boiling and I poured it into the cups and added the tea bags. “Let's go back and get ready for bed. I'll come back and get the tea.” Vicki nodded numbly and walked back toward the bedroom. Shawn's room was on the left and as she neared it she slowed and I started talking to keep her moving. “You know, things will look better in the morning, we've always weathered anything that's come up and we'll come through this OK.” She wasn't talking. She put on a nightgown and went into the bathroom. I went out and got the tea. By the time I got back she was in bed curled up in the fetal position. I put her tea on the nightstand. I set the alarm to get up and call work to tell them I wouldn't be in, then I went into the bathroom. Two minutes later I was back out; I was scared to death to leave her alone. I got into bed and turned out the light. The moment I was dreading had arrived. Like so many things in life, like a moth to a flame, it was unavoidable. We were here, no more busy work, no more distractions, just the two of us facing the longest night of our lives. I looked at her lying on her right side facing me. She was still curled up and she had the first joint of her left index finger clamped tightly in her teeth. Her eyes were wide open and the tears were running down her cheeks. She felt my gaze and her eyes met mine. It was a look of utter desperation, fear, and despair; like a child in a horrible situation looking for deliverance. I couldn't maintain the facade any longer. My eyes filled and I could feel my lower lip start to tremble. We reached for each other at the same time, each comforting the other while trying to deal with the pain in our hearts. The night was spent in each others arms drifting in and out of sleep.

  Chapter 4 The Office Visit

  We called the doctor at 8:00 A.M. He was a man in his late seventies and had been Vickie's family doctor when she was growing up. I explained that I had told Vicki about Shawn and we wanted to talk to him about what could be done; he said to come right over. I sensed that he felt guilty about the Lab mix up from before and was going out of his way to accommodate us. We drove to the doctor's office in silence. I watched Vicki out of the corner of my eye; she was far away, lost in thought. Better to let her cope with it alone for awhile. It was a beautiful clear day and our route took us through the local park where people were already arriving for a day of swimming and picnicking. I felt a twinge of resentment toward them; how could they be enjoying themselves when we were in such pain. Like any group in nature when a predator takes one, the rest keep going until it's their turn; today was ours. The ridiculousness of my thought process snapped me back to reality. We arrived at the doctor's office and went inside. As befits a country doctor, his office is in an old, large house with, I suspect, his living quarters upstairs. As we came in the receptionist recognized Vicki. “I'll tell the doctor you're here.” The waiting room was about half full, which was six people. We had just taken a seat when the receptionist reappeared. “He'll see you now Mr. and Mrs. Hunter.” We were oblivious to the glances we got from the people already there. We went down a hall past two examining rooms and into his office. It was one of those comfortable rooms filled with enough clutter and memorabilia to make you feel at home. You couldn't help but think that this old war horse had earned his stripes and was sure enough of himself that he could have clutter if he wanted it and to hell with anyone who thought otherwise. As we came in he jumped up, as quick as he could given his obvious weight issue, and seized both of Vickie's hands. “Come in, sit down; do you want some coffee?” He had an automatic coffee maker in a corner and made good use of it judging from the look of it. He was a pro, he could welcome you and extend every courtesy without giving you an opening until he was ready. After the receptionist had left, and we were seated, he was ready. He looked at Vicki, his eyes gentle. “How are you?” “Oh Doctor Stevens, what are we supposed to do!” she blurted out, she was crying and not making any effort to stop. In the presence of an old family friend she could drop the stiff upper lip and let her emotions out. He took off his wire rim glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief while Vicki regained her composure. Pent-up emotions can be very draining and he was giving her a chance to “clean house,” albeit for a short time, and be receptive to what he had to say. He put his glasses back on and studied a letter opener on his desk. “I'm very sorry about the initial Lab report. Once in a great while that happens, and it's worse than if you had gotten the hard truth to begin with because now you'll go for a long time thinking it's just another mistake and Shawn's just run down. Believe me, he's not. He has cancer and the sooner we all come to terms with it the sooner we can work together to help him. I've been his doctor all his life and I'd do anything to have it not be so, but it is and there's no point in belaboring it. We have to accept it and get on with making him better “OK?” Vicki and I nodded our agreement and waited for our instructions. “I've only had a couple cases this young and there are so many variables that there are no rules. There are periods of what appear to be recovery followed by a relapse where the person sinks lower than before. Over time the “recoveries” aren't as strong and the relapses are greater. It's not one event that is won or lost, rather it's many small battles that, if lost, take their toll over time. Our job is to win those battles one at a time, one day at a time, until we win the war. It's been done by others and Shawn is young and determined. State of mind is very important; he must always be encouraged and never ever show him your pain or doubt. You have the means to take good care of him and do what's in his best interest, whatever that entails.” Doctor Stevens talked about all of the things we would do: proper rest and diet, treatments, positive thinking, monthly meetings to review progress, etc. When we left we were in pretty good spirits. One of the things Doctor Stevens had told us to maintain “business as usual” unless things changed drastically. As we walked out and got into the car to leave, Doctor Stevens was watching us from his office window. Unbeknownst to us, his eyes filled up and he had to turn away; after all these years it doesn't get any easier. His next patient was waiting; a twelve year old brat who's a chronic bed wetter with a domineering mother who keeps threatening to have the doctor give her child a shot if she doesn't stop. On impulse he thought about giving two shots “One each” he thought. He grinned and moved on. It wasn't much, bu
t it was enough to lighten his mood so he could deal with the rest of his patients that day.

  The first time Shawn was at a friend's, we told Samantha he had cancer; she cried uncontrollably in her room for several hours. When she came out she said “what can I do to help?” She's been a source of strength and encouragement to Shawn ever since; when no one's around she cries. That's how it is with all of us encouraging each other, keeping up a bold front and crying in private. Shawn took it better than any on us. “I can beat this!” he said when told about the second Lab report. For awhile he was an even bigger center of attention on the baseball team than he was before for his ability. After awhile, as his strength began to fade and he slowed down, the other kids would grumble among themselves about plays missed and games lost. Eventually Shawn quit the team over everyone's half-heart-ed encouragement to stay. At night, when Shawn thinks everyone is asleep, he cries in his room. It wasn't until much later I learned that Vicki and Samantha also heard him.

  We went on for months working on winning those small, everyday battles, sometimes even believing we were winning the war. But the cancer was taking it's toll; the scales didn't lie and the on-going Lab tests didn't lie. Shawn was slowing being consumed by the cancer and we were powerless to stop it; even slow it down.