Horseman, Pass By!
[Editor’s Note: I know that y’all figured out the meaning behind that last little story (being such highly intelligent not to mention attractive readers), but just for the heck of it here is the C.O.’s explanation. Now git, cawse I’m fixin’ to go dreckly to supper!]
Once upon a time there was a woman who delivered her first child as a teenager. Fortunately this was not a hindrance to her entering a life blessed by marriage, family and work. The woman was well liked by her co-workers and customers, but based on the frequent visits she made to doctors, life seemed to be only tolerable for her - no more. She complained frequently of various ailments and by the time middle age appeared her medicine cabinet was brimming with attempted solutions. Somewhere between the ages of 55 and 65, when millions of Americans are most vulnerable to finding themselves without health insurance, her luck ran out. Just as her coverage lapsed she was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Her physicians ignored her uninsured status and gave her the best treatment available for her malignancy anyway. They also reflected a little on her past, as physicians are wont to do, and perhaps cast a cold eye on life, on death as they chronicled her lifestyle choices over time. The listing was a dour one, not likely to bring accolades to the individual who boasted of it to their doctor, to wit:
She smoked cigarettes for 40 years.
She was morbidly overweight, and sans-souci about it.
She developed diabetes, but didn’t put much faith into controlling her blood sugar level.
Her cholesterol and triglyceride levels went through the roof, but no repairs were made in case of rain.
One by one her major joints eroded into unrecognizable junctions reminding the doctors of rock formations jutting out against the sky of the old West.
No eyebrows were raised when her list of medications showed that narcotics and benzodiazepines were frequent companions on her journey toward old age.
Despite this her doctors mapped out a plan to improve her breathing, to put her tumor into remission, to protect her from high blood sugars - to help her live her life. They were determined to make something good happen.
The cancer was determined, too, and it had the advantage over the doctors - not just guile, not just sedulousness, not just cruelty.
It held illimitable dominion over all.
When the tumor finally began to break her body down, she revolted against her caregivers. No one knew for sure how much of her behavior was due to the side-effects of morphine versus her personality, but in the end she accused them all of neglecting her. Her last few weeks were galling, a discordant symphony of antagonism that boiled away pity and, having fired all of her previous physicians, left her in the hands of strangers.
One Saturday a hand turned the pages of the local newspaper while the other held a quiet mug of coffee. A name was read out loud and a sudden wave of memories spilled over the table, bringing the morning to a halt. Only the silent ticking of the clock inside the mind was heard, until the pages rustled and once more the earth resumed its ancient voyage.
That’s really sad. I felt a feeling of helpless agony from both sides of that story.
Thank you for sharing that with us.
Comment by Moof — April 29, 2006 @ 3:14 am
the handful of those who act out despite your efforts hurt much… but remember those who exalt you as a wonderful caregiver, who brought life from hopelessness.
Comment by gene. — April 29, 2006 @ 12:11 pm
I am still in awe of your ability to touch lives with so few simple, but well chosen and well placed words.
By the way, my chemo-therapy is going well and I’m almost half way through it. Nausea is nothing compared to the alternative. Thanks again for all that you do.
Comment by GM Roper — May 1, 2006 @ 4:38 pm
Hailing from the south, I find nothing wrong with saying y’all to include you, or fixing to describe something that I will be doing shortly. If you have a problem with it please understand that I have a problem with all the shorthand that y’all use on my charts to exclude me from understanding what is going on in my body eventhough it’s my insurance that’s paying for the knowledge.
Comment by Emmy — May 1, 2006 @ 9:07 pm
To GM: I’m so glad to hear from you! Keep fighting hard and slogging through this, just like our boys scaling the cliffs of Pointe-du-Hoc. I do enjoy reading your blog very much.
To Emmy: You misunderstand me, my friend. This blog tends to be cluttered with inside jokes, not unlike wading through your grandmother’s attic on a Sunday afternoon. I used “y’all” because having lived in Nashville during my fellowship, I consider myself to be an honorary Tennessean. Plus, my great-great-great grandfather lies in rest at the National Civil War Cemetary at Stone’s River near Murfreesboro, Tennessee, another young victim of the most vicious war America has ever known.
(P.S. He couldn’t have been too young when he died, otherwise this site would be written by someone other than yours truly!)
Comment by The Cheerful Oncologist — May 2, 2006 @ 3:36 am
but there are those who NEVER smoke and get lung cancer
who eat well
exercise
do not abuse their bodies
and by the misfortune of genetics (most likely)
must face a diagnosis of metastic cancer
and fight like hell
in spite of it
Comment by Feisty — May 2, 2006 @ 4:10 am
It’s odd that of all days I would come across this blog.
I just spent the day tying up my mother’s loose ends.
All but the obesity and age sound just like her.
She smoked for 54 years, even during her chemo for lung
cancer. The cancer had moved to her brain and other parts
of her body. She started showing signs of confusion, memory
loss. She became more hateful than she already was.
Gave away all her mother’s and grandmother’s jewelry to
some fair weather friend, who didn’t shed a tear on the news of mother’s passing. Now it leaves me to wonder if I
can hire an attorney to get our family’s belongings back.
They aren’t worth much, just sentimental.
Although mother lived with my husband and I, she told her friend we didn’t care about her, didn’t want her around.
We supposedly treated her poorly. Is this how cancer patients with brain cancer or tumors react? Or was it just
age? she was only 75.
Comment by daughter — December 19, 2006 @ 3:08 am