Road To Recovery from Cancer

ROAD TO RECOVERY
From Cancer

Philadelphia

American Cancer Society (ACS)

2010-2011

Both of my grandfathers died of cancer. So did my mother.  My father had that awful asbestos lung cancer but he dropped dead from a secondary effect, a pulmonary aneurysm and we were all grateful that he didn’t have to suffer like my mother.  My cousin died of cancer when he hit 60 and another cousin’s young son has already succumbed to cancer.  It ate up my uncles. And my sisters are cancer survivors.  Cancer is in my family.  We don’t speak of “if I get cancer” but “when I get cancer.”

So when I retired early in 2010, I wanted to spend my first year in giving back: to a great career, to wonderful opportunities all throughout my life, to the people who helped my family along our tough road of cancer.  I signed up to be a driver for the American Cancer Society (ACS) Program: Road to Recovery.

It was an enriching experience for me for so many reasons and I am grateful to the patients who were generous with their kindness and gratitude.  They all touched me one way or another.  But a few of them really stand out in their journey during this difficult battle.

Marcia was 28.  When she gave birth in the spring, she had a grand mal seizure during the delivery. They baby was swept away from her as soon as he was born and she didn’t get to see him again until two weeks later.  She was rushed into surgery to remove a massive brain tumor and laid in a coma for 10 days.  Shortly thereafter, She was in an aggressive radiation treatment program.

Her husband worked long hours.  Her three year old was with her mother-in-law.  A neighbor watched the infant and I took Marcia to Penn to get zapped.  On her last day of treatment she got to ring the ship bells when she finished. As she rang the bell with all of the energy she can muster, she asked me to hold her radiation facemask, a souvenir given to her by her oncologist.   Everyone in the waiting room cheered for her and gave her a standing ovation.  She filled up with tears.   She told me she would find out in five days if treatment was finished.  She was optimistic.  As I dropped her off at her house, I wished her luck and told her “Marcia, I hope you never have to call me again for a ride.” I never heard from her again.

I was asked to take an immigrant from Eastern Europe.  The name was unusual so I wasn’t sure of the gender of this patient.  Both a man and a woman waited for me as I drove up to the house.  Their English was very limited so we drove in silence.  As I dropped them off, the woman offered me three pieces of hard candy and offered, “You want glass of water?”

I lost a patient and that was unnerving.  It turned out she also has dementia but her daughter forgot to mention that to the ACS Program Director.  So I dropped the patient off at the door and went to park the car.  I went into the cancer center and she wasn’t there. No one had seen here.  I called ACS in a panic and a call was put out to the family but no one answered the phone. Finally, the daughter called back to say the mother hopped on the bus and came home. She was fine but I was a mess.

A woman needed to be at the hospital at 600 AM for a 700 AM surgery.  That meant I had to get up at 430 to pick her up at 530 to get her there in time.  She was very appreciative and very apologetic for the early time.  I assured her that this was not a burden but she still had guilt.  She called me back a few days later to tell me that her surgery had been moved up to 600AM.  Now she had to be at the hospital an hour earlier and her guilt was magnified even more.

“Don’t worry about it, she tells me, I will find someone else to take me that early in the morning.”  I interrupted her and ask, “Who?  You couldn’t find anyone to take you at 530, what makes you think you are goingt o find anyone to pick you up at 430.  I’m coming to get you.” 

I got her there on time and she was so damn grateful. She wanted to give me $10 and I didn’t want to take the money.  But she was so insistent and I thought it might relieve some of her guilt so I took it and went to a local diner for breakfast.  I order extra bacon.

Kevin was my age and coincidently friends with many of my grade school acquaintances. Our common connections helped keep our conversations going as we drove to the hospital.  He was skinny and worn out. Life had been hard on him.  Now this cancer was whipping him.  He had to give up his job because he was just too sick to work.  So money is tight and a huge worry.  As we drive in the car, he frequently slips into a spaced-out zone and chants, “mommy, mommy, mommy, oh mommy, mommy, mommy, help me.”  And I pretended I didn’t hear him.

Tom went to radiation at Jefferson Hospital in downtown Philadelphia.  Most of the volunteer drivers didn’t want to drive into the city, particularly during the day.  But that didn’t bother me.  So Tom was relieved to have my help.  He went to radiation for one week by train but the burns became too irritating and taking the train was too painful and laborious.  Patients rarely told me what kind of cancer they have.  But I speculated that Tom has rectal cancer.  Every day, it is got increasing difficult for him to walk and he limbed to compensate for pain.

His treatment started at 1PM so I left at noon to pick him and take him into the city.  He was in treatment for an hour or more each day and then we left some time at 3.  I was usual home by 4.  So this was really the main event of my day.  Everything centered on this activity. I committed to do this for two weeks. Tom was so damn grateful and spent much of the time in the car just telling me how grateful he was.  He wanted to do something to pay me back but he didn’t know what.  Then we discovered that he had a large collection of CDs with similar musical taste.  So every day, he lent me some of his CDs, which become the focal point of all of our discussions.

Midway into the second week, Tom finished his treatment and come out to find me.  He cried.  The doctor just told him that he wasn’t finished this week.  He had four weeks of treatment, not three. He was devastated and panicked about getting to treatment next week.  “Don’t worry, he told me.  My brother will take me on the train”. 

This man could barely walk. He could not take the train.  To add to the burden of his painful radiation, the city was experiencing a problem with flash mobs of teenagers who were randomly beating up men on the streets.  Tom could be a perfect victim for this barbaric behavior as he was so damn vulnerable.

“No, Tom, I’m taking you until you are finished”, I told him.  But truthfully, I was disappointed as well as the routine was wearing me down.  We drove home in silence because Tom was too defeated to talk.

We started the fourth week and Tom had a cat scan.  There hasn’t been enough progress. Just one more week should really do the trick, according to his doctors. Again, Tom cried and he couldn’t  bear the thought of continuing this grueling schedule of treatment. He didn’t know what to do as he couldn’t even come up with the obligatory, “Don’t worry about me, I can take the train in” because he could no longer walk from the hospital to the parking lot.  I have to pick him up right at the door.  Every step was excoriatingly painful for him.

“Tom we are in this together until you are finished.  I won't desert you, I promise”, I told and I meant it.  I was going to see him through to the end of his treatment.

“Thank you, thank you. Some day someone is going to be as kind to you as you have been to me” he cried.  And I told him that has been the story of my whole life.  I lived a charmed life and I was grateful.