Day 4/5/6 These three days have run together. What day is this? I guess it’s Thursday. When did it start, Monday night? Last night was the kind of night you can’t imagine, or rather, you don’t want to imagine. Sis couldn’t sleep, who could? She just shook all night. We had to face up to the same realities my sister faced 6 years ago. I get it now. I really get it. For me one of the hardest things to deal with right now is that she worries about me. I don’t want her to worry about anything, especially me, but that’s who she is. We know we’ve got to fight this thing, but right now this is dark … dark … dark. The morning is here and we’re just trying to make it from one minute to the next. Everything is right now. No past, no future, just right now. Waiting for a phone call to get information about anything from a doctor’s office is agony. They don’t open until 8:30, and then it’s 9:30 before they call. Okay, we’ve got an appointment to see an oncologist at 2. Wait . . . wait . . . wait I’m hoping to see things move forward with this appointment. We don’t know anything about what’s going on, or what’s happening to us. I’m trying to find out stuff on the internet, but where the hell do I look? Okay time to go. We’ve got to pick up the tests from yesterday on the way to the appointment with the oncologist. I leave Sis in the car and go in to get the tests and they won’t give them to me. I have to go outside and have sign a note they scribbled out that says I can; then I have to prove who I am with a photo ID. God, please, just a little grace, from somebody somewhere. At the oncologists office. Wait . . . wait . . . wait. I have to say, there are some good people working in these places. The nurses are usually nice. When Sis and I finally see the doctor, after more blood work, we’re not holding anything back. By this point we are the full load, the adult dose. We’ve decided that we’re taking control of things. We accept the responsibility for our health. We are now recruiting members for our team, so this is an audition for the doctor, and we let her know, right up front. She does a good job. She doesn’t pull any punches, but she makes us feel like something can be done. She also breaks down what it is we’re dealing with … lung cancer. Sis has never smoked a day in her life, but there it is. Having a name for it makes it seem better to me. It’s real scary, but at least it’s not some unknown monster anymore. The doc tells us that it’s primary in the lung, and has spread to the shoulder. There are some spots on the liver, but that doesn’t mean they’re cancer. It’s gonna take another test called a P.E.T. scan to find out. Friday Today is the bone scan. It’s not an invasive test. Sis does have to have a dye injected and wait a couple of hours. We decide to get a pillow and blanket and camp out in the waiting room. She’s been taking some pills to help with anxiety (who wouldn’t) and she’s a little loopy. While she sleeps I make my way to the main registration area. They have good coffee there. As I’m looking around at all the people waiting to sign in for tests and stuff, I’m thinking, “I’d hate to be going through this without God.” What could an atheist do for comfort? When I get back to the waiting room Sis is waking up. She’s been able to sleep a little, and sleep is hard to come by. Then the nurse comes, They’re ready for Sis. Wait … wait … wait. Okay here she comes. We’re ready to go. She’s wobbly from the pills. When we get out in the hall she collapses against me and says, “I think it’s bad”. I say, “Why do you think that?” “It’s bad, bad, bad” , she says. We’re shuffling along the hall making our way to the elevators. I’m trying to think of anything I can to break through to her. She seems to have drifted into a really dark place. At a moment like this you try anything. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I tend to be very focused and pragmatic in a situation like this. One step at a time. Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve got to get her focused on fighting. I’m beginning to think that either the pills or depression is working against us, but I don’t know. I don’t know anything. What happens now? I just keep talking, about anything. I’ve got to help her. God, help me help her. When we get home she lays down for a nap. Sleep Sis, sleep. It’s usually at these times I’m trying to get organized. I’ve got to get down to Staples for some little pads and pencils. Every time the phone rings I need to write something down. I scramble for paper and now I’ve got stacks of pages scattered all over the house. I’m bound to be missing things. I try to send out emails to keep everybody updated. I try to answer the phone before it can wake her up. I don’t feel like I can leave her alone. I don’t want her to wake up and wonder where I am. We seem to be slipping into a cycle of highs and lows, comfort and distress. Every time we make a step into the light we fall back into darkness. I still feel like throwing up, all the damn time. We try to eat, but neither of us is interested in food anymore. It used to be one of the things we really enjoyed. I’m trying to get in touch with a dietary person. We’ve got to start doing everything we can. There is one really bright spot this afternoon. We’ve been asking around and getting recommendations for oncologists and there’s one name that is always at the top of every list, Doctor Alan Cohen, but he’s not taking any new patients. Sis knows a lot of people. In the years she’s worked at Suntrust she’s worked with a lot of doctors, and as it turns out there are a lot of connections with people we know and doctor Cohen. We’re seeing him on Tuesday. Thank you God! That’s prayer answered! Later that night Sis got up to go to the bathroom. I was awake and watching her as she stumbled and fell into the side of the bed. That’s it. I’m going to have to get her off the pills. They’re not helping. Saturday I’ve got to talk to her. She’s got to stop taking the pills and I’m going to have to make her do it. She’s got to start fighting. All she needs to do to beat this is be Sis, but she can’t be Sis when she’s taking the pills. She’s not gonna like this. She doesn’t want to feel anything. I don’t blame her, but this is not going to work. It feels awful and wrong to kick somebody’s ass that has cancer. I cringe thinking of it. I think it’s the right thing to do but … I don’t know, I wish somebody could help us. What are we supposed to do? We tried desperately to find somebody to talk to. We didn’t have a clue where to look. Pick up a phone book sometime and try to find a cancer hot-line. It ain’t there. A good friend finally helped with a recommendation, Gilda’s Club. They don’t work on weekends. We got the answering machine. We’re on our own. It’s just us, God, and the cancer. We had to fight our way up out of another deep, dark hole. Once we had reached the mutual conclusion that it was time to get serious about fighting back we seemed to find our appetite. We headed out to a new place for some Mexican food. We sat outside in a glorious sunny, but not hot or humid, early afternoon and began to look back at the last five days. One day you’re sailing along and the next you’re in the deepest, darkest, scariest hole imaginable. “It didn’t have to be that way” Sis said. “That first doctor never gave me a chance. I had no hope” Then she said, “I wonder how many others have gone through the same thing this week?” We began to brainstorm on something that we wish we’d have had. “What if you got a card with a number to call, and somebody was there in 15 minutes to help you?” It felt good to think about helping somebody else. It energized us. It gave us some kind of purpose. “We’ve got to do this” Sis said. “I know some people to talk to.” That sounds like Sis. The chic is back. <back