For someone who had lived with disappointment and failure longer than anyone who hadn’t given up and hung themselves from a moldy shower rod, I had become a tender of miracles, struggling to keep up with all my good fortune. The old folks called it living at the foot of the cross, and for the first time I felt it: the hot red blood tickling the back of my neck like sweet salvation.
If anyone were to ask me, I’d say the most egregious practice in medicine today would have to be hands-down the unconscionable habit of sequestering the patient in those tiny cells called rooms after the nurse escorts them in.
“The doctor will see you momentarily.” Of course, that can be anywhere from ten minutes to an hour and a half, a long time to sit with your thoughts and fears when you’ve got a cold, much less stage four lung cancer.
Per my instructions, the nurses from now on were to leave the door open until the doctor’s arrival. This practice provoked a curious glance from every health care worker who passed. On this day in late August, Tina is seated in the swervy cushioned chair where the doctor usually sits, Garrett and Sis are perched on the exam table, and I am on a stool an orderly dragged in from the nurse’s station.
“Well, well. The gang’s all here.” The physician we call Spielberg due to an uncanny resemblance and easygoing demeanor studies the X-rays on the wall behind us, something none of us had gathered the courage to do any sooner.
Garrett strokes Sis’s shoulder. “We’re a close-knit group, Doc. You got news, we wanna hear it.”
Like a poisonous gas in the room, everyone afraid to breathe.
The doctor leans against the wall, Tina’s chart across his chest. “Well, I’ve got some good news. The tumor is shrinking.” I notice he actually scratches his head. “It’s shrinking quite a bit, in a relatively short period of time.”
Tina slumps. “It’s…”
Spielberg takes another peek over his shoulder at the pictures. “A damned near remarkable improvement, I’d say.”
Tina looks at the doctor like it’s not sinking in. “So…”
Garrett leans over, taking Tina’s hand. “It’s good news, doll. It’s—”
“Right,” Tina interrupts, the truth finally registering. “Good news.”
Sis takes Tina’s other hand and looks into her eyes with a nod. Suddenly unable to contain her excitement, Tina stands and walks behind me, her hands around my shoulders. “This is my son, Doctor. He’s a big deal out in Hollywood.”
I am certain this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. “I’m not a big anything, Tina. I’m too old to be anything big.”
“Hollywood.” Spielberg studies me like I’m something fuzzy in a petri dish. “You’re a long ways from home.”
I decide I will give up cussing in honor of our news. It only seems appropriate. With whatever is happening, I want to meet it halfway with some sort of acknowledgment. It seems to fit.
“I want to stop the treatments.”
“I’m sorry?”
Tina takes her hands from my shoulders, glances around at the rest of the Stalworths, then looks back to the doctor. She speaks slower this time, like she’s talking to a child. “I want to stop the treatments.”
Clearly, this is news to everyone, including me.
“Tina, you’re doing so well. But you’re not out of the woods.” Spielberg taps the file in his hands with a finger. “You have stage four cancer. The tumor has shrunk, but it’s not gone.”
“It’s my final decision.” She nods quickly in my direction, as if that puts a period on the thing.
“Well,” Spielberg says, “you know radiation has the potential to extend one’s lifespan in many of these cases.”
Tina picks up her purse, perusing the contents as if she’s preparing to go. “If it doesn’t come from a plant, I’m not interested. That’s it, and I don’t want to hear another word about it,” she says, making eye contact with everyone in the room. “This cash cow is closed for business.”
Unbeknownst to any of us, Rose O’Sharon has stuck her head in the door. “Seizure in room four, Doctor.”
Spielberg continues staring at Tina for an explanation he’s not going to get. She holds her purse in front of her, smiling at the doctor and cocking her head like it’s a dare.
Spielberg drops his chin to his chest, takes his chart, and exits.
Rose O’Sharon squints at the X-rays on the wall across the room before looking at Tina. “Careful,” she says, before leaving. Garrett looks at Tina and shakes his head before he and Sis take their leave as well.
Tina looks at the floor for a few moments before she goes out the door and into the reception area. Rose O’Sharon stands by the desk, peering down at a clipboard before glancing up at Tina, who appears to be trying to get up her gumption to say something. Instead, my mother locks eyes with Rose O’Sharon, grabs the clipboard off the reception desk, and drops it dramatically on the floor. She grabs my hand and whisks me away like we’ve just left a robbery note.
We call Justin and Marsala from the car to share our news with them, putting them on speaker so Garrett and Sis can hear. They remind us to remember to chew at least fifty times before swallowing, saying they can already tell by the timbre in Tina’s voice that she’s improving, that she is the luckiest mom in the world to have a son like me, and her complete healing is only a matter of time.
Amidst all the excitement, Garrett and Sis can’t find one sour note to play on their bitter bassoons. It’s all for one and one for all, and it finally feels good to be alive again.
* * *
The heck with stretching—the rumor of fall teases its way across the Gulf Coast. My chest fills with the scent of dirt and pine needles as I blast out the carport door and past Jewel Ann’s driveway. The doctor’s warning still rolls about my head, but the sound of Tina’s voice as she staked her claim in his office buzzed louder. She had given us an earful on our way home.
“All he has is his medicine. But between the diet and visualization, chanting, prayer, and so many things I can’t even wrap my head around, who’s gonna win this thing? And if he thinks he’s gonna let his radiation burn up all the good I’ve done on my body, he’s got another think coming!”
As if out of thin air, a temporarily energized Puffy is snapping at my heels, foam flying from her minuscule jaws.
I kick into high gear, leaning into the hill in front of me. “Can’t catch me anymore, mangy mutt. RUNNIN’ TOO FAST FOR YOU NOW, MEAT-EATING MONGREL—YEE-HAAAWWW!”
Puffy stops breathless by the side of Blue Cove Road. Twirling around, I wave goodbye to the hateful little terrier with both hands, running backward over the crest until she finally disappears from my field of vision.