The Cancer Center was about a twenty-five minute drive to the neighboring city. The building was easily accessible for its patients. The atmosphere inside was a completely different atmosphere from the County Hospital. Floor-to-ceiling windows splayed fresh, outside light throughout the building, producing a much more comforting and uplifting feeling. The check-in area was easy to navigate and well organized, so patients and caretakers didn’t wait very long before their appointment. Right away I noticed the helpfulness of the staff and how empathetic they all seemed to be toward the ill.
As I accompanied Mateo to the front desk to ask the whereabouts of Dr. Roberts, we were politely directed downstairs and to the right. We proceeded to the office of Dr. Roberts and checked in at the front desk. It was a short wait before the nurse appeared at the door. Addressing Mateo and me, she directed Mateo to the scale for weighing and then on to a room on the right. “The doctor will be right with you,” she said politely as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
I found that the unknowing was the hardest to emotionally keep positive about, and as I sat there waiting, my mind sorted through the many different possibilities. After only minutes had passed, Dr. Roberts knocked and entered the room.
He was a relatively young doctor with dark hair and standing tall at about five foot eleven or so. He came in smiling, and I couldn’t help but notice the kindness his eyes reflected.
“Hello, Mateo,” he began, cheerfully extending his hand, first to Mateo, then to me.
“My name is Dr. Roberts, and I will be in charge of your treatment.” He flipped through Mateo’s chart. “I see the results from your biopsy have not come in yet. Well, we don’t want to wait for them any longer, so we are going to start your treatment right away. Do you have any questions for me at this time?”
We both silently responded “No, not yet” with a shake of our heads.
Dr. Roberts motioned to the examining table. “How about you sit up here and let me examine you, Mateo.” Then he asked Mateo to extend his arms, noting he was a bit “off balance” and slightly weaker on his right side. I told Dr. Roberts of Mateo’s shunt surgery and how he had no symptoms going into the hospital other than a headache but that after surgery, he complained of feeling “cut in half” and numbness.
“Step down now, please,” Dr. Roberts directed.
Having seemingly taken note of this information and of Mateo’s strength and balance, Dr. Roberts said, “I’m going to have my nurse take you both to the treatment area so you can see where you will be, and she can explain how it all works. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”
At that point, I spoke up. “I do have one question, Dr. Roberts. How often does he get treatment?”
“Oh, he will have treatment every day for thirty days, starting tomorrow. At the end of the thirty days, we will order an MRI to see if treatment was effective. What we hope for here is to stop the growth and maybe shrink the tumor.”
“Okay,” I answered, feeling a glimmer of hope for my son.
Mateo and I were satisfied with that plan. The doctor left the room, requesting us to remain and wait for the nurse, who appeared seconds later. The nurse took us through the procedure for checking in, introduced us to the treatment room, and showed me where I would wait for Mateo.
After asking Mateo to lie down face up on a table, the nurse grabbed a sheet of white plastic mesh from the closet. While explaining to Mateo what she was doing, she began warming the plastic until it became pliable. She then placed it over his face, making a mold. “This ‘mask’ will be put on him during treatment, keeping his head locked into position,” she explained. Treatment would only take fifteen minutes at a time, so we decided to make Mateo’s appointments in the early afternoon to allow me to continue to work a half day.
We started our routine the very next day. I went to work, opened up my school, and set up my staff. I had made arrangements in advance to have a substitute office manager arrive at noon, allowing me enough time to have Mateo at his appointment by 1:30 p.m. The appointment time proved to be perfect, allowing us to arrive back home in time to miss the workday traffic and Mateo just enough time to have a short nap before anyone came home from work.
“Sit with me, Mama,” he would say. “Just sit and watch TV while I take a nap. And don’t go anywhere.”
“Ok, son,” I would answer. “I’ll stay right here.”
I would never leave his side until he woke up. Dinner would be late most nights.
February was passing rapidly. Mateo and I attended his treatment every day. The two-lane highway had become a relaxing path, curving softly to one side, then to the other. The hum of the tires rolling along the pavement added to the rhythm of the swaying movement. While Mateo maneuvered his vehicle smoothly along, I relaxed in the shot-gun position, deep in thought.
It was during one of those trips for one of his last treatments and we were on our way home when I slowly became aware there were “eyes” on me. Glancing over at Mateo, I saw a strange look on his face. Breaking the silence, I asked him if he was worried.
“Mom! Do you know what Gary said to me yesterday?” he blurted out.
“What, sweetie?” I asked, surprised at the quick change of subject.
“He told me that he can hardly wait for me to get better so we can go partying in the city again.” I could tell by the tone in his voice that he had been thinking about this conversation over and over again.
“Really, doesn’t he understand what’s going on here, Mateo?” I’m sure there was even more surprise in my voice. Immediately, I thought to myself, Did his friends not realize what the future was for him?
“I don’t think so, Mom,” he answered, as if reading my thoughts. “Cuz I won’t be doing any partying in the city anymore,” he added, shaking his head in disgust. “I can’t believe he said that.”
I could now hear a hint of pain in his voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” was all I could say.
Mateo’s main complaint was that he was tired. In addition to his daily naps to combat that particular side effect of radiation, he and I had begun to research, read about, and cook foods that were healthier and known to have natural cancer-fighting antioxidants and body-immunity boosters. With Mateo stepping in to assist in the cooking, it wasn’t long before the family’s menu had changed for the better.
March brought the end of the radiation therapy, and I was feeling like we were pretty secure financially and back on our feet. I called and thanked my nephew, niece, and friend for their financial assistance in getting Mateo’s COBRA insurance paid up, and I let them know I had already picked up the payment for March. My nephew informed me they had also paid the month of March. It was a good feeling to have that “safety net” of having Mateo’s premium paid a month in advance, just in case.
When I got off the phone, I was very happy to tell Mateo the uplifting news about his medical insurance. I could see his face relax and a smile of relief appear. He would now have duel medical coverage—one through the state and one privately through his last employer. He could now set aside his financial concerns and focus entirely on his health.
The MRI had been taken, and the results were very favorable. During our appointment with Dr. Roberts, he praised the progress and told us that the results from the biopsy were finally in. Mateo had a grade two, Astrocytoma Glioblastoma located in the brain stem. Seeing the puzzled look cross both of our faces, he smiled and wrote the diagnosis on a piece of paper and handed it to us. He explained that the next step in the plan would be set up by the Cancer Center.
Dr. Roberts would continue to see Mateo on a short-term basis but would also be referring him to two additional doctors: Dr. Parker was located at the teaching hospital, specializing in brain tumors, and would be responsible for the type of chemotherapy to be used upon examination, with us, of Mateo’s current MRIs. The other physician worked upstairs in the Cancer Center, specializing in oncology, and would be responsible for administering the proper medications and keeping track of Mateo’s medical progress.
After a quick handshake and good-byes, we left the office with a scheduled appointment for Dr. Roberts, along with a promise that we would be hearing from the other two doctors’ offices. The nurse handed us their numbers and names just in case. If I didn’t hear from them within the next couple of weeks, our instructions were to call them.
The ride home was full of chatter. We finally had an answer to the question, what grade and type of tumor did Mateo have? He and I were both feeling optimistic about the results of the radiation. However, we both also harbored a silent fear about the unknown. When we arrived home, Mateo lay down and slept while I sat beside him, with his hand in mine.