Mentally, I had returned into the present day, my new reality. Still sitting in silence, my back pressed against the cold wall, I could hear hushed voices of family members beyond the closed door. The news is getting out. I just can’t address anyone right now. Numbly staring at the bed I felt a moist stream of tears began to fall. Unwittingly, my mind crept slowly back into time once again, reflecting.
It was now the beginning of October and things had been going fairly smooth. Mateo had his daily routine and checked in with me every morning now that I was back at work.
The winter cold always posed a problem in my office. Today was particularly bad. I was almost able to feel the heat on my feet from the space heater housed under my desk at work. Brisk morning air rushed into my office from the double glass doors. A student had been sent into the office by his teacher, needing counseling. I took a brief moment to address the needs of the student, then turned to answer the ringing phone. It was Mateo.
I can still remember the sound of the devastation in Mateo’s voice. He had received a cancellation letter in the mail from his insurance company for “non-payment.” My reassuring words to him were now burned into my mind. “Don’t worry, Squeege,” I had said lovingly. “I paid the month’s premium, and remember, you are paid a month in advance.” Mateo’s eyes had begun to show the frustration and fatigue during the days he fought to get his coverage reinstated. Phone call after phone call, excuse after excuse until he could no longer fight for himself. I soon took up the fight. For months, and well into the New Year, after I talked to person after person, none of whom could ever explain how or why Mateo was terminated, it would become evident that Mateo would have to rely solely on the federal government’s Medicare system for his care.
The Visiting Nurses Association (VNA) began making visitations every two weeks. Having done a complete assessment of Mateo’s needs, they recommended he keep up physical therapy on a regular basis to maintain his strength.
The days seemed to pass fairly quickly with our routine. Every day, I spent time with Mateo, as soon as I came home from work and during the weekend. We kept track of his medications, food intake, exercise, and appointments on big calendars that he kept in a neatly sectioned folder or pinned to his corkboard. He promised to call me every morning when he woke up to “check in” with me. While at work, I gave my full attention to the students, staff, and the never-ending ring of the office phone.
“R-i-i-i-n-n-ng … r-i-i-i-n-n-n-g … r-i-i-i-n”
“Good morning, Martin Middle School, may I help you?”
“Hi, Stinks!” It was Mateo with his daily morning phone call.
“Well, good morning, Squeege! How are you this morning?” I said, happy to hear his voice.
“Guess what?” He jumped immediately into conversation.
“What?” What was he going to say next?
“Today is my Cancer-versary,” he announced cheerfully.
Looking down at my half-covered desk calendar, I noticed the day’s date was Tuesday, November 13, a year since Mateo was diagnosed.
“Oh, well, that calls for a little celebration. Did you call your brother and tell him?”
It seemed the kind of reminder that would just make his day.
“Not yet,” he answered.
“We are gonna have to figure out some sort of celebration for you,” I mused thoughtfully. “How about we think on it, and I’ll talk to you when I get home?”
“Ok. I’ll see you when you get home, then. I love you, Stinks,” he reminded me.
“I love you more, Squeege,” I replied.
When I arrived home that evening, many suggestions were made for a proper celebration. It was expressed we go somewhere special for the night or maybe throw a party. Mateo was very self conscience of his changed appearance. He was the heaviest he had ever been, and his once slim face was now moon-shaped from steroids. He had always been very particular about his appearance whenever he left the house, so now, rather than go any where he chose to remain home with his favorite food dishes, alcoholic beverage, family, and friend, Ruth.
Later that week, I started to walk past Mateo in the hallway as he carefully maneuvered his way. Noticing he had a far-away look in his eyes, I stopped him.
“What’s the matter, Squeege?” I asked, concerned.
“Nothing, Stinks” he answered as he placed his large hands on either side of my head. “Nothing,” he repeated, looking into my eyes.
Being his mother, I knew him too well. I could see something was not right. Recognizing that look of concern on his face, I asked him again.
“I’m serious, Mateo. Are you having any problems”? I asked again, a little more stern this time.
“I think my tumor is growing again,” he answered, intently watching for my reaction.
“Good thing we have an appointment for an MRI next week then,” I said as assuredly as I could. I knew this was not good news, but we had to stay positive.
It seemed like the Thanksgiving Holiday was quickly upon us. I chose to host the holiday again, inviting family and friends. The usual feast was on the table accompanied by laughter and good cheer. I noticed Mateo was keeping to himself in his bed. My heart saddened.
It was the Monday after the Thanksgiving weekend. Having had a morning MRI and an afternoon appointment with Dr. Parker, confirmed the tumor had presented itself as being slightly thicker than before. Dr. Parker examined Mateo in his usual way and stated that he thought Mateo’s feeling on his right side—the “cut off” side—was a bit worse. His instructions were to continue with the current treatment for now. Mateo reminded Dr. Parker that December 1 was the next date to start his chemotherapy regimen and that he had an appointment with Dr. Khan before Christmas.
Every day I went to work on edge, afraid something would happen to Mateo when he was by himself. I knew the lack of feeling on his right side was causing his balance to become a bit of a safety issue. I knew if I could only make it to winter break, I would have a full two weeks to stay with him.
Finally, winter break arrived and I was home for Christmas. It could not have come at a better time. Mateo’s balance was a bit worse now, and he needed my assistance to get in and out of bed and to walk to the bathroom. It was very evident he was going to need a bit more help. His monthly appointment with Dr. Khan had gone well, but she showed concern about his balance being notably off, and she ordered physical therapy. Given Mateo’s loss of insurance, we would have to wait for authorization before he could begin, however.
Before the month’s end, Mateo had fallen and I could no longer trust him to be alone. I placed a call to his doctor and my union at work to see what I could arrange with my job because I didn’t envision myself returning to work at the first of the year. “My son comes first,” I explained to Todd when he began questioning the decision for me to stay home. “Who else is going to take care of him?”
Mateo continued with his chemotherapy pills like a trooper. Never complaining about anything and always trying to remain optimistic, he said he worried more about me.
“ME? Why me?” Surprise filled my voice. “I’ll be fine, Squeege. Please do not worry about me. . . . I’m worried about you,” I said staring into his eyes. “I love you, and I don’t want to do without you. You still want to fight, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” he said without hesitation. Then, smiling, he put his arms around me and pulled me into his chest.
“I love you, son,” I said again.
“I love you more, Stinks,” he replied.
“We are in this together, son. I’m not going to leave your side,” I added.