The holidays were now officially over, and we were well into the New Year of 2008. Todd had gone back to work after the winter break, and I stayed at home, caring for Mateo. It started off full steam ahead with a visit from a registered nurse, followed by a physical therapist, and then finishing the week with a visit from a case Manager, all from the Visiting Nurses Association.
By mid-January, Mateo had had his next MRI and appointment with Dr. Parker, who informed us that he had spoken to his colleagues about Mateo over the holidays. He had also had a conversation with Dr. Khan, and it was decided that two medications would be added to Mateo’s treatment—to be administered intravenously by Dr. Khan and her staff. Noting Mateo’s fall at the end of December, Dr. Parker had also ordered physical therapy once a week. “Don’t worry, Mateo. If this treatment doesn’t work, there are more medications we can try,” he said as we left the small treatment room.
A week later, a schedule had been set up with Dr. Khan, and Mateo began weekly infusions of the two new medications while continuing his oral medication. In addition, physical therapy had been arranged once a week with the physical therapist at the hospital. He was staying strong except for the slow progressing lack of feeling and weakness on his right side.
The wall calendar showed the date as March 10, 2008, “MRI and appointment with Dr. Parker.” I woke Mateo up early and helped him get dressed before I jumped into the shower myself.
When he was younger, he loved to sleep in in the morning. Mateo was the child who you had to always fight to get out of bed for school, for work, or even a phone call from a friend. Now, he slept lighter, woke up easier, and always with a smile, except today.
I could see he had a lot on his mind, and I assumed it was today’s MRI and appointment that occupied his thoughts.
“Mateo,” I ventured, with a curious tone. “Can you tell the difference between when your tumor is growing and when it’s the ‘right side’ issue?”
“Yes,” Mateo answered. “I can.”
“Really?” I walked down the hallway deep in thought.
Todd took Mateo to the car, and after helping him get settled in the front passenger seat, he climbed into the back. I took the controls in the driver’s seat, and after about an hour of an almost easy commute into the city, I was scouring the parking lot for a space to park.
First appointment we had was Mateo’s MRI. Walking through the door revealed the usual white wall, medical type of atmosphere. To the right, was the waiting area which was empty of patients. I directed Todd and Mateo toward a set of hardback chairs which stood by the wall. I headed to where the receptionist calmly waited.
“We have an appointment for Mateo Sanders” I said.
“Yes ma’am.” She confirmed. “I do show him this morning. The technician will be out to get him in a few minutes. Please have a seat,” Politely, she directed me toward the waiting area.
I had just begun to open a magazine to read when a young man, dressed in a light blue coat came over and verified Mateo’s name. Once he was sure of his identity, the young man took Mateo through the doors at the far end of the room. After the MRI was completed, the technician came back with Mateo, stating “the doctor would be receiving the results in time for Mateo’s scheduled appointment”. When the technician walked away, Mateo began to complain of hunger. Todd assisted him with his walker and we stopped at the cafeteria to get lunch before we checked in at the doctor’s office. The appointment to see the doctor was usually an hour or so after the MRI.
Dr. Parker greeted us with his usual professional handshake and brought us into one of the empty examination rooms.
“How are you doing, Mateo?” he asked.
“Fine, thank you.” Mateo responded automatically, in slurred voice.
“Please take a seat here,” he requested, motioning us toward the empty chairs. Then he pulled up a chair for himself in front of the computer screen, bringing up Mateo’s morning MRI for comparison to previous results.
“Well,” he noted, “the tumor hasn’t changed since your last test, in November. I see you are using a walker.”
“Yes,” I answered. “He’s become a bit wobbly on that right side.”
“How is the physical therapy going?” Dr. Parker asked.
“Good,” I said, nodding affirmatively.
“I’m going to write a note for Dr. Khan. I think we need to make an adjustment in your treatment. There is a new medication out.”
Knowing there was more, we remained silent, waiting.
Dr. Parker continued. “However,” he said directly to Mateo, “we have to clean out your system first. We do that by discontinuing the oral medication and one of the IV medications but continuing you on the second IV medication at 1,300 mg every two weeks for a month.”
With an understanding nod from all of us, Dr. Parker did as promised and wrote his instructions for Dr. Khan on a piece of paper. While he handed the paper to me, he instructed me to “make sure Dr. Khan receives this.”
“We see her in the morning,” I assured him.
The next morning was cool, grey, and damp with the heaviness of the seasonal fog. Todd had returned to work, and I assisted Mateo in getting dressed and into the car for his appointment with Dr. Khan. As I wheeled the car onto the highway, Mateo began reminiscing about his trip to Hawaii and how much he had enjoyed it.
“Momma . . .” His voice had gained some energy. “You know what I’d like to do this year?”
“What, sweetie?”
“Can we go to Disneyland for Christmas this year? We’ve never done anything like that before, and it would be so much fun.”
Glancing over his way, I could see Mateo’s eyes dancing with the thought of such an event.
“Well, if everything goes okay, why not?” I answered, not knowing how I would be able to swing it financially. I will reach out to God, as I did everynight. “If we start saving now, we can probably swing it,” I said trying to at least sound confident.