So, we’re off to see the wizards . . . the wonderful wizards of Mayo, or so we hope. Hope. The four-letter word that’s getting a real workout around here lately.
It’s a surreal experience, this cancer thing. For starters, David feels good almost all the time. He’s not wasting away before my eyes. All of which makes it hard to fully grasp the enormity of the esophageal cancer lurking in his body.
We have only had a distant glimpse of the mighty machine that is Mayo Clinic. I say “machine” because, so far, we have yet to deal with its medical people face to face. That comes tomorrow. And tomorrow and tomorrow, definitely creeping in this petty pace from day to day. More
Meanwhile, we’ve gathered up a hope-load of medical info from all of David’s providers to date. He has filled out so many forms that his fingers are smudgy with black ink. I am the hunter/gatherer relative to required information. Also a total Google-head in search of wisdom about David’s cancer. Every so often, I hit the wall, realizing I have absorbed all I can manage. But before too long, I find myself wanting to go another mile or two. David has what is probably a more sensible approach to all of this. He sees no point in dreaming up scenarios when we don’t really know the whole scoop. So I go cold-turkey on the Googling deal, but like any backslider, I Google-sneak more information. Just one more piece, one more time. I can handle it. (((sigh)))
Cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer. There. I said it. Early on, it was easier to talk about David’s “condition” or “situation.” Actually, it still is. But the fact of the matter is that it’s cancer. It’s fairly advanced. It’s scary as hell. And we need to figure out (guided by Mayo’s expertise) how to root it out.
We both have a kind of morbid curiosity, David and I, about what comes next. We’re eager to begin whatever “it” is. Even knowing there will be minimal joy in treatment, it is what it is (thanks, Charlene!), and we’ll deal with it. Did I say that “it” is cancer? We’re curious to know how Mayo looks and feels to an “insider.” Something no one ever really wants to know, but here we are.
I’ll close for today with an approximation of the way Max Schulman started one of his wonderful books. “Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four shots ripped into my groin and I was off on the greatest adventure of my life!” Schulman went on to say that all of that had absolutely nothing to do with his life or the book. He just had a yen to start a novel that way. And so he did.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.