19.10.10

In The Basement Of The Cancer Center


I turned the Solara into the garage and circled up three floors to park.  My first time to not use the valet service.  No handicapped stuff today.  Use the stairs down three floors and two blocks and through the front of the cancer center to admissions, getting my bracelet pick sheet and stickers (my bar code).  How I wish my day did not end here today.  How I wish I was blissfully ignorant again.  How will life be for me after the operation?  Will it work?  Will it be worse?  Will I come home again?  Hokey smokes, I have the willeyes again, I hate that.  I just suggested to some one last week not put the cart before the horse and here I am at the cancer center with Vanessa on my arm for pre surgery tests.  I know that my caregivers know little about the mechanics of my disease, it’s source, causes and motivations.  Indeed as best as I can tell studies have been limited compared to other forms of cancer and certainly there is not a great deal of awareness about bladder cancer. The accepted only chance for extending the life of us advanced victims then is to cut out everything remotely close and see how it works out.  What a glorious concept.  Sort of a tea party approach I think.  Vanessa is scared to death but putting up the bravest of fronts as the date draws closer.  I wish I had more time but I dare not chance it.  Naturally work has picked up as I have pushed in so much last minute stuff on my schedule.  Down to the basement and face a stern receptionist.  Area 1 she directs us, in a large room with various tables and well worn furniture.  Surgery it says overhead in strong black letters.   The tables spotted around with large surreal letters, 5 3 6.  People huddled, numbered like livestock and herded by a kingdom builder.  Surgery at the cancer center.  No worser place to be I am sure but never the less it could easily be turned into a comedy episode.  It is afterall so impersonal.  This isn’t your car you are waiting on in service, it is your loved one, but that cannot enter into it here at the garage.  No more do they cherish yours than they do that old Chevy you take out only on the nice days.  It is after all a body shop much like a car auto body shop.  Work orders, clients, machines, skilled technicians, roll them in, roll them out, another day in paradise.  I watched the gal behind the desk.  The reception, crowd control keep order person.  Peering at her monitor, dressed in Sunday best for work, her hair alone a significant investment for sure.  She takes her job a little too seriously.  I decided to test her and got up.  I told Van I was going to check things out and moved to one of the corridors off of to the side of area 1.  Almost immediately she was up and opening her side door.  ‘May I help you?’ she asked.  ‘No, I’m fine’ came my reply as I moved back towards Vanessa.  Satisfied but wary she moved back to her terminal.  At that point I wheeled about making for the other corridor.  She turned dramatically as I abruptly stopped at the vending machine set off in an alcove.  Concerned she might kick my A I moved back to area 1 and dutifully took my place near Vanessa.  Although the center is not that old, this particular area seemed especially depressing and worn to me.  We were ushered into an examination room for the long wait.  I prefer to keep the doors open when held in stasis for long periods of time and this is probably the most contentious conflict I have with the nurses.  So we often play the game of door open door closed. 
Van and I have a sort of routine here.  The exam rooms are painfully alike and our shared dread of them gives break to our shared routines.  She finds her spot relative to the sink in the chair that is always there, book in hand, bag on her arm and ready to settle in for the whatever.  I check the room for crabs, look over all the stuff, test the TV if there is one, try all the furniture, use the sink, look at the portrait of the really good looking guy they have in the mirror and generally try to keep alive.  I think every nurse and doctor should as part of their education be made to set in an exam room for an hour or two waiting just to get a sense of the impact on the human psyche.  But we make the best of it and our time together every time, Vanessa is such a trooper.  It is a real hoot when Jocelyn and or Jennifer can also join in the fray, although then I have new voices calling me down every whip stitch. 
Like the receptionist, I pondered on the life of my Nurse, who routinely, patient after patient goes through the same steps every day.  Explaining how to do the urine sample, transferring urine to containers for tests, drawing blood, asking questions, reciting spiels day after day.  And all that college for this I wondered?  I certainly hope she is happy in her job, I am sure I could not do it.    

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