6 - get me to hospice, i’m good to go
… why can't an old man act his real age? How is it possible for me to still be involved in the carnal aspects of the human comedy? Because, in my head, nothing has changed.
—David Kepesh, Elegy
~~~
Sitting at Peet's hints of the pain, lower back, that first indicated something was wrong, that cancer was spreading. Have to resist the crazed fear that comes, so many aches and pains the past two and a half years, don’t turn away, no need to be alarmed; don’t get riled up, don’t freak!
Swear to Christ, sound asleep I was, all the while believing I was wide-awake. For years and years wrote of the importance of walking with death, keeping it close, making it my companion, and then when it indeed came close, couldn’t quite fathom it.
Really, this is it?
Shit, thought I had more time. Now what? And then a realization, no regrets, no “I wish I would haves.” At ease, let it come, get me to hospice, I’m good to go.
Feeling gentle and kind, and maybe I was clear seeing all along, attentive to the day-to-day, doing exactly what I wanted. Even in the worst of circumstances, the most challenging and difficult moments, I had imagined that I was THE creative force, that everything at play was as it should be, always a necessary and freely evolving sequence of events. So much we don’t control and yet, we do indeed have control of our own role in the story. Evolving human existence, the meaning rendered and made, so like the making of a film, so many talents brought to bear, so many individuals collaborating, in towns, cities, states, regions, continents, across the globe, drama unfolding, each of us engaged with a part to play.
Today, the drama intensified. An 8.8 earthquake in Chile, the temblor more massive, and potentially destructive, than the recent disaster in Haiti; tsunamis a major threat to the entire region, as far north as Hawaii. Loss of life, towns and cities destroyed, courage and fearlessness now required, the will and strength to rebuild and repair a necessity. A reminder, our story never without pain and suffering. And you think of the Buddha, of his program to become aware of suffering, of its causes and effects, and his will to end it. The eightfold path, the direct or indirect routes,… and the baseline? Keen awareness of each and every step you take. Consider it, every step a righteous one, even those that are wrong, those that lead to grand mistakes, righteous nonetheless.
Am coming back to life, a kind of resurrection. One moment in particular set me off the fly, imagination at play, the possibilities of love palpable and real.
At the Infusion Center the oncology nurses are cycled round, you spend so much time with these people, and because it's so intense an experience, so many near death, hanging on, even young ones, 15-year old kids under siege; these sessions can get to you.... I was across from a man who seemed he might die right on the spot. He was on his cell phone as if he was trying to rally people up, “I think this is it,” talking of pain thresholds, he was rating it a 9 on a scale of 1-10 and he was moaning, couldn’t get comfortable, nurses and doctors were scurrying about. I just wanted to go over to him, put my hand to his cheek and say, “Friend, you’re going to be fine. Scream if you have to, don’t worry about me. I’m good with this, moan, scream, do what you will. Fuck it. We’re all in the same boat, sooner or later, we’re all here.”
But of course I didn’t. I was stoical and reserved, and when he looked at me I looked right back, thinking, “Here you go, receive this you raging reminder of where I’m headed. It’s in the eyes, I’m sending you tidings of joy, and goodwill, and my best thoughts. Do you see it? Not a word, it’s in the eyes. It’s love all round. Pain be gone!”
Anyway, the nurses! The dispensers of the drugs that are keeping me alive, I think the schedulers try to keep the patients rotating so they're not getting the same ones over and over (there's probably 20 plus nurses in the rotation), the bonds formed here can be powerful, so easy to share all, so vulnerable you are,... I got one of the "blondes" in December. There's this running gag among these women. There are four very striking blonde oncology nurses; they say things like, "blondes sticking together," "only blondes can do that," "it's a blonde thing," and "blondes helping blondes." They crack me up.
Well, I get one of the blondes I've never had, a 30-something woman I've never spoken with, only noticed. It's my last Zometa infusion and I'm also getting my 90-day Lupron injection. At best a 45-minute process. The nursing assistants bring you in, set you up in your "infusion" chair, take your "vitals" and then the oncology nurse comes after. From the moment she walked up until I walked out the door, she's been in my mind. A sublime and wondrous hour.
It was the easiest, most comfortable and affecting conversation I've had in a long, long time. We connected. We talked about relationships, about the simple intimate touches that come day to day, about the disease, about death, about living in the here and now, etc., etc., etc. A striking and precious moment, a striking woman.
She has a man in her life. These nurses all have carts on rollers with the supplies they need, and they'll have pictures of their families, loved ones, significant others posted on the side. Her young hunk is in swim trunks, carrying a surfboard. I imagined her in a bikini surfing with the hunk. As December rolled into January I couldn't get her out of my mind. Sent her a note and detailed how sublime my time in the chair was. The most efficient session I'd had there in nearly two years. A woman of excellence. I asked her to have coffee with me, told her that I expected she'd seen it all, that her patients were likely all a-gaga; told her that if she wasn't interested not to worry, I'd simply keep on truckin', that this brush with death makes one even more fearless about seizing upon that which engages and enchants.
On my last visit in February, as I'm cruising through, it's like I'm getting smiles from all and sundry, "He's the one who sent Camille the note." I smile back, happy that my cancer is stable, that there's spark and juice again, and the thought of passionate embrace. And as I'm approaching the check-in station, I see her, she's in her scrubs, she's escorting a patient, and it’s like I’m a teenager freaking. We said hello, so awkward, a weird excitement and as she passed, well,… damn~!
Enamored by the possibility of a Camille, I had the conversation with my oncologist I have not had until now. My impotence isn't permanent; the lovelessness of these past few years, remarkable and revealing. Didn't care to pursue the therapies or prescriptions when I was with Maya. I wanted out of the relationship and sure enough it ended. The eunuch now doing the happy dance, in repair he is, on the way back to being whole. Cialis has been prescribed, San Diego Sexual Medicine has been referred, and adventure awaits.
Thursday, May 27, 2010 at 6:06AM 
Reader Comments (4)
Hummm...
Note to the world: love and sex endure 'til the end, maybe even after--who knows? Get used to it.
Indeed Mr. Max “Adventure awaits". A life's story, and a Beautifully told piece this is.
powerful 'shit'!! can't even begin to imagine the emotions!