The noisy click clacking of the metal cart in the hall stops at my door. I can tell it is a knee that gives it a little push, just enough for the door to open wider and allow five slender, delicate fingers to open it all the way. A lilting ‘Good morning, Mr. Devlin, precedes the rest of Florence. Her candy stripe blouse, cap and breakfast tray start my morning needle free.
‘Would you like a warm cloth to wash your hands and face before I uncover your breakfast?’ Of course, I nod my head ‘yes.’ She goes into the minuscule bathroom that is merely a convenience, no shower, no tub. Florence returns with a stainless steel bowl of water, a wash cloth and hand towel. ‘Will you do the honors?’ I ask. We smile at each other as our routine is familiar every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning when she comes in to volunteer at Bradley G. Hospital.
‘Let me adjust your mattress, Mr. Devlin. Lie still.’ My body moves in rhythm and I am almost sitting up. ‘Lean forward, Sir. I have a fresh pillow for you. ‘ I am slow but she doesn’t hurry me. As if I were a child, she asks me if I am comfortable, would I like my toast buttered before it gets hard. Some mornings I feel like a puppet on a string, doing things without thinking. It is not bad. ‘Nathan, your male nurse will be here soon. He’ll help you change your p.j.s, take you down stairs for more blood work. I’ll see you lunch time.’ Almost childishly she waves and says toodle oo,’ stops and asks if I need anything else before she ½ closes the door.
Nathan has little to knock on. Instead he does a soft shoe shuffle and walks right in. Pulling the really loud, colorful curtain around my bed, he strips me as if he were plucking a chicken. I manage to dangle my feet so he can get my p.j pants on my thinning legs. He closes only two of the top buttons, ties the waist string and brings in a wheel chair to take me to the radiation lab. We should be friends as he has done this almost every day for two weeks, less Sundays when everyone gets a rest. I have laid on the cold table and been bombarded with radiation rays until part of my skin is turning black. Thoughts are never pleasant, hopeful. It will be weeks before the results are known and I admit to myself that I am frightened. So far nausea, tiredness have not happened to me. Maybe that is a good sign, but I doubt it. I speak too soon to myself.
Florence with her little noisy cart brings my lunch to my room and I sit straight up, am ready to eat. The bowl of tomato soup smells tangy, good. It isn’t but is edible. A cheese sandwich on white bread, 2 sad looking slices of tomato and a side of green beans not 100% de-frosted are almost ½ eaten. I feel sick, can’t control myself and heave over my tray, my thin blanket and my pajamas. Lying back in the mess, I manage to reach the call button. Apologizing is impossible. Miss Gold, head nurse, calls Nathan and together they thoroughly clean me, make me feel and look human again. While they wash the bed and put fresh sheets and pillow cases, I sit in a chair near the window and watch the traffic go by. Nathan hands me a clicker in case I need help and leaves me on my own. Internally, my insides have calmed down, mentally I’m a friggin’ wreck. All I can think about is I am going to die. The upchucking has proved the radiation isn’t working.
After my two week stay at Bradley G. I am dismissed. My release and freedom is punctuated with alternate days of radiation, another CAT scan, another lung scan, more blood work until I feel drained. I force myself to go to my business, a high class men’s apparel shop. Every day I spend time with my effective manager, go over records, place special orders, keep as busy as I can for as long as I can. I go over my will with my attorney, make a few changes, talk to my accountant, cry over the goodbye letters I write to family and friends. My weight is ten pounds lower than a month ago and I look to myself like I died already. But I believe I am keeping my worries and fears deep inside of me and try desperately hard to wear a happy face.
Radiation treatments end in three days. Dr. Polanski stays behind the lead shield as usual while the rays concentrate on the marked area that will soon be bones. On my final day he tells me it will take a week to ten days before the results are finalized. He shakes my hand, wishes me well. I walk thru the waiting area, pass men and women anxious to be called, open the door to the parking area and there I see a familiar sweet person waiting for me. She has a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a huge peppermint lollipop in the other. Florence gives me a friendly hug, a smile and a handshake along with her best wishes for my future health and waves her cute little toodle doo. I stand there feeling a bit foolish and disappointed.
Instead of being delighted, I unashamedly cry. In my car I pray to god, pray harder than I’ve ever prayed for god to take care of me. Then I wait for the ten days.
The roses have faded. The peppermint lollipop has been licked a few times and thrown in the trash. Each ring of the phone gives me jitters. I jump. Trying to be brave, thinking lovely thoughts does not work. ‘Mr. Devlin. This is Dr. Polanski. Your results are back. Sit down. Are you ready to believe me?’ I do not remember answering him but do know what he says. ‘Mr. Devlin, all of your tests are negative! You and I have beaten that damn cancer. Go, live a good life. Make an appointment for 6 months for now just for a check up.’ The excitement, the relief makes me pee in my pants. I don’t give a damn. I take them off, put them in a large paper bag and into the trash can on the terrace. I shout to the sky, to god, ‘Thank you. I am going to be alright.’
It’s Monday. Florence is on duty. I’m happy, whistling, driving to Bradley G. I ask at the reception desk where I might find Florence and am sent to the third floor, section C. I see a lunch cart outside of room 404 C, walk towards it, glance in the room and there is Florence, wiping the face and hands of another male patient, smiling, smoothing his hair.
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