even if i am. (20 page)

as a rug where i could sweep up my mess,

and an outlet, as i fought.

and so, although i should be calling people on the phone,

and really talking and explaining the news,

this seems like a better place for it:

do you remember what page we were on?

let’s see, we had the diagnosis, covered the chemo/radiation,

got through the surgery,

and were dancing through post-surgical chemo,

on our way to candy mutherfucking mountain? right?

detour.

a few weeks ago i started feeling some swelling

in the lymph nodes

on my left side, between my neck and shoulder.

weird. called my oncologist: “don’t worry.”

e-mailed my surgeon: “wait and see.”

continued with my chemo, returned to see my oncologist

a few weeks later for a standard blood test.

took another look at my neck,

and sent me for a needle biopsy:

cancer cells.

fuck.

underwent a series of scans to see where it was,

and discovered that my cancer has returned,

with a fucking chip on its shoulder.

the cells are highly differentiated,

which means it’s a much more aggressive type

than what i was initially diagnosed with.

it has metastasized to my lungs,

and obviously, localized lymph nodes.

fuck.

so here we are. stage 4.

wait a second, how did this happen?

how did we get here all of a sudden?

feels like just a minute ago my biggest concerns

were what to eat for dinner and having clean underwear.

now i’m fighting for my fucking life?

fucking serious?

you know how in every medical drama,

the surgeon comes out of the operating room,

rips the mask off his face, and with a sigh of relief

tells the family, “he’s gonna make it. he’s a fighter.”

i always wondered if i was that guy,

laid out on the table, what would happen?

would i have the fight?

“uh… sorry folks, he just ate it. seems he was a big pussy.”

no. this is my fight:

started a new kind of chemo yesterday,

hopefully with better results.

reading literature about cancer nutrition,

fascinating stuff. eating right.

yoga every other day. building the mind–body connection.

started an entire regimen

of immune system building supplements.

(one of them is a powder drink,

and i’ll fucking gag if i have to describe it.)

meditation and positive visualization. fruity, but i’ll try it.

walks. bike rides. stupid movies.

laughter.

love.

silver linings are lame, but here’s mine:

it’s been less than a week since this latest chapter unfolded,

but the quality and quantity of love,

of help, and of support i have felt in that time

is something i will never forget.

truly.

i am blessed.

(aw, crap, getting schmaltzy… quit it.)

point is.

this cancer has come back aggressive. nasty.

it hits hard, and so i’m hitting it back. in the balls.

the IV of chemo pumps into my veins,

and thousands of little laser-wielding spacemen

are swimming in my blood, zapping the fucking cancer cells.

i take a bite of broccoli (and all its anti-cancer nutrients)

and i imagine i’m biting cancer in the fucking face.

bending into some impossible yoga pose,

i’m sweating cancer out of my fucking body.

fuck cancer.

leave it to my creative director to give me perspective:

“this cancer is a burglar, he’s in your fucking home,

and he wants to kill you. what are you going to do about it?”

I’m going to kick its fucking ass.

posted by Anthony Glass at 7:43 a.m.

chapter thirty-five

don’t die before your day

I was too rattled to absorb exactly what it meant. It was a new stage in our relationship, Stage 4. My phone started ringing, the first call of many.

“Hi, it’s Julie. How are you doing?” Her voice sounding shaky, but sweet.

Truth was, I was feeling sorry for myself, lonely and empty. “I am good, crazy-busy juggling, but things are good. How are you?” It was easier to be positive.

“We’re okay. I read Anthony’s blog and I know he and York talked so we are pretty much up to date on the situation. I just wanted to see how YOU are holding up and if there is anything I can do to help. Anything at all?”

The feelings came in waves quite strong and sudden. I swallowed my breathing and my rising heart and tried to become one of those slightly more together types. I lied. “It’s definitely been a tough week for all of us, but considering the news, I think I am holding up pretty well.”

When people started calling, asking if they could help, there was no right or wrong way to feel or react, but still, something compelled me to try to be hopeful. “Anthony is unbelievably strong and his spirit always amazes me. Not to mention we are surrounded by friends like you, making this situation a much easier one. Thank you for reaching out, and thinking of me… it means a lot to both of us.”

…

Paperwork piled to the point of tipping, as I thumbed for the folder I needed, titled
The Devil Wears Prada
. Emily handed me a stack of messages and appointments written on scraps of paper. This is the moment I knew I was in over my head. There were far too many scraps to sort through. Scraps of scraps. Handwriting I could barely read.

“Sorry,” she said, her tone sounding a bit like my grandmother’s after I spilled milk on her carpet.

Life has a way of being absolutely ridiculous. I was working on a movie staring Meryl Streep. I’d been waiting for this day, proving myself capable of such a high-profile project. Even if I felt I was walking backwards, or spinning circles, I could do this. I could drive this project. It would be brilliant. I started drafting a to-do list. I needed to pack clothes, grab Gladys’s food bowls, what else, what else, pay electric bill. I hadn’t visited my own home since we got the news. It wasn’t your fault — I made the choice to stay with you, babe. Yet, I couldn’t remember the last time I slept in my own bed. I’d been warned that the natural response of most caregivers was to put their lives aside. That they tend to focus on the person with cancer. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t about to surrender and give up on work.

I asked you for cancer cheat sheets. Tacked them to my bulletin board whenever I needed a reminder for the next appointment. Planned my days around chemo, interviewing filmmakers, cat scans, director screenings, biopsies and edits. There would be days missed, but my boss understood the circumstance and helped. How lucky were we to have Kaethy? She was a blessing. She found people to cover my off days. She organized and guided me in the direction I needed to go next. Work was my escape from the pressures of home. I felt like a criminal for having the outlet. Maybe there wasn’t enough of me to go around, but I would certainly try. I honestly thought I could tackle if not solve all of our problems by myself. I could take care of the two of us.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, February 23, 12:52 p.m.
Subject:
cheat sheet

halfway through the to-do list,

but still need to call kaethy

and work out all that work stuff.

just talked to york, as the word has spread from the blog.

he is concerned, wants to help, but doesn’t know what to do.

i told him to keep being himself,

that we should try to get together

for a bike ride sunday afternoon, or at the very least talk.

gladys is sitting next to me

on a giant sunbeam coming in the back door…

i give her two minutes before she passes out.

blazing through my morning.

feeling good.

here’s the cheat sheet. let me know if you need anything else.

CHEAT SHEET:

DATES:

july: diagnosed stage 3 colorectal cancer (adenocarcinoma)

august: began daily radiation treatments with chemo (xeloda)

november: surgery (coloanal anastamosis)

january: began post surgical chemo — oxaplatinum iv every three weeks, xeloda, two pills twice a day

february: restaging of cancer. stage 4. began new chemo: avastin and cpt-11

blood type: unknown

wbc count 2/21: 3.6

SUPPLEMENTS:

wholly immune: 1 scoop twice a day after meals

immune support longevity pack: twice a day after meals

vascuzyme: three pills twice a day on an empty stomach

ip-6: one pill twice a day on empty stomach

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, February 23, 12:52 p.m.
Subject:
Re: cheat sheet

please include what they removed during surgery.

how many lymph nodes?

maybe call the doctor to get your blood type

and I think you are missing a supplement? ellastic acid?

otherwise looks good! thank you.

glad to hear you are blazing through the morning.

I feel like I just got here.

I am busy. have a
producer’s meeting now.

will you send me your new favorite theme song?

the one you played for me yesterday?

I miss the shit out of you!

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, February 23, 4:00 p.m.
Subject:
Re: cheat sheet

miss the fucking hell out of you.

call me when you go to lunch.

“Don’t Die Before Your Day”
The Arrogants

—
Forwarded Message to [email protected]
From:
[email protected]
To:
mother
To:
stepfather
Sent:
Thursday, February 23, 4:19 p.m.
Subject:
the latest

hey guys,

wanted to write and give you the latest.

the chemo went fine on tuesday,

feel a little nausea today, but nothing serious.

adjusting to the new supplements, and the new diet.

quite a change to the system, but a good change.

still exploring all options.

on march 2 i will be meeting with the chinese

qi-gong master who’s book i read: the healing art of qi-gong.

it sounds fruity, but it should be an interesting session.

researching the simonton cancer center.

there’s a session in mid-march chas and i may go to.

creative has been amazing with everything going on,

and i have yet to work out the details, but i am told by chas

that they are planning on keeping me on the payroll.

wow.

chas went into work today,

so gladys and i are hanging out, going for walks,

and barking at dogs that walk by the house…

well, i do most of the barking, i guess,

but things feel good, i feel good,

and hopefully i will be good.

love,

a.

P.S. I attached some photos of us on Valentine’s Day.

Anthony and me wearing our matching red jumpsuits on Valentine’s Day.

—
Forwarded Message to [email protected]
From:
stepfather
To:
mother
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, February 23, 5:46 p.m.
Subject:
Re: the latest

Hi, Anth. Thanks for your cheerful note. I have talked to our senior oncologist, and he thinks your new regimen is excellent. As a backup regimen, if it is possible to be loved into recovery, you are well on the way and the outcome is assured. Gladys alone could probably achieve it, but all of us are pouring out the prayers, loving thoughts, and holding you closely in our arms. It is impossible for me to think of Chas in any other way than as a precious member of our family.

You might be interested that I personally know (though he might not remember me), the researcher who discovered how tumor growth is supported by growth factors which promote capillary circulation. The tumors activate genes which cause the factor to be secreted locally, which increases the blood vessels, which nourish the tumor. Avastin is an antagonist of these blood vessel growth factors, blunting one of the nasty weapons of the cancer. This was a major discovery, for which he might well get the Nobel Prize. He and I were both doing some research at the Bethesda Naval Research Center in the early 1960s.

I am struggling to wind up the whirlwind of church business in order to be away for a week. Tomorrow we pack, Saturday we fly. Your mother will be with you for a few days. Your brother says he would love to come out for a visit if he can get free. Me, too.

Much love,

Dad

…

“I wish you could see us right now. Chas and I are a dynamic duo, running around my house, making calls and lists of food to eat, scheduling supplements, looking up doctors, listening to music, making faces at each other.” You stuck your tongue out at me. “It’s fucking beautiful. Yeah, she’s standing right here. Zach says hi.” You started laughing. “He’s calling us Chanthony. Anyway man, thank you for your text — the appointment this morning went very well. Chas was there in solid form, cuddling, running for snacks, and again, making faces.” You whispered, “I think she’s eavesdropping. Do you think we can reschedule for tomorrow night? No girls allowed?”

“Hey, I heard that! Tell Zach he can have you.”

Your laugh was big.

“Sorry man, I’ll have to check in with the old lady to see if I can get a hall pass first. I’ll let you know…”

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, February 24, 12:31 p.m.
Subject:
crabby

might have something to do with getting my period?

or maybe I’m crabby because my boyfriend has cancer?

or I started the day with a flat tire?

or that my landlord is ignoring my phone calls?

or that my neighbors are jerks?

or I have rats in my apartment?

I am just crabby…

other than that, I miss you,

and hate not coming home to you…

hate working… hate working and you not being here!