Dr. Dale’s Journal. Part 3: FALLOUT (Radiation)

man on stage 400Dr. Dale’s Journal: Entry Three on Joys of Radiation

For this entry to make sense, you’ll need to have read Diagnosis Black and Hemlock.

Introductory Dr. Dale Memory Story:

Dr. Dale Maxwell, psychiatrist and buddy, has been diagnosed. He has less than two years to live. My husband and I are in Atlanta to visit and on this particular afternoon Dale announces that he’s taking us on the grand tour of the city.

Hal and I nestle into the back of the huge Lincoln Dale required to climb from his chair to behind the wheel. His feet work fine, just not his legs.

At this point in the adventure, the scene is a bit politically incorrect. Because this is story is funny and about people smoking I am not suggesting you smoke or anyone smoke. It’s what happened. Yes, Dale is dying of lung cancer. Connection made. Let it go.

Back to Hal and I, a willing but captive audience nestled in the back seat. Before we’re out of their driveway Dale lights up the first of a continuous series of cigars and Tana starts in on a pack of cigarettes as if it is her mission is to get rid of the pack as soon as possible. Both puff without breaks like a house burning down. I guess in a way a house was burning down.

Dale had asked his cancer docs if it would make any difference if he quit smoking and drinking. The docs said, “No. Some people feel empowered because they are doing something which is great and in many cases, changing habits can make all the difference. But not in your case. Quitting smoking smoking, drinking, or changing your diet will not affect your disease process. If I were you, I’d live as I’d always lived, though you may have to take some well-meaning smirks from friends, enemies, and nosy strangers.”

Well, Dr. Dale was accustomed to smirks. Remember he had polio and walked like a mortally wounded duck when not in a wheelchair.

Luckily Hal and I were positioned out of Dale’s view in the car. That way Dale didn’t witness our eyes widening to Frisbees as if we could collect oxygen through the pupils. He didn’t see our faces go puffy and scarlet in wild efforts to stifle coughing fits.

Dale asks, “Do you need for us not to smoke in the car?” “Was their smoking bothering us?”

We squeaked, “No! Of course not! We’re just terrific back here!” There were full minutes when I was so light-headed I couldn’t answer simple questions and Hal was sort of a gray color. From gray he went to what I think could best be described as ‘ashen.’

But, hey, would you have done? The friend who is kindly showing you the city has really bad lung cancer. He’s dying. He’s not going to ever show us Atlanta or any other city again. What would you do?

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“FALLOUT  [Radiation begins]

September 5, 1995

Nothing.  “They” put X’s on my chest, aimed a giant Xray at me and said hold still.  Ten second buzz, “See you tomorrow.”  “They” promised me esophagitis, more nausea, being very tired, and presented me with a bill for nineteen thousand dollars for thirty treatments total, five per week for six weeks.

(Hemlock chemo update)

[More] nothing.  I read about nausea and vomiting, losing hair, toxic reactions, anemia, low white count and so forth—as the poison drips in over three hours.  I go home eat a hearty meal with Tana, watch a movie, and discuss with Tana how hard it is having cancer.”

Day 2, 3, 4 . . .

“Three hours of poison each day.  Nothing.  If you get right down to it, all I have is fifteen thousand dollars worth of abnormal x-rays.  No symptoms.  No promised—Adverse Reactions.  Do you think the whole thing is a scam?  I get the next three weeks off for good behavior and “They” do it all over again.”

 

 

 

mysteryshrink

I'm a psychologist who goes to way too many movies, for the same reason I chose this profession. I love stories. I use movies and novels working with people in my office and during speaking engagements. "You should write some of this down," I kept being told. So, this is it, folks.

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