Back to Seidman Cancer Center

 
We’re sitting in Starbucks up at Legacy Village right now. It’s 1:08 pm as I type the time “1:08.” I’m in between scans at Seidman Cancer Center.

Late this morning we drove up for a day of tests and needle-piercings. As soon I arrived, they took me in to get my monthly injection of Xgeva, a drug that promotes bone strength, and my bones need some extra strength these days: My prostate cancer has metastasized and found its new home: in my bones. And one of the other drugs I’m taking to discourage my determined disease (Lupron) has the side effect of weakening the bones.

Love it.

So … the damn shot hurt (always does—every month!), but, hey, I’m a MAN, right, so all I had to do was MAN UP, right? (I sort of did—though I lowered my head so the nurse would not see my … tears.)

Then I walked across the hall to Radiology, where I started drinking water for my CT scan. While doing so, I headed upstairs to get two things: (1) the installation in a vein of a “port” that the technician would use to insert a contrast dye during the scan; (2) an injection of some Spider Man-y radiation that will circulate around in me for a couple of hours, at which time we’ll head back to Seidman for my bone scan, scheduled for about 2:30.

I began the morning in as normal a way as I could—over to Open Door Coffee, where I did my usual reading and writing. I generally get there around 7, stay for a couple of hours, drinking their great coffee the while. But today—as per medical instructions—I could drink only clear liquids after 8, so my friend Nigel (at the counter today—his parents own the shop) accommodated me after 8 by giving me hot water in my cup instead of coffee. The heat was nice. The rest? Kind of pathetic.

Joyce and I then left home about 10:15 for the drive up to Seidman, a drive that can take anywhere from 25 minutes to an hour, depending on that endless construction project on I-271. It was quick today.

So, after the CT scan, I’m allowed to drink and eat, so that’s why we’re here in Starbucks, Joyce and I, reading, typing, and continuing to do what we’ve done for each other for nearly forty-eight years (our anniversary is on Wednesday)—holding a hand that desperately needs a lover’s touch, a touch that pulsates with the beating of an understanding heart.