Today was my last day to spend with John. I am going back to Santa Cruz tomorrow. I contemplated staying another week, but I know that I need to go home. I'm emotionally and physically exhausted and I have a whole new appreciation for the work that nurses do every single day.
I spent a lot of my time with John this week discussing my own brain surgery and all the things that happened to me on my journey to wellness. We compared MRI's and we compared notes on drug therapies. We both declared that Dilantin is just plain evil. We also decided that for the two of us, when faced with the option of life or death, life is always going to win.
On Tuesday we moved John to a new facility. The final one where he would await his trip to Georgetown University Hospital for the cyberknife radiation treatments. When we arrived at the new facility, John was clearly upset and agitated. There was a woman down the hall screaming, "Help Me" over and over and over. I mentioned to John that I was sure someone would come and help her soon. He told me that there was a screamer in every hospital and no one ever did go to help them. I asked him if he wanted me to bust him out of there. To take him home. To just leave and head back to New Jersey? He told me no. He was going to wait for the radiation treatments. Those were his last hope. Then he started to cry and asked me if when I had my brain surgery if I had to go through everything he was going through.
I held his hand, looked into his eyes and said, "John, it wasn't quite like this, but mine was no cake walk, either. Remember, I didn't have health insurance and I spent two months just convincing doctors that there was even something wrong with me. But I survived."
And John thought for a few moments and then said, "If you can do it, I guess I can, too." I laughed. And John said, "Not that you're a wimp or anything, but you know, if you did it, I can do it."
I said goodbye to John and managed not to cry until I left the building. Then I sobbed. And sobbed. I am hopeful that this treatment will work. But at the same time, I'm realistic and know that it could be the last time I ever see him. I just have to hope that he calls me soon and says, "About those herbs..."
