The last few weeks have been a blur. I had a strong intuition I had to leave Vegas. For good, or else I would end up in the hospital there, and die. I heard a voice say it. I don’t remember packing, or driving away. Just showing up at Katie’s house with a bulldog, and a parrot and Brett. Poor Katie. Anyway, I ended up in the hospital just like I knew I would, but I didn’t die, so I must’ve done the right thing.
Then it was out of the hospital, time to start the new chemo. I don’t know how I didn’t expect it to be different this time – I’m so much weaker. Did you know I now have ruched skin? I have more folds and pleats than a 90′s Valentino gown. I am thinking about creating a puppet theater where my arms will star as the front legs of famous elephants through the ages.
Finally the big day arrived even though my insurance carrier, Blue Shield, to whom I pay nearly $700 per month for a PPO plan, is balking at covering one of the medicines my oncologist wants included in my latest protocol – Perjeta (aka Pertuzamaub) a fully FDA-approved, aready-on-the-market HER2 breast cancer drug created by the nice folks at Genentech. Why? Nobody knows, and while the insurance people push their papers around, there’s just this cancer taking a casual stroll through my body so I guess a decision maker somewhere said, “Ah, fuck it, two out of three aint bad…” so I will get only Herceptin and Gemcitabine this go-round.
I get what I get, and I don’t get upset. They hooked me up to the tank and the view was very pleasant out the window of the Mayo Clinic and Hil and Fireboy came and we chatted and I soaked up all the medicine like a thirsty loaf of french bread and then it was time to leave.
As I started down the hall it was as if with each step, I sunk an inch deeper into the floor. By the time I made it to the nurses’ station I felt as though I were knee-deep in linoleum. Someone put me in a wheelchair. Somehow I got home and then crawled into bed and then I started barfing. I felt like a doll with a hollow plastic body. I slept and retched and eventually, I started hallucinating. When I could, I’d pry my eyes open to stare at the geometric patterns spreading off into all directions. Millions of teeny plus signs on top of plus signs on top of plus signs. Chevrons. A flashing black and white snake that strobed the entire room. I couldn’t eat or drink anything. Not even water. As the days went on I had the sense things weren’t going well, but I also didn’t really care. Rather than the panic I’d been choking down for the last few months, I was starting to sense a strange relief nudging in. I felt as though a giant pair of scissors were descending from the sky to clip me from a silk rope so that I could be freely tossed, cartwheeling in slow motion, on to a giant pile of pillows.
Katie crawled into bed. “Don’t leave me.” she whispered. “You’re my sister.” I told her not to worry, that I was going to handle shit for her, I would pull strings and she wasn’t going to have any more problems again, ever. Like in the afterlife I have some deep mobster associations, or juice or something. I think that’s what I said. I think she laughed. Maybe I dreamed it.
Every third or fourth time I opened my eyes, Hil was rubbing my feet. They were 100 miles away but it still felt good. Once, I opened my eyes and she was standing on a chair, attaching a string of party lights to the ceiling. Another time, I peeked through one eye and she was hanging bones and lace and folk angels on a hook over a chair. Through it all, I dry heaved constantly into a silver ice bucket.
This went on for six days. When I opened my eyes Hil was gone. She left behind magic wands made of driftwood and string and a pair of magical, bejeweled Mainifesting Earmuffs from Beezy which I now wear to bed every single night.
Katie works on a paint by number painting of labradors in the evenings. She got us berets to add to the art colony atmosphere and we wear them while she fills in the spaces with her brush and I sit on the sofa and Fireboy feeds me on the hour like I am a helpless baby bird.
It feels like the medicine might be working. I don’t know which will disappear first- me or the cancer. Let’s find out, shall we?