The
Big C and Me - Part Two
Albert Vetere Lannon
©
Copyright 2020 by Albert Vetere Lannon
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It’s
six months since I stopped treatment for multiple myeloma, an
incurable bone plasma cancer that sucks the calcium out of my bones. It
was diagnosed in June, 2017, when I sneezed and broke two ribs! I
am now in Julian, California, while my amazing mate Kaitlin finishes
getting our rural Arizona house ready for sale – if there is
any market in this time of pandemic and panic. I last saw the
oncologist in January, and my lambda light chain marker numbers had
skyrocketed from a low of 29 to over 1300! One case I read about,
however, had a reading of over 8000 at diagnosis, so maybe I’ve
still got a ways to go. One day at a time.
People
often wonder why and how they developed cancer, and there usually are
not satisfactory explanations, just some educated guesswork –
genetics, family history, Agent Orange exposure in Vietnam, exposure
to known carcinogens. I'm pretty sure I know where mine came from.
I
was 18 years old, soon to marry, and working as an apprentice painter
in the Parkchester Apartments, upscale high-risers in the Bronx. I
worked for Hudson Painting and Decorating as part of a crew of 20 or
so painters.
As
the apprentice I got the crap jobs, like painting closets. Closets
don’t get very dirty so paint was thinned 50-50 with benzene, a
known carcinogen since 1928 (although unknown to we who worked with
it at the time) and I got to do the closets. I was drunk by the
third closet, and not in any nice way.
All
of us had burns on our butts from the benzene rag we stuffed in our
back pockets to clean up little spatters. At the end of the day we
half-filled a wash basin with hot water, poured in a dollop of
benzene and scrubbed up. On slow days I cleaned paint pots in a vat
of benzene, with a plastic shield to protect my eyes. Someone should
do studies on that generation of painters to see how many ended up
with some variation of what afflicts me. And the powers-that-be
knew….
Just
as they know about many of the thousands of new chemical combinations
released with little study into the world’s air and water each
year. There’s a long-term agricultural study being done in two
states that is finding the farmers and their families generally
healthier than average because of the time spent outdoors, but with
worrisome numbers of non-Hodgkins lymphoma, possibly from exposure to
glyphosate. Glyphosate is the active ingredient in the most
widely-used herbicide in the world, and has been banned in a number
of countries and U.S. jurisdictions. The maker, Bayer-Monsanto, is
in court regularly challenging the data.
At
six months post-chemo, I’m doing okay, one day at a time. Okay
means reasonably functional. I tire easily, more so lately, with
aches and pains that may be the myeloma, or just arthritis and old
age; I turned 82 in January. The rib and shoulder pain I had went
away, and then returned, the myeloma getting aggressive and hitting
my left side ribs now as well as the right. My left leg goes
painfully numb from time to time. Nothing broken so far. I still
find that my low energy level diminishes further as the day wears on.
It’s technically spring here, but with snow in April, I’m
inside most of the time, just as I was in Arizona. I’m being
careful. Especially in this Covid-19 pandemic. Mask. Social
distancing. Staying home.
The
treatment-induced neuropathy in my feet isn’t going to go away,
and I feel like I’m walking barefoot on gravel, but it’s
manageable with the help of a cane. My appetite comes and goes, I’ve
lost weight, but my bowels are back to normal. (Yeah, yeah, TMI.)
Drinking lots of water keeps my at-risk kidneys afloat. (That’s
two-thirds of a pun: P.U.)
My
new primary doctor thinks I should be seeing an oncologist, but I see
no reason to do that. All they can do is run some expensive tests
and tell me that the myeloma is advancing. Duh! Between Medicare
and my Teachers’ Union-negotiated medical insurance, Big Pharma
and the Cancer Industry have taken in about a half-million dollars on
me. That’s more than enough, too much even, and to think of
those without insurance who went bankrupt and/or died is to feed my
anger over the U.S. model of sickness as fodder for private
enterprise instead of health care being a basic human right.
An
attitude of gratitude: it seems true that you get back what you put
out, and an attitude of gratitude seems to bring out really good
stuff from others. For which I am grateful. An example: While I
was still in Arizona and Kaitlin was in California working to make
our new home, which we’ve named Ruby’s Rest, ready. I
went to a local hospital to try to obtain some records she had been
unsuccessful in having sent to her doctor. I had tried through the
hospital’s website and was referred to an out-of-state phone
number where I was told I just had to fill out a form and take it to
the hospital. So I did.
I
had not been at that hospital for 3-1/2 years and things had changed
and I ended up walking a long way to the entrance which turned out
was no longer the entrance. I walked further to find Administration,
and was exhausted by the time I got there. The most walking I’ve
done in the last 2-1/2 years is 100 steps to our mailbox and 100
steps back, with a rest stop in-between, and I used to be an avid
hiker.
The
young woman at the front Admin desk, Jasmine, saw my plight, found a
wheelchair and wheeled me to Records, which produced them in minutes,
and then wheeled me the long, long way back to my car; with
intelligent conversation along the way. She accepted a hug as an
expression of gratitude, and I later wrote a note to her bosses
telling them how lucky they were to have her.
Another
real treat: I was shopping in our local super market just before the
holidays when
suddenly
there was singing, a mother and her young daughter happily singing
“Do Re Mi” from The
Sound of Music.
I joined them and we all smiled with joy, as did other
shoppers.
I wish Peace on Earth were that easy.
I
have much to be grateful for as I come to the end of my days: my
amazing and loving Kaitlin, my son Erik, who has taught me much about
love and forgiveness, Allan and Arnie and Mark who helped Kait create
Ruby’s Rest here in Julian as a safe and joyful place to live,
Greg and Susan in Picture Rocks helping Kait get Wild Heart Ranch
sale-ready, Richard at Storyhouse for sharing our stories, our dog
Gus who is the embodiment of unconditional love no matter what,
strangers who hold doors for me or offer to help carry packages,
supermarket clerks who load groceries into my car, friends and family
who stay in touch, many good people I’ve known over the years,
amazing places I’ve gone, those days when the sun actually
burns through the Cuyamaca Mountains drizzle-mist*, good books to
read, good music to listen to, writing…I could go on and on,
and I probably will in Part 3. (To
Be Continued…hopefully)
*Cuyamaca
is a First People’s word meaning “rain above.”
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