Rudy

March 9, 2010

Everything in the universe has a measurement. Stars are closer to, farther from earth, people are taller than, shorter than, rain is harder than, softer than, houses are larger than, smaller than. The cancer cells that have invaded Rudy’s body have a scale all their own. His score is six and that’s “mildly aggressive;” better than moderately or highly aggressive but cancer, nonetheless.

“You’ve got the good kind of cancer “Dr. Reisinger said.

I had no idea there is a good kind of cancer and besides, this is my husband we’re talking about. Let her use the term “good cancer” on her husband. Suddenly I experience a curious dreamlike silence and a white hot stone lodges itself in the center of my chest. I do not look at Rudy but stare at Dr. Reisinger as if listening intently. My mind is traveling randomly at warp speed. “What do we do now?” “How could this happen?” “We have only been married 4 months!” “This is too soon!” “We have not had enough time together to have to deal with this!” “Can we work as a team?” “Is he scared?” “Does he know I’m scared?”

“…think since we see the same results with surgery and radiation, radiation is probably your best choice but the decision is yours.” I realize I have tuned back in to Dr. Resinger.

“What do you think?” Rudy asks.

Me? I surprise myself by speaking. “I think we should go with the radiation.” What? Where did that come from? Who am I to have an opinion?

“I agree,” he says. That’s what we’ll do. Set it up doctor. I’m ready.”

I leave Dr Reisinger’s office feeling as if I have just watched a movie entitled, “Rudy and Kate Discuss Cancer with Dr. Reisinger.” I do not feel as if what had just happened is real but I feel more profoundly Rudy’s wife than I have in the four months we have been married.

March 30, 2010

The people in the waiting room of the oncologist’s office are a group. They speak words not yet in my vocabulary. They talk about losing their hair, fatigue, nausea. The man in the black watch cap seems restless; he walks from one end of the room to the other and changes his seat only to get up and do it again. The woman with the short black hair says she cannot have radiation today because she still has staples in her head. The man next to her says he feels cold but at least he’s not nauseous today. To my left there is a wig catalogue. I move closer to Rudy, put my arm through his. I don’t want us to be part of this group. I don’t want us to be in this room. I want us to be outside in the sunshine. The door opens and a nurse calls his name. He walks through the door alone. I am not allowed near the equipment. The cancer cells have separated us for the first time and I miss my husband.

March 31, 2010

Albert, from the oncologist’s office calls. He says Dr. Reisinger is not pleased with yesterday’s CT scan and Rudy must have another. I call Rudy at work and ask when he is available. “Not in the morning,” he says. “I have to be at work in the morning.” He sounds irritable, short. I have never heard my husband like this. I call Albert and tell him to schedule Rudy for tomorrow afternoon.

Rudy is home for lunch at one. “I want to ask you something,” he says.

“Sure.”

“Is it normal for me to be angry about having cancer?”

Oh, my gentle husband. I feel angry too.