Hospital Tact

My Aunt Cindy was recently admitted to Boston Medical Center. Going in for a headache, she is now staying with diagnosed acute leukemia.

Having extremely little knowledge of what this actually was, I asked around and the consensus is that this is the "bad kind" of leukemia. Instead of its chronic counterpart which happens over time and can be more easily detected in early stages, acute leukemia strikes suddenly, without warning or cause, and can kill in a matter of weeks.

I didn't see how this was possible. Young, fit, long-distance running Cindy is the picture of health. I had to go and see for myself.

Making a quick call to my Mother, who is a nurse, for advice on what to bring with me, I hopped in the car and went to the hospital. I was told not to bring flowers, fresh fruit, or anything dirty as they can't risk Cindy getting any additional illnesses or infections in her weakened state. Flowers and a fruit basket were out of the question. Instead I stopped by the Latin Market down the street and picked up Twinkies, Moon Pies, Zingers, Ho ho's, and honey buns. Thinking she would be there for a while, I grabbed some books of short stories and novels from my bookshelf for her to read.

Arriving at the hospital and checking in with the nurse's station, I was told she was downstairs having some tests done and would I please wait in the lobby. I waited and watched the Red Sox decimate Tampa Bay until Cindy was wheeled by. Following the bed to her room, I saw her get up, stagger a bit, and work to open the door and pull herself inside. I followed her up to the door and, not wanting to startle her, knocked first, and started to enter her room.

"You have to wash your hands and put on a mask." She labored. "Germs."

"Right. Sorry." I said.

I rushed down the hall, found a bathroom, washed my hands, grabbed a surgical mask and gloves from the nurse's station, and went back to the room.

"Where did you go?" She asked me, sitting in a chair by her bed.

"To the bathroom to wash my hands." I replied, confused by the question.

"You just have to use the disinfectant outside the door, next to the masks. And you don't need gloves."

"Oh. Sorry. I haven't really done this before."

"That's okay. Me neither." She said.

There was a strange span of silence then. It was awful. I looked at her, looking sad, scared, frail, in pain, covered in IV's and bandages, and I just wanted it to stop. I stood up to cross the bridge of space between us and give her a hug. Then I stopped myself. I'm not supposed to touch her, I remembered. Feeling silly just standing there, I picked up the bag of items I brought and handed it to her. "These are for you."

Cindy managed a smile as she opened the bag and pulled out the assorted books and trashy novels I brought with me. Then my marathon-running, health-conscious Aunt pulled out the now-smooshed Twinkies and various Little Debbie assortment from the bottom of the bag.

"I know you don't really like junk food...but they said its what's best for you now. They don't want you to lose any weight and you can't have fresh food." I mustered.

She nodded, smiled, and thanked me.

Visiting her, I thought we would have a lot to talk about. But actually being there changed all that. Everything I had meant to tell her suddenly seemed so insignificant in the face of this impending crisis. I didn't want to talk about my new condo when who knows when she'll see hers again. I didn't want to talk about my new job while she was on a leave of absence or the new dog I was planning to get while she looked so alone. Another moment of silence crept into the sterile room. Unable to bare it and unsure of what I could do to possibly comfort her, I blurted out:

"How are you feeling?" She went to the doctor for an earache and was told her odds are 50/50. How do you think she's feeling, dumbass?

"I'm hanging in there."

She went on to tell me about all of the tests they were doing and they would be starting chemotherapy in the morning. She seemed to know everything that was going on around her. I suppose that if you're in a situation like hers--knowledge is your only real weapon.

I listened to her talk about what the nurses and doctors said, what tests have shown, and general leukemia facts. Even though she was tired and nervous, she was starting to sound a little better. I couldn't physically comfort her in any way, but having someone to talk to was making a difference.

While I was visiting Cindy, every member of our family called to check up on her too. She may have felt lonely, but she was far from alone. Knowing that is keeping up her fight. After she beats leukemia and comes home, I can't wait to go out for some chocodiles with her.

Still Intact

Last night was a much needed fun escape from the horrors of being on a fixed budget after buying my first condo (see right.)

It began with a matinee showing of Super Bad at Loews on Boston Common. Featuring heinous language, violence, toilet humor, and more raunch than a teen's wet dream, it was right up my alley. I give it an A-.

After the show, we shuffled on over to Shanghai Restaurant in the Chinatown/Theatre District area (see right.) If you like your bad service with a side of mausoleum-esque atmosphere then this is the place for you. Featuring 4 tables total, a bar with 4 stools, and 3 silent, mummified employees who eschew eye contact—the place left much to be desired. The only employee who did make eye contact was the gremlin in the kitchen who was periodically taking breaks from cooking the tasteless food to gawk shamelessly at my attractive friend. Stealing the show, however, was my fortune cookie. Managing to best even the rude waitstaff, it contained this gem:

"Today, your mouth might be moving but no one is listening."

Paying our bill we rushed back down the street to the theatre for an 8:05 showing of Stardust. The movie would have been pretty bland if it wasn't for Claire Danes, Bobby D., and Michelle Pfieffer. The story was cute and creative, Deniro's character unexpected, and the special effects good. The problem was the visible striving to be the next Princess Bride or Never Ending Story and falling short. I'll give it a B on merit.

As I was listening to the closing music and watching the credits to see the name of the cute hero actor, I leaned down to grab my bag (man-purse) only to discover its absence. Jumping up with trepidation I looked down the aisle floor searching for my perfect little bag. Dear God, my phone, camera, pills, ipod, and, most important, my journal are in that bag. Abandoning the rest of our group, I Snatched the hand of my friend Leanne and ran back to Shanghai Restaurant to see if a good Samaritan had discovered it and kept it safe.

Being completely ignored by the oblivious employees, it was easy to skulk around the restaurant looking for it on bended knee like it were a lost puppy. Spotting it behind the bar I let out a giant sigh of relief and crawled toward it. Tiny Asian feet inside tiny shoes intercepted my recovery. Looking up at the bartender I told him that I had just eaten here (sadly) and that it was my bag. He didn't seem convinced. I could see where he was coming from since the restaurant was just packed full of people and how could he possibly remember the only table who had just eaten there? I pleaded more in a language he didn't understand and pointed to the bag, making gestures of putting it over my shoulder and walking out the door. Wearing him down with my charades, gibberish, and native tongue, he acquiesced and stood aside.

I grabbed my bag and ran outside with it, rummaging through to see what had been ransacked and what the Gods had deemed necessary for me to keep. Everything was intact. I whipped out my cell phone to call the group I had just abandoned at the theatre to explain my behavior. Perhaps it wasn't the best decision to stop and make a phone call on the corner of a Chinatown street at night. A tall black man in a Red Sox cap tapped me on the shoulder while I was on the phone, asking:

"Hey big dude, when you get off the phone, can I ask you a question?"
First off—never call me "big dude" unless I've known you for 3+ years. Secondly, I know what you want to ask me—can I give you any money? And lastly, you're better dressed than I am with my Filene's Basement Bargain Bin t-shirt and tattered jeans—why ask me for money?

I nodded to the scary stranger, exchanged a scared look with Leanne, and continued my phone conversation while taking baby steps down the sidewalk toward the subway. Taking the hint, the man gave up on waiting for me to finish my call and walked away. I hung up and we walked swiftly to the T-station.

All I could think of the whole way home was that when I start my own Fortune Cookie company, all of my fortunes will be as vicious as the insults in Super Bad.