We didn't have to go to Boston this
week. That was a wonderful thing.
Let me clarify a little. When I say, we
didn't have to go to Boston, I really mean we didn't have to “go to
Boston.” Big difference at our house.
Sheri and I used to really like Boston.
It was only three-plus hours away and more like San Francisco (our
favorite) than any other city on the East Coast. OK. We have visited
every city on the East Coast. Let's just say we've visited enough to
consider it... But this isn't a travel piece, so let me return to the
point.
To us, though, going to Boston no
longer means the science museum, the aquarium, Fenway Park, or even
“Cheers.”
“Going to Boston” means an arduous
three-plus hour trip at the end of which are difficult memories,
often unpleasant news (though not lately), and very, very
poor-tempered drivers. I mean poor-tempered. I once got honked at
while sitting in traffic for leaving too much space between myself
and the car in front of me. Since we hadn't gone anywhere in at least
five minutes, I was almost compelled to leave my car and go ask the
driver behind us what the point was. “Don't do that,” Sheri said.
“He could have a gun.” I don't think she was joking.
If you're going to be coming to Boston
this summer, or just to get true horror stories about driving in
Boston, talk to Sheri. She did it a lot more than I did. I was
sitting safe and secure in my hospital room most of the time. Woops/
Not a travel piece.
So, anyway, most of my cancer care is,
and always have been, done at the Alfond Cancer Center in Augusta
(technically the Harold Alfond Center for Cancer Care), about 25
minutes from home. As you have read me say repeatedly, the care is
wonderful. But the head guy on my oncology team is based at the Dana
Farber Cancer Institute which is in.... right! Boston.
It would be a reach to say I like going
to the Alfond Center. After all, you do have to have cancer or be
with someone who does, to go there on a regular basis. But, to insert
of Bostony-”Cheers”y sort of reference, everybody knows your
name, at least in the areas we visit on a regular basis. Also, it
rarely seems crowded,. They even bring in care dogs once in a while
to help everyone feel better.
The Dana Farber is, likewise, a
terrific facility, one of the best in the country, but it is sooooo
big. For much of my life, I was a city mouse. I went to New York City
every chance I got and would have gladly lived there. Slowly but
surely, though, I have become a country mouse. And I like it. We have
our little country house on a country lake in the country. The
library is open ten hours a week and the post office closes for
lunch. It's everything we need. Travel piece?? Don't care.
We get to the Farber Institute and we
have to fight traffic and people on foot just to get in. Then, there
are people everywhere... and a tremendous number of them are sick!!!
I'm still not supposed to be around large numbers of people,
especially if they are sick, because of the way my immune system was
compromised by my stem cell transplant. Granted, most of the clients
aren't the type of ill that is liable to cause an infection, but let
me tell you... sitting amongst about 80 people waiting for a blood
draw at any given time, there's an awful lot of uncovered-mouth
coughing and not-a-tissue-in-sight sneezing for this
immune-compromised country mouse. Style-purists- I realize that there
are way too many hyphens in that sentence. I'm just not skills-level
capable enough to help myself.
As we move through the halls, the
memories drop by to say howdy. The apheresis machine room, the
surgical area where my Hickman line was put in, the walkway to the
Brigham and Womens Hospital where my stem cell transplant was
actually done and on and on and on. Again, it's much worse for Sheri
because she had to find her way through the halls a lot more than I
did., but still... There wasn't much fun to be had for either of us
and... nobody knew our name.
So I didn't have to go this time
because my cancer is behaving itself and I already have an
appointment locally in a couple of days for my monthly check up. I
called the Farber and asked and all agreed the trip was unnecessary
for now. Will we have to make the trip again? Almost certainly, but
not now and, we hope, not for a while. We can put that one in the win
column.
Who knows. Maybe we'll even put going
to Boston back on our list of fun things to do. Hey, it could happen.
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere.”
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