The Lie -- with Updates.

The Lie

         Harsh antiseptic commingles with the inoffensive scent of floor wax and sends a message to the brain: hospital.

         After an hour in this environment, one's olfactory senses also detect the bitter smell of human illness, perhaps even death, lurking just below the surface of the obvious odors.

         Lloyd, the new husband of the woman I lived with for twenty-five years, sits in the empty surgical waiting room, shoulders bent, his face hidden in his hands. A good man, he is frightened, as am I. We have developed a close friendship, sharing a common love for the same woman, though his is one of companionship and romance, whereas mine is a love born of knowledge, caring and a quarter century of shared ups and downs. A fatherly kind of love.

         The girl of sixteen I married, ten years my junior, who became the woman who gave me my son and the best years of my life, has been under the knife for two hours. I would gladly trade places with her. There was no animosity between us -- we simply grew apart. The affection was still there, for both of us, but not the passion.

         The lump she discovered a year earlier, in her left breast, was nothing more than a benign cyst. So, when the lump appeared two months ago in her right breast she didn't spend much time worrying over it -- until it doubled in size in a matter of days.

         The first surgery was a lumpectomy, a relatively simple procedure. The lump, however, proved to be a very aggressive malignant cancer and now, a week later, more extensive surgery is being performed.

         I stand beside the coffee vending machine, alone in my thoughts, trying to imagine how I would have handled this crisis when she and I were married. Would I have broken down as Lloyd has done, or would I have become even more her solid rock to lean upon in difficult times? Both, I decide.

         A young nurse hurries past, the crepe soles of her shoes creating an irritating squeak on the linoleum. The P.A. speaker on the wall above my head calls a Doctor Henry to the emergency room.

         Heavy black clouds fill the sky, turning daylight to dark as a light rain splatters against the opaque waiting room windows. Ominous. A portent of things to come, I wonder?

         And then, wearing pale green scrubs, our surgeon strides into the waiting room. Though I want to rush to him, it is no longer my place to do so. I allow Lloyd to stand and ask about his wife before I move closer, slightly behind and to his left.

         I read the doctor's eyes before I ever hear his voice, and a cold hand grips my spine.

         Lloyd goes limp, as though his bones have been removed, when the doctor tells him that eighty percent of the lymph glands are involved. He says it isn't a matter of if the cancer will return, but a matter of when and where.

         He says something about five years, but I have already stopped listening. He can't be talking about my wife -- my ex-wife, I remind myself, though she still maintains residence in a very large room in my heart. The woman I love, that I care about more than any living human being besides our son, is only forty-five years old for Christ's sake, with a new husband of four years, a new home, new friends and a new life. A good life.

         As the doctor walks away, Lloyd turns to me, shaking, spasms trying to escape his chest but he fights to keep the sobs within. I have never seen such pain on anyone's face, though a mirror would probably reflect the same stricken expression on my own.

         I pull Lloyd to my chest and envelop him in my arms, patting his back. The sobs are freed and he breaks down completely. Small unintelligible moans emanate from deep in his throat.

         Choking back my own tears, I assure him that whatever it takes, whatever it costs, I swear to God we won't lose her.

         Outside, thunder booms and rumbles and lightning flashes. I catch my image in the glass of the window -- and know I lie.

The End

April 22, 2005

A postscript.

Many people who read this item seem to realize that it is a fictionalized slice-of-time based on true events.

For those readers, and to show that there is always hope, I am adding this postscript:

My ex-wife, Jodie, underwent the surgery, and six months of chemotherapy and radiation, like the fighter she is. Even when bald and feeling the fatigue associated with her treatment she remained positive.

Eight months after I wrote this story, upon returning home from the hospital that stormy night, my ex was declared cancer-free.

Now, some three years later, she remains in good health, has returned to work, and she, her husband, and I are closer than ever.



August 21, 2006
An update:

Today, almost four years to the day of her original surgery, my ex returned to the doctor upon discovering three lumps in her neck. All three involve the lymph gland.

She is scheduled for surgery next week. The largest of the lumps will be removed and immediately biopsied. If malignant, the other two lumps will be left alone -- and the chemo and radiation will begin again.

If the larger lump is benign, the other two will be excised and biopsied.

At this point we are all praying that all three lumps will be benign -- although the doctor isn't giving us much hope to think this may be the case.



September 20, 2006
An update:

The surgery did not go as expected. The largest lump was entwined with a nerve bundle in her neck and could not be removed. One of the smaller lumps was excised and biopsied instead. The lump was malignant.

Now, after several other tests, including an MRI and PET scan, the doctors have discovered that the cancer has spread to her lungs, liver, brain, and, as of yesterday, to the bone of one rib and to her spine.

We are all in a state of disbelief and shock.

The doctors are expected to start chemotherapy later this week.



November 8, 2006
An update:

After two rounds of chemo, including a new, experimental drug, my ex has been feeling okay, working fulltime and getting on with her life.

Yesterday, however, she was admitted to the hospital for treatment of cellulitis in her right arm as a result of swollen lymph glands, and for a severe staph infection of unknown origin. When I spoke to her last night she was very tired and discouraged and, for the first time, she sounded scared.



December 26, 2006
An update:

The cellulitis and staph infection kept Jodie in the hospital for six days, but she fought it and went right back to work after being released. The good news is that all of the tumors have been reduced in size by the chemo. The bad news is that the cellulitis and infection in her right arm flared up again a few days before Christmas.

She spent three days in the hospital this time, but was home in time for Christmas.
Under her guidance, her husband Lloyd did a fantastic job of preparing Christmas dinner for our strange, extended family.




April 15, 2007
An update:

Recent tests indicate that all of the tumors have been reduced in size by 50%, thanks to the chemo and to Jodie's strong will to live. Her hair is beginning to grow out again, and she jokes that her bald head looks as if someone planted carrot seeds on it.



May 23, 2007
An update:

Today is Jodie's 50th birthday.

Although she is still taking chemo, and having some fatigue following her treatments, she seems to be doing great. May God grant her many, many more birthdays.



August 5, 2007
An update:

Jodie's doctor is calling her his "miracle" patient. After these past few months or chemo, along with an experimental drug that helps shrink and cause tumors to atrophy, all of the tumors are barely visible!

There is still some chemo ahead, but it appears that Jodie's prognosis for many more years is good.



January 7, 2008
An update:

The rollercoaster ride continues. Jodie's latest CAT scan, just before Christmas,
indicates that the tumors have returned to a problematical size in her liver. A bone scan is scheduled for later this month as a more definitive procedure.

In the meantime, she has been started on another round of chemo, with another drug.

Her spirit remains strong, but this latest setback has her, and all who love her, frustrated.



February 8, 2008
An update:

Having experienced some problems with her balance recently, Jodie was given a brain scan. Unfortunately, the cancer has metastasized in her brain. Several inoperable tumors were detected, the largest the size of a pea. Although she is undergoing daily radiation her balance, coordination and speech are noticeably impaired.

The doctor has now forbidden her to drive or work until further notice.



February 20, 2008
An update:

Jodie's husband, Lloyd, told me in confidence yesterday that the doctor has given Jodie six months to live. Jodie is not aware of this time-line, and does not wish to know.

The beach front vacation home they are having built on the coast is nearly complete, and Jodie loves it down there, so Lloyd's plan is to spend as much time as possible there in the coming months. Fortunately, he is an independent sales contractor and a large part of his work is done by telephone, which he can do anywhere.

For the time being we are not going to tell Jodie's and my son, Kevin, of this latest bad news, fearing that it would impact his college studies.



June 25, 2008

An update:

The past few months have been difficult. The brain tumors, despite chemo and radiation, have grown to the size of quarters and are causing periodic personality, comprehension and motor skill problems.

During a recent vacation to Disney World Jodie wandered away from Lloyd, her son and stepson after going to use the restroom in a restaurant. After a forty-five minute search they saw her hurrying toward them with a woman and child close on her heels. Jodie had taken a souvenier Mickey Mouse coffee mug from them. Lloyd retrieved the mug and returned it, explaining to the woman the problem.

Jodie and Lloyd returned to the restaurant for something to drink, while her son and stepson went to ride some rides. When Lloyd took his eyes off Jodie long enough to pay the cashier she took off again. Lloyd hunted for her for thirty minutes before calling the boys on their cell phones to come help him. They also alerted park security to be watching for her. Two and a half hours later she was found in an entirely different part of the park, having climbed aboard a tour bus.

When reunited, Jodie was carrying someone's sandals she had purloined somewhere during her journey.

Upon returning home from the trip Jodie went to the doctor for an exam. He reduced her dosage of steroids, indicating that the higher dose could be the cause of her wanderlust and tendency to take things. Now, however, in addition to being forbidden to drive, Jodie is not allowed to be alone at any time. And the doctor finally got around to telling her that returning to work was no longer an option.

Lloyd and I agreed that it was time to inform Jodie's son and stepson as to the reality of her situation. As feared, her (our) son decided to skip the second summer semester of college so he could spend more time with her. Between her son, stepson, Lloyd and myself, one of us is with her at all times until we see if the reduction in her steroid dose allows her to on her own again. If such is not the case Lloyd will have to look into the possibility of hiring a home healthcare service to stay with Jodie during the day.

To add to her other problems the steroids also make Jodie hyperactive. She wants to be doing something constantly. Three weeks ago, when she was still okay to be home alone, she decided to clean out the attic. When she was climbing down the folding attic ladder she forgot that the last rung was three feet off the ground, and she took a freefall, managing to land on her feet but hurting her back. She mentioned her back pain to the doctor when she saw him upon her return from vacation. An X-ray revealed that she had ruptured two discs in her spine when she fell. The doctor said back surgery may be required but, for now, not knowing how much time she has left, he is taking a wait and see posture.

I wish to God I had something positive to say but, unfortunately, such is not the case.



September 20, 2008

An update:

September has been a horrible month. After spending five days in the beachfront home on the Texas coast, which was just completed in March of this year, Jodie and Lloyd returned home to Fort Worth. The following week Hurricane Ike hit the Galveston area. Their home, and most of the other homes on the Bolivar Penninsula were completely swept away by the strong storm surge. Not even the concrete slab remains.

To add to that devastating news, a CAT scan earlier this week disclosed that the tumors in Jodie's liver and brain have multiplied and grown much larger. She has been told that additional chemo and radiation will be of no further value. All treatment was discontinued 9/18/08.

Her fate is now in God's hands, and her time with us may be measured in weeks rather than months.



October 22, 2008

An update:

At 7:10 A.M. Central time Jodie left the illness and pain behind. She will be missed by her many, many friends and loved ones.

Jodie J

5-23-57 - 10-22-08

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