Part Sixty-Eight: Conversation

            Back at the end of January when I started radiation treatments, Dr. Nguyen’s physician’s assistant was gone:  his wife was having their first baby that day, and he had arranged to take his two-week vacation to coincide with the baby’s birth.  The first time I met Curtis, I was sure to ask how his wife and son were doing.  In my ensuing weekly check-ups, it was easy to see that he brought both skill and compassion to his job. 

            Thus, I was looking forward to seeing him at my April 7 post-radiation appointment.  The moment he walked into the exam room, I exclaimed, “Hi!  How’s that baby doing?  How old is he now?”

            Curtis looked surprised and happy to answer my questions.  “He’s 2 ½ months old and so cute.  I love my job, but I’m always anxious to get home after work to spend time with him.  Thanks for asking.”

            After some more conversation, Curtis asked me an array of questions concerning my current health, looked at my right quadrant tan, and did a quick examination of my underarm lymph nodes and my abdomen.  Everything checked out great.  He assured me that the lingering fatigue is normal as well as the occasional sharp stabbing pains in my right breast.

            As he explained that from this point on all my follow-up care will be handled by my medical oncologist and my breast surgeon, I asked if there would be any imaging tests in addition to my annual mammogram.  He said it was possible but not probable.  Sometimes, he added, patients want more imaging because they are worried and want the proof in pictures that the cancer is really gone.

            I laughed and said I wasn’t one of those: “God has really blessed me throughout this whole cancer thing.  From the very beginning, he gave me such peace that worry has not been a problem.”

            With a serious look on his face, Curtis told me, “I consider myself a Christian, but I don’t know that I would be strong enough to not worry.”

            “Oh,” I hastened to explain, “the peace is not from me being strong.  It’s a gift.  I’m usually a worry wart.”

            “Me, too,” he said. 

            We chatted for a little while, and then as I stood to go, he said, “Hug?”

            My heart was spilling over with joy as I left the exam room:  joy over this young father with such a heart of compassion, joy over all the wonderful staff at OCSRI.  I left the building with a big smile on my face.  I’m looking forward to my June appointments with doctors Smith and Moussa.