Diary of a Bad Year, continued

Once Mark was admitted to the hospital, via the emergency room, when he could no longer keep any food down, they biopsied the tumor, which was malignant. It was, as we had previously been told, at the head of his pancreas and therefore nonresectable, or inoperable. The surgical oncologist came into Mark’s hospital room to tell us—the kids and I were there—while a drug addict in the next bed kept moaning for medication and turning up the TV to unbearable levels. He glared and muttered at me when I turned it down every time I passed by. Once the surgeon left after giving us the bad news they moved Mark to a private room. I remember going back to Jakob and Casey’s house about ten that night and collapsing on the bed in the guest room, sobbing, while the kids sat there helplessly with me.

It took nine days in the hospital to get a stent put in his duodenum with an endoscope so he could eat (it took two tries). Everyone there was incredibly kind. We made friends with all the nurses, the aids, the interns, the housekeepers, etc. and heard all their stories: how many kids they had; what school they were attending to improve their situation; where they were born and raised; how they liked (or hated) their job. You don’t have time to make friends with the doctors; you only see them when they have news to deliver (I never did see the gastroenterologist who put the stent in).

Chemotherapy was scheduled once we could get our insurance company’s approval. Mark was initially given dispensation for treatment at the UNM Cancer Center instead of Presbyterian Hospital, which was his medical insurer, because of the specialized surgical team at the Cancer Center. Once it was clear that surgery wasn’t an option, we had to again get approval through Presbyterian for oncology treatment. That took about a week, and I was grateful for the time. Mark was able to eat, albeit a restricted diet (no fresh vegetables, chewy meat, or anything that could conceivably get stuck in the stent), and gain a little strength before starting once a week chemo treatments.

We’ve all heard the horror stories about chemotherapy (and seen them, if you follow the HBO series Breaking Bad, ironically filmed in Albuquerque): losing weight, losing hair, throwing up, spiraling down. Mark’s physical well being improved, however: he gained some weight, never lost any hair (he didn’t have much to begin with but what he had stayed on his head), never threw up, and maintained the energy to go for a daily walk. After a few months of weekly chemo, if he felt well enough, he even drove himself down to Albuquerque for his session, spending the night at Jakob and Casey’s or even driving himself back the same day. Max had made the decision to take a leave of absence from college, and stayed in Albuquerque, so he was there with Mark when I wasn’t.

Every six weeks we both went down for a CT scan to monitor the size of the tumor and see the oncologist for an evaluation. (By the way, all those TV shows and movies where they show cancer patients going into the oncologist’s office for a consultation are a complete fabrication. Those docs run from exam room to exam room and barely have more than 15 minutes for a look at the lab work, a quick physical check-up, and to answer a few questions we manage to squeeze in. Then it’s off to the races.) We tried to make it festive, and had dinner with the kids, watched movies, and spent many hours in front of the fireplace on cold, winter nights.

Amazingly, Mark was also able to pay considerable attention to his intellectual work. For many months during his illness he edited and serialized in our non-profit community newspaper La Jicarita News an article he had written concerning the adjudication of land grants in New Mexico. The article was intended to be the introduction to a book dealing with this sordid period in New Mexico’s history, where indigenous people were dispossessed of millions of acres of land that had been granted them by the Spanish and Mexican governments. Titled “Brief History of American Imperialism” it chronicled early American expansionism, Manifest Destiny, the Mexican-American War, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, and racism in the New Mexico Territory.
Not only that, but he spent two or three hours several days a week spread out on the floor of the bedroom finishing the article evaluating the effect George W. Julian’s tenure as Surveyor General of the New Mexico Territory (1885-1889). He had received a grant from the New Mexico Historical Records Advisory Board to do the research and writing in 2009, and he finished the work by the spring of 2010.

So from about October through April Mark had a pretty good run. Then, as we headed into late spring and early summer, and as my work in the garden and fields intensified, his work to stay alive became all encompassing.