appetiteandketamine,ananesthetic,tocontrolhispain,
but the drugs made him hallucinate.
We didn’t understand what was happening. The
specialistskeptexpectingthetumortoshrinkand,withit,
hissymptoms.Afterhissix-monthMRI,however,heand
my mom called me.
“Thetumorisexpanding,”hesaid, hisvoicequietand
resigned. The radiation hadn’t worked. The images
showed that, instead of shrinking, the tumorhad kept
rightongrowing,extendingupwardintohisbrain,which
iswhytheringinghad persistedand thedizziness had
appeared.
I welled with sadness. My mother was angry.
“What wastheradiationfor?”she asked.“Thisshould
have shrunk. They said it would most likely shrink.”
Myfatherdecidedtochangethesubject.Suddenly,for
thefirsttimeinweeks,hedidnotwanttotalkabouthis
symptomsofthedayorhisproblems.Hewantedtoknow
abouthisgrandchildren—howHattie’ssymphonicband
concerthadgonethatday,howWalkerwasdoingonhis
skiteam,whetherHuntercouldsayhello.Hishorizons
had narrowed once more.
Thedoctorrecommendedseeingtheoncologisttoplan
chemotherapy,andafewdayslaterIjoinedmyparentsin
Clevelandfortheappointment.Theoncologistwasnow
centerstage,butshetoolackedBenzel’sabilitytotakein
thewholepicture.Wemisseditkeenly.Sheproceededin
information mode. She laid out eight or nine
chemotherapy options in about ten minutes. Average