thatwouldresolveonlywithsurgerytoeitherremoveor
bypasstheobstruction.Eitherway,itwasatroublingsign
oftheadvancement of hercancer—despite, now,three
regimens of chemotherapy.
Iwentto talktoDouglass,thinkingaboutexactlyhow
muchofthistoconfrontherwith.Bythistime,anurse
had given her intravenous fluids and a resident had
insertedathree-foot-longtubeintohernosedowntoher
stomach,which had already drainedout a halfliter of
bile-green fluid. Nasogastric tubes are uncomfortable,
torturousdevices.Peoplewhohavethethingsstuckinto
themareusuallynotinaconversationalmood.WhenI
introducedmyself,however,shesmiled,madeapointof
havingme repeat my name, and made sure shecould
pronounceitcorrectly.Herhusbandsatbyherinachair,
pensive and quiet, letting her take the lead.
“Iseemtobeinapicklefromwhat Iunderstand,”she
said.
Shewasthesortofpersonwho’dmanaged,evenwiththe
tubetapedintohernose,tofixherhair,whichshewore
inabob,putherglassesbackon,andsmoothherhospital
sheets over herself neatly. She was doing her best to
maintain her dignity under the circumstances.
Iaskedhowshewasfeeling.Thetubehadhelped,she
said. She felt much less nauseated.
Iasked her to explainwhat she’dbeentold.She said,
“Well,doctor,itseemsmycancerisblockingmeup.So
everything that goes down comes back up again.”