The Return Of Cancer Man -1

It has been a long while since I got the call to drive anyone for treatment. Cancer is a plague, particularly in this part of the world. Everybody knows somebody who has it, has had it or has died from it. Odds are given my family history, where I live, and my nearly 20 year on and off again love affair with Marlboros, it's probably going to be the thing that gets me -- unless I happen to really piss off Jesco White's family again. There's a lot of cancer around, a lot of cancer patients but not a lot of cancer patients know about the Road To Recovery program.

Word does not get around, which is sad.

In my experience, by the time the folks who could use something like Road To Recovery hear about it, they're grasping at straws. Their support system of family and friends has fallen apart. They're often on some kind of assisted living, barely scraping by and their lives are coming to a slow, but inevitable resolution.

It's the same resolution for all of us, but I imagine the end looks a lot different when you can see it only ten or fifteen paces away.

All of the people I've driven for treatment have died. Most of them expired within three or four months after their last chemo or radiation therapy.

I figured that out a while back, but decided it couldn't matter. Aside from the necessity of the task, I needed to believe there were people out there withe bare minimum, provide a gallon of gas and a little time to help a stranger live for a little while longer.

Be the change you want.

I give what I can, which is a little company to go with the ride. I've broken bread with a couple of them, talked with them about their grandchildren and listened sympathetically as they've exposed the faulty wiring of their families. For them to even need me means something is broken where it ought not to be.

These people lead the frailest of lives. They don't have cars or can't drive any more. They all look a little frightened and sound a little desperate. Some are terribly alone, living off the company of game shows or talk radio and always looking forward to that phone call from their daughter or nephew in Florida --the one who visited a couple of months ago, but didn't bring the kids.

So... I got a call, the first in months. Her name is Gina and she lives with her daughter.

To be continued...