from having lung cancer, or we can
recommend managing your diet and exercising so that cancer cells have a harder
time developing, but how do you tell your brain to react against a growing
lesion. It doesn’t do what you want it to do most of the time anyway, so how do
you expect it to react when it receives a sudden shock and cannot re-calibrate
itself readily?”
“That’s what hockey and
football players are looking forward to–concussions, I mean,” Corey remarked.
“Absolutely. However, in
the case of Mrs. Termini, we were looking at a long lasting effect from a
tennis ball that hit her just above the left earlobe some twenty-five years
ago.”
“Wow, that long ago,”
Tiffany said. “That’s unbelievable.”
“All cancers are unbelievable
to a certain extent, Doctor, and more so when it comes to brain tumors. Yet,
what I have described as the reason for Mrs. Termini’s intracranial lesion may
be totally erroneous. Suffice to say, same as you do, we are all learning every
day.”
“And that’s probably why
she felt dizzy and as if she was losing her balance from time to time,” I
added.
“As you said, Doctor. I
even thought she had pierced an eardrum in recent days. Or she had suffered
from an ear infection until she went through a CAT scan exam. The lesion was
small, as I said, but quite visible.”
Dr. Slosberg did not
leave us after our visit of Mrs. Termini. The lady was as cheerful as any one who’s just got a second chance at life. She was not
only pleasant, but she explained that she planned to travel to Italy next
summer to have it out with her cousin. He was the one who played tennis with
her and whose ball hit her head all those years ago.
“He will pay, I tell you.
He will pay,” she told everyone, meaningfully it seemed, although her smile
betrayed her lack of persuasiveness in the matter.
Since we were on the
fourth floor, Dr. Slosberg suggested a visit of the psychotherapy ward.
Frankly, I was not particularly looking forward to that tour. Seeing people who
have to face such challenges as leading a “normal” life every day, always
manages to depress me. Yet, it’s all part of the learning curve.
Once again, Dr. Slosberg
was quite helpful. The psychiatrist in attendance led the group through each
room, explaining each of the patients’ conditions. The worst was the case of a
little boy who had been so traumatized during an incident involving the murder
of his mother that he had lost the faculty of speech. There would be months of
mental therapy facing him, yet in the end, he would have a chance at life,
whereas many of the other patients would not be so lucky.
That evening, Tiffany and
I were truly glad to get home. I was exhausted and so was she. The twelve-hour
days were beginning to take their toll on us. Fortunately, we had managed to do
some cooking the previous Sunday and put a lot of our ready-made dishes in the
freezer. Buying Chinese every night was not only unhealthy, but costly. So
Sundays would be dedicated to cooking from now on.
After eating rice and
veggies in a delicious sauce, I called my mother. I didn’t want her to call me
in the middle of the night again. I wanted to know what Dr. Bernard’s plan was;
when was my father getting his pacemaker was my question.
“Hey, Mom, how are you?”
“So-so, Heather. I really
don’t know how to cope,” she complained again. “I haven’t had a chance to speak
to Dr. Bernard yet, but I’ve spoken to Eliot and John today.”
“What did they have to
say?”
“Same as you, dear. They
want to wait until your dad gets his pacemaker before making any plans.” She
paused and I heard my dad come to sit beside her. “Come, let me talk to my
girl,” he said. His voice sounded as solid and in control as ever.
“Hello, Dad?”
“Yes, this is your old
Dad, Heather. I just wanted to let you know that I am fine. Your mother is
fussing again. She thinks I’m losing my marbles. But I can assure you,
recommend managing your diet and exercising so that cancer cells have a harder
time developing, but how do you tell your brain to react against a growing
lesion. It doesn’t do what you want it to do most of the time anyway, so how do
you expect it to react when it receives a sudden shock and cannot re-calibrate
itself readily?”
“That’s what hockey and
football players are looking forward to–concussions, I mean,” Corey remarked.
“Absolutely. However, in
the case of Mrs. Termini, we were looking at a long lasting effect from a
tennis ball that hit her just above the left earlobe some twenty-five years
ago.”
“Wow, that long ago,”
Tiffany said. “That’s unbelievable.”
“All cancers are unbelievable
to a certain extent, Doctor, and more so when it comes to brain tumors. Yet,
what I have described as the reason for Mrs. Termini’s intracranial lesion may
be totally erroneous. Suffice to say, same as you do, we are all learning every
day.”
“And that’s probably why
she felt dizzy and as if she was losing her balance from time to time,” I
added.
“As you said, Doctor. I
even thought she had pierced an eardrum in recent days. Or she had suffered
from an ear infection until she went through a CAT scan exam. The lesion was
small, as I said, but quite visible.”
Dr. Slosberg did not
leave us after our visit of Mrs. Termini. The lady was as cheerful as any one who’s just got a second chance at life. She was not
only pleasant, but she explained that she planned to travel to Italy next
summer to have it out with her cousin. He was the one who played tennis with
her and whose ball hit her head all those years ago.
“He will pay, I tell you.
He will pay,” she told everyone, meaningfully it seemed, although her smile
betrayed her lack of persuasiveness in the matter.
Since we were on the
fourth floor, Dr. Slosberg suggested a visit of the psychotherapy ward.
Frankly, I was not particularly looking forward to that tour. Seeing people who
have to face such challenges as leading a “normal” life every day, always
manages to depress me. Yet, it’s all part of the learning curve.
Once again, Dr. Slosberg
was quite helpful. The psychiatrist in attendance led the group through each
room, explaining each of the patients’ conditions. The worst was the case of a
little boy who had been so traumatized during an incident involving the murder
of his mother that he had lost the faculty of speech. There would be months of
mental therapy facing him, yet in the end, he would have a chance at life,
whereas many of the other patients would not be so lucky.
That evening, Tiffany and
I were truly glad to get home. I was exhausted and so was she. The twelve-hour
days were beginning to take their toll on us. Fortunately, we had managed to do
some cooking the previous Sunday and put a lot of our ready-made dishes in the
freezer. Buying Chinese every night was not only unhealthy, but costly. So
Sundays would be dedicated to cooking from now on.
After eating rice and
veggies in a delicious sauce, I called my mother. I didn’t want her to call me
in the middle of the night again. I wanted to know what Dr. Bernard’s plan was;
when was my father getting his pacemaker was my question.
“Hey, Mom, how are you?”
“So-so, Heather. I really
don’t know how to cope,” she complained again. “I haven’t had a chance to speak
to Dr. Bernard yet, but I’ve spoken to Eliot and John today.”
“What did they have to
say?”
“Same as you, dear. They
want to wait until your dad gets his pacemaker before making any plans.” She
paused and I heard my dad come to sit beside her. “Come, let me talk to my
girl,” he said. His voice sounded as solid and in control as ever.
“Hello, Dad?”
“Yes, this is your old
Dad, Heather. I just wanted to let you know that I am fine. Your mother is
fussing again. She thinks I’m losing my marbles. But I can assure you,
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