Angela

Part 1. Posting this as motivation for me to finish this up. Part 2 (the final) coming very soon.

"Connie just does too much. She brought me an entire CRATE of clementines. When am I gonna eat 24 clementines!!?? CAN YOU IMAGINE?!"

“No, Ma. I can’t imagine why that bitch you’ve been friends with for over 40 years would bring you 24 whole clementines just because your infant granddaughter has brain cancer.”

“But Mary Beth...it’s a WHOLE CRATE OF THEM!”

“Ma, you’re right. You should go kick her ass.”

“Oh, Mary Beth.”, she said, giggling. “The language. But really...she just does too much.”

Most people, according to my mother, just do too much. A book for her birthday? YOU DO TOO MUCH! A container of mixed nuts brought to a party she’s hosting. OH, PLEASE! YOU DO TOO MUCH! And, of course, a box of clementines as a token of sympathy that her granddaughter is gravely ill....TOO DAMN MUCH.

So it was no surprise when we got the call from my brother telling us that we should go to Atlanta as soon as possible, because Angela may not have much time left, that among the first things my mother said was, “What am I gonna do with all these clementines?!?”

It was six months earlier when my niece Angela was about six months old that doctors discovered the tumor in the back of her brain. After weeks of back and forth trips to the doctor in an effort to determine why Angela was constantly throwing up, she began to completely shut down one day. My brother and sister-in-law rushed her to the hospital and the ER doctor immediately sensed that there was fluid building up in Angela’s brain. Doctors successfully drained the fluids, returning Angela’s vitals to normal. A brain scan revealed a medulloblastoma, a highly malignant brain tumor.

I received the email about Angela’s cancer while I was at work, at a job at a behavioral healthcare agency that I had just started a week earlier. My boss and other coworkers all seemed like warm, kind people but I still didn’t really know anyone well yet. I knew I may need to take time off from work or feel like crying in public but wasn’t sure what the office protocols for these kind of things were there.

Things at work were slightly chaotic because we were in the midst of an agency accreditation process. Since I was so new at the agency, I had no part of the process other than to help put donuts out in the morning and be friendly to our visitors. I decided to try to get my mind off of Angela and went to the information session with the accreditors, where they explain exactly what they would be doing during their three days at the organization. It seemed potentially boring but also seemed like an opportunity to sit back and zone out for an hour. The lead surveyor gave us his background and went through his whole career history. Then he said, "And on a personal note..." He went on to tell a story of how when his daughter was two she was diagnosed with leukemia. She was in remission and then when she was seven doctors found a lesion in the back of her brain and told them she wouldn't live more than a year. He and his wife decided they wanted to take her home to live out her last year and be with her siblings and dog. Doctors didn't understand what they were doing. But they did it anyway. She got better and better and was now 37 and completely healthy. He paused and then said he wasn’t exactly sure why he decided to share that story. “I guess I just wanted to remind everyone that it’s all a journey and not a destination and I hope you all keep that in mind when working with your clients.” I sat in stunned silence, mustering all my energy to not bust out in tears.

***

Angela had surgery a couple days later to remove the tumor. One night, a few days after the surgery, after some conversations with my parents and brothers, exhausted from life, I threw a veggie burger in the microwave, and called Wallace.

“Hey Mare. How’s everything?” Wallace asked, immediately upon answering the phone.

“It’s okay. I just talked to Tom. Angela was transferred to another children's hospital where she's now in rehab after her surgery. She no longer has to be under the care of the neurosurgeons which is good.”

“Oh that is good. What does she do in rehab?”

“Funny you should ask. Tom says it’s like boarding school. She has a rigid schedule that is brought to her room each evening specifying activities for each hour of the next day. For example at 9:45 am tomorrow she has Therapeutic Recreation in the Gym. Tom is hoping for hacky sack or skateboarding. Seeing as she’s 7 months old, I'm guessing this recreation involves a nurse holding up toys, making ridiculous cooing noises, and hoping Angela grabs them.”

“This really does sound like a boarding school. Therapeutic Recreation? Isn’t the whole point of recreation to do nothing? Lady, I just had my brain all pokey-poked and there are all these damn tubes – can you just cut me a break and give me that effin’ shape sorter?”

“I know!” I said, “Also, to add insult to injury, doctors want Angela to fully recover from the brain surgery so she's as strong as possible before they do the chemo. Way to psych this gal out. Boarding school! New pals! Games! Chemo-fuckin-WHAT NOW?!” Oh, and get this fun fact. Brain surgery left Angela with TWO STITCHES. Two. That is it. One, two. They removed a golf ball sized tumor from her brain and just two stitches. Freaking amazing. If you recall my friend Laura needed SEVEN stitches after she had sex with that huge guy and a post-coital sneeze mysteriously ripped up her vag.”

“Ah yes, the mysterious vag ripping. How could I forget? I still have so many unanswered questions from that incident. Non-sequitor alert. How are your parents?”

“Vag-ripping to my Mom and Dad. A lovely seque. They sound okay. They’re still down in Atlanta. My mom told me earlier today that she’s happy to stay down there if Tom and Huong need them, but that she’s ready to go home. She actually said, "I mean...Connie is having to get our mail every day!!"

“Oh, that bitch, Connie is at it again! SHE DOES TOO MUCH!”

“She really does. It’s kind of sweet though. I think it’s code for I miss my house and my routine and my bff Connie. I bet another pressing issue is that Atlanta cable may not carry the station that airs my Mom and Connie’s Korean soap operas. That’s reason enough for her to get the f back to 18 Holly.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re right on all accounts. In other news, I know we’re all going through alot right now so I hesitate to share this news in case you don’t already know.”

“What is it? I’m ready.”

“Melissa Gilbert and Bruce Boxleitner are splitting up.”

“Jesus. First Rob Lowe and now Bruce?! Come on, Half Pint. Work with us. It’s just one thing after another these days!”

“I know. It’s all too much.” Wallace sighed deeply. “I think I need to go console myself with a box of clementines.”

***

I picked up my phone and saw a missed call from Tom. He never called me during the work day. A feeling of dread set in. I grabbed my phone, and headed for the lobby outside the elevator.  I didn’t want any potential bad news delivered while I was sitting in my cubicle.

“Tom?” I said, as the phone stopped ringing. It was kind of quiet. And then I could hear the laughter.

“I needed to call you right away to describe the details of the mental health care package I just got from Joe.”

“A mental health care package?”

“Yes. I know that’s what it is because there’s a post-it on top that says “Mental health care package.”

“Oh yeah. That does make it pretty clear. What are the ingredients of a mental health care package?”

“The package includes the following: a copy of Guitar Afficianado magazine, a Rolling Stones cd that had a price tag for 5.4 lira, guitar strings, three pens from Meadowbrook Incorporated, a Meadowbrook mouse pad, a zip loc bag full of guitar picks, a book about the Ramones, and my favorite: A Joe Orsulak baseball card from 1986.”

“This is why I love Joe! He never stops being Joe.” I said, now sitting on the floor of the elevator lobby, my laughter making standing seem too difficult. I had to hand it to Joe- his thoughtfulness did cheer Tom and I right up. “I gotta get back to work but thanks for the laugh. Hugs to everyone. Have fun playing with that 1986 Joe Orsulak baseball card.”

***

I was back at 18 Holly to spend Easter with my parents. I didn’t always go back to Jersey for Easter but given the circumstances, I thought I should log as much quality time with JoAnn and Joe as possible. My parents and I watched the 1955 classic film “Marty”, a favorite for all of us. As the credits rolled, I asked my Dad, “Did you and your pals refer to attractive girls as tomatas?”

“Oh yeah, of course we did.”

“Of course you did. Did you refer to ugly girls as dogs?”

“We may have.”

My mom, shouted in from the kitchen, “You called ugly girls DOGS?! I never heard that! But I guess I was never ugly so why would I have?!” she said, cracking herself up.

“You’re so humble, Ma. How’s the church crew? Are all the ladies still after Dad?” I asked in an effort to up the ante of jealousy between them. They were about to hit their 51st year of marriage. I was just helping them keep things spicey.

My Dad immediately started laughing. “Did I tell you? One of the ladies at daily mass, who is newly widowed, told me that all the women think I’m a catch.”

“Can you believe that crap, Mary Beth?!” my mom said, laughing and shaking her head, as she washed dishes.

"In other news, did Mom tell you that half of Holly Drive has dropped dead this month?"

My Mom, once again, burst out laughing. "It's NOT funny! It's awful!" She continued to laugh. "Really Mary Beth...they’re dropping LIKE FLIES!"

The three of us all laughed so hard. We just couldn’t get ourselves together. It was the kind of laugh where you forget the source and are just laughing at watching other people laugh. I finally got myself slightly composed and said, “Watch out, Ma. One of these church ladies may add you to the list just to get a piece of Dad.” Round two of ridiculous laughter began.

The next day my parents, Jim and I were all in the living room, watching tennis. If there was a tennis game on television, you can be sure that my parents are watching it. And yelling at the TV. My father was multi-tasking by going over the readings he was scheduled to deliver at Mass the next day. He glanced down at his Bible and then back to the TV, shaking his head in exasperation and said, "That Paul! Never met a comma in his entire life!" No wonder I’m a grammar nerd. Even the writers of the Gospel didn’t meet my father’s strict grammatical standards.

The phone rang. It was Tom. He told me they received Angela’s MRI results and they weren’t good. I took a deep breath and used all my energy to steel my nerves and keep my tears from gushing out. Tom went on to say that while the tumors in Angela’s spine were shrinking, the MRI showed that the tumor in her brain was continuing to grow. Because of the growth, they had to stop the because the danger was too great. I pretended to be calm and asked if he knew what the next step would be. He said that they’d try a different type of chemo. After some forced small talk, Tom and I exchanged I love yous and I hung up the phone.

My parents, Jim and I sat in the living room, in silence, the news about Angela permeating every atom in the room. My mom and I were crying. My dad and Jim would’ve been crying if they cried as much as my Mom and I like to. After a few minutes, my mother, through her sobs, muttered, “Our family has been spared so much.”

I looked over at my mom, her 81 year old, delicate but strong hands, holding a pile of crumpled tissues on her lap. I stepped into a river of nostalgia and let it wash over me. Those same hands, with the prominent veins that I inherited, fed, clothed, bathed and cared for four children. Her hand held mine when she walked me down to Brooklawn Drive on my first day of kindergarten at Littleton School. Those hands made me sauerbraten every year on my birthday because it was my favorite. Those hands held the hands of Hospice patients. Those hands pass out communion to bedbound parishioners each Sunday. And in that moment, as she has done throughout her entire life, my mother, when she wasn’t using her strong hands to care for others, when it seemed that hope was an impossibility, would use those strong hands to pray.

***

After the results of the MRI, Angela immediately began a new regimen of chemotherapy. The chemo caused her to become extremely lethargic so she was admitted to Egleston Hospital in Atlanta. Chemo was put on hold while doctors ran a series of tests to determine the cause of her lethargy. My parents, brothers and I all planned to go to Atlanta for Angela’s first birthday. By the time her birthday got close, it became clear that not only were we going for Angela’s birthday, we were also likely going to say goodbye. Jim called me at work and said he was flying down to Atlanta that day. I called Tom and asked if I should fly down immediately and he said if I could, I probably should. I’d only been at my job for a few months so I hadn’t built up the necessary vacation time for what might turn out to be a week off. I walked into my boss’ office and said I needed to talk to him. He said, "PLEASE don't tell me you're giving notice. PLEASE." I assured him that I wasn’t and told him what was going on with my niece. He said, with tears in his eyes, "Get out of here. We'll see ya when we see ya." I tried hard not to start bawling. After two previous jobs working for negative, self-absorbed, egocentrics, I was so relieved to be working for someone who was down to earth, funny, kind, reasonable and appreciated me.

I went back to my desk and began searching for a flight. It felt surreal to look at flight times and consider what was the first one that I could make it on if I rushed home from work, packed quickly and headed straight to the airport. Booking an immediate flight seemed like something that should be reserved for a “Tom Cruise must foil the evil-doer!” adventure movie. But here I was embarking on my own adventure. Once the flight was booked, I sent a Facebook message to my friend Suzanne, who was in seminary at Emory in Atlanta, asking if there was a possibility that I could crash at her place. Suzanne and I met at Holy Covenant Church and while we didn’t know each other that well, I felt a soul-sistery kind of connection to her. When Angela was first diagnosed and in the hospital in Atlanta, Suzanne generously offered to do whatever I may need. Now seemed like a good time to take her up on that offer. Within about a minute, I had a response from Suzanne saying that she was on her way to get keys made for me. The message ended with, "You have friends here. I repeat: You have friends here!” Between my boss and Suzanne, I was overwhelmed with the kindness of non-strangers, to the point of needing to briskly walk to the bathroom, hide in a stall, and cry some silent but satisfying tears.

I boarded the el train headed toward home and called my parents to update them on my plans. I asked my Mom if she planned on staying with my cousin, who lives in Atlanta. “Oh, no! That’s too much trouble for her! We’ll get a hotel!” She yelled to my father, in the way she oftens does, offering little opportunity to disagree, “Right, Joe?!”

My poor father was often forced to go along for the ride when my mom would go to great troubling lengths to “not cause any trouble.” I called Tom to let him know that they’d be getting a hotel. Tom and I shared a good laugh exchanging possible scenarios, using the JoAnn Colleran Brooklyn accent that we had perfected over the years.

“Oh, we don’t need to stay with anyone! We love sleeping in a box on the sidewalk. DON’T WE, JOE?!” 

“Dad and I love walking 37 miles along the highway from the Holiday Inn. DON’T WE, JOE?!”

When I stepped into my apartment I was greeted by 17 potted lily plants. I started laughing at just how much space they were taking up and just how ridiculous my life felt at the moment. My church was getting rid of them and I offered to take them to plant at the garden at work. I was going to have my coworker Ruth come help me bring them over the next day but that was not gonna happen. Given the amount of life or death issues I was dealing with at that moment, there was no way I was turning my back on those 17 lilies. I didn’t have much time before I had to leave for the airport but I felt the need to deal with the plants. I called my friend Emily who was also a coworker, and had keys to my apartment (it takes a village to be a single gal in the city). Emily, being a kind and get ‘er done social worker type, asked no questions. “Sure! I’ll take care of it!”

I quickly threw a bunch of stuff in a bag small enough for carry-on. I walked by my mirrored closet doors and noticed I was a bit tan from the previous weekend’s beach going, tennis playing and rooftop beer drinking with friends. I put on a yellow sundress and my favorite well-worn brown Frye cowboy boots. The outfit seemed to highlight my tan and mask my emotional turmoil fairly well. I wasn’t going to let a bit of family tragedy hinder my chances of possibly meeting a hot guy at the airport.

***

Jim picked me up from the airport and from there, a surreal whirlwind began. Joe showed up. My parents showed up. And suddenly the six of us, my parents, my three brothers and I, were together in the waiting room of a pediatric cancer. It felt like a movie. (If it was I picture my part being played by Catherine Keenar and my mom played by Olympia Dukakis). I couldn’t remember the last time my entire immediate family was in the same place, at the same time, without the addition of significant others and children and general chaos. 

There were only three adults allowed in Angela’s room at a time so we were taking turns. Joe and I visited with Angela for a while. She was awake but fairly lethargic. I grasped her tiny but chubby soft hand and kissed her arms and face and belly as delicately but forcefully as I could. Even with tubes attached in a hospital bed, she reeked of delightful baby smell. After about 20 minutes, Joe and I agreed it was probably someone else’s turn so we said our goodbyes for now.

My parents stood in the hallway as they were up next to visit. The four of us took a somber stroll down the hallway outside Angela’s room. It was silent for about a minute and then my Mom, as she is always wont to do, broke the silence. “Joey...it was SO good of you to come down!”

“Of course, Ma. I'm happy to be here.”

My mother has always excelled at dramatics so a situation like this one just sent her in dramatic overdrive. “But Joey! I know you have so much going on with your family and everything!”

Joe, using the deadpan delivery we had all grown to depend on, said, “Think of how much it must suck for Mare. She doesn't even have a family.”

My mother stopped in her tracks, bent over, grabbed her thighs for balance and laughed hysterically. My father joined her. And then I joined both of them. The four of us stood there, doctors and nurses breezing by, laughing and laughing at how positively hilarious it was that I didn’t have a family. Finally my mom stood up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Oh, Joey. That struck me funny.”

***

In the few days that we were in Atlanta, we all logged a lot of time in the hospital waiting room, playing with my nephew Daniel and whatever other kids happened to be there.  One afternoon I walked in to find my mom and this eight year old named Colby, playing basketball by throwing giant legos into a bucket. Colby’s younger sister was in the ICU and he was very frustrated that he wasn’t allowed to be in her room with her as much as he wanted. Colby was lovely and his situation broke my heart. After watching my mom and Colby miss a few shots in lego basketball, Colby got one in on a bounce. Just as I was about to congratulate him on his success, my Mom yelled, "Doesn't count! You didn't count it when I did that. Your rule!" Colby shrugged and nodded in agreement.

One the other side of the waiting room was a group of Muslim women, all in birkas that covered them completely, revealing only their eyes. Daniel walked up to one of the women and stood right in front her. He took the plastic container the blocks come in and stuck it on his head and then took it off. He repeated that move a number of times and then stood staring at her, as if to say, “Now it’s your turn to remove that thing from your head.” She, and the women with her, began giggling. Daniel, while not intending comedy, was happy to oblige, and began another round of bucket on and off the head, now giggling along with the women. After a few minutes of gracing the crowd with his comic stylings, Daniel seemed to realize that no birkas were going to be removed, so he stumbled off, the bucket remaining on his head. Always leave ‘em laughing.