III. A Different Loss
As he lay on the sofa, exhausted from the retching, a new kind of condition assaulted David's body. He suddenly became chilled. Quietly he covered himself with the woolen afghan that had been thrown over the back of the sofa. He turned onto his side and rolled into a foetal position to get warm, cocooned in the knitted throw.
He longed for sleep, the only respite from his agonies. Mercifully he slipped into a fitful slumber.
He felt a warm breath near his ear. "What are you doing here?" came the whisper. He wanted to run! Why was he here?
2001
David had been accepted into Graduate School at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He was to start his studies in the Fall. He anticipated two years--one year course work and one year on a Master's thesis. By the year 2000 he should be finished. After that? He knew not!
"You need to relax a bit and get something in your stomach, Davey," Rosemary said, that Saturday afternoon when he arrived.
Following his mother into the kitchen David sat down at the table while she placed a plate of fresh brownies in the middle and poured a glass of cold milk for him. She sat opposite him and watched him devour those delicious, chocolate concoctions of hers. Rosemary gazed with undisguised affection upon her son.
He hadn't been home since Christmas. When he received word of his acceptance, David phoned home, during the day. He knew his father would be at the store. When he told Rosemary of his news she was obviously pleased.
"Oh, I'm so happy for you Davey! I knew you would be admitted."
"Davey, what will you do about your expenses in Graduate School? I'm not sure your father would be willing to help you."
"Not surprised, Ma. He inferred as much at Christmas time. Besides, I got an Assistantship."
"That's nice, Davey," she answered and then, "What does an Assistantship do?"
David smiled at his mother's guileless question. "Ma, it means that I get free tuition and a small salary too. The salary means that I have to work 20 hours a week for the department."
"Oh! That's wonderful, Davey. Will it be enough?"
"Yes, Ma." The truth was that it would be just barely enough, if he watched his expenses.
They spent nearly an hour chatting before David retrieved his luggage and boxes from the Malibu. The boxes he stored in the basement and his clothes were taken to his room. He unpacked and organized what he had. It didn't take David long. He stretched out on the bed to relax and soon fell sleep.
Sometime later he awoke to a light knock on his door and his mother calling his name quietly.
"Davey . . . Davey?"
"Yeah, Ma . . ." He went to the door. "Guess I fell asleep . . ." he murmured.
"You needed the rest. You looked tired," she stated solicitously, then added, "Dinner's ready . . . your dad's here."
"Ok, Ma . . .I'll be right down." David freshened up and went downstairs.
Calvin was sitting in the living room, reading the paper.
"Hi, Pa."
"Hello, David," his father said, putting down the paper. "How was the drive?"
"Not bad, Pa."
"That's good."
Rosemary came in the living room, "Dinner's ready."
They all went into the kitchen where the family usually took their meals. The table was set with extra care this evening with the second best china. Rosemary had fixed David's favorite--her special pot roast with whole baby potatoes and onions.
"Smells good, Ma."
She beamed.
As usual the Pattersons ate their evening meal with minimal conversation. After dessert, when coffee was served was the time Calvin felt was acceptable to carry on a table conversation. Rosemary started.
"Cal, Davey has very good news . . . he's received an 'Assistance-ship' with a scholarship and a salary, too."
"Oh?" Calvin commented with a raised, questioning eyebrow. "And, what do you have to do for that?" He suspected that nothing was free nowadays.
"I have to work for the Department 20 hours a week."
"And you got a scholarship?"
"Not a scholarship, Pa. An Assistantship carries a tuition waiver."
"I see. But, you get a salary?"
"Sort of . . . it's called a stipend . . . sort of a salary, I guess,"
"Humph! That just goes to prove how a college education screws every thing up! Now a scholarship is a 'waiver' and a salary is a 'stipend.' It all seems a waste of good money to me!"
The truth was not that Calvin was anti education. In his youth he had wanted to go to college. He was a bright young man, but his martinet father, Joshua quickly disabused him of that idea. In truth, he envied David. Further, his tenuous hold on what he saw as respectability and as head of the family--one of his 'old fashioned' concepts--meant that his progeny not outstrip him.
"But, Cal," Rosemary argued, feebly, "It will cost no money . . . it's free!"
"Nothing is free!" came the fiat-like response.
"Well, anyway, I think it's grand," she offered her own fiat.
"Humph!"
David merely shrugged. He was seething. It was useless.
"How long will this take?" Calvin grilled David.
"Two years."
"And, then what?"
Shrugging his shoulders, "I don't know . . . get a job . . . maybe get a Ph.D. . . . I don't know yet."
"Humph! And . . . what about marriage?"
David kinda half expect this tack. "What about marriage!" then added, "No plans."
"This is insane!" David shouted inwardly.
"Do you have a steady?"
"No."
"A girlfriend?" Each of Calvin's question became more sharply delivered, more negative.
"No."
With David's last answer, Calvin slammed his cup onto the saucer, nearly breaking it and startling Rosemary who often slipped into her own world during these exchanges.
Glowering, Calvin pushed one step farther and, as it would turn out, a fateful step.
"What are you?" he almost shouted, "Some kind of pervert? A fag?"
"Calvin!" Rosemary blurted out in disbelief.
He had it! David had put up with his father's sharp, insensitive remarks, jibes and innuendos for over twenty years--actually not that long, but to David it seemed: FOREVER! What he was about to say was a reaction, not necessarily the truth. David was yet to learn the truth.
David clutched the edge of the table and leaned towards his father, opposite. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, the blood drained from his face and the veins of his forehead stood out. He resembled an unholy predator . . . a cobra about to strike, to deliver the death blow! His voice had an edge to it, strident as he enunciated and punctuated every word!
"Yes . . . I . . . am! And . . . dear father . . . I'm . . . sure . . . that justifies . . . all your . . . STUPID . . . BIGOTED assumptions!"
"Davey!" Rosemary gasped. Her hands flew to her trembling lips and she paled.
Calvin went crimson, his mouth gapped open, his eyes bugged. No one had ever talked to him like that before--except his long-dead father.
Hoarsely he stammered, "Get out! Get out . . . of my . . . house! You're no sone . . . of mine."
Rosemary became nearly hysterical, "Calvin! No! Surely you don't mean that? He . . ."
"Rosemary! Shut up! You're the cause of all this! You coddled him!" Calvin spat at his wife.
He had never spoken to his wife that way before. Rosemary Patterson nee Stroud reacted as if she'd been slapped in the face. She burst into tears.
David slammed his fists down on the table with such force that the dishes leapt and clattered. The unexpected blow was so loud that it literally shocked his parents into absolute dumbness!
With a vehemence that brooked no doubt, "Don't you ever, EVER," he shouted, "speak to MY MOTHER that way AGAIN! You should get down on you knees and be thankful that she's put up with all your SHIT for all these years." Then he uttered the words that later he wished he could have recanted: "You're just a stupid old man with nothing to look forward to!"
"Davey, please," Rosemary whimpered.
David stood up and said calmly, "I will leave tomorrow." He left his speechless parents and went up to his room.
Calvin was dumbfounded! He wasn't old, chronologically, just into his fifties. But, this outburst suddenly made him realize that his priorities--business, church and Rosemary--may well cause David's pronouncements to come to fruition. With the abruptness of a gunshot, he felt old, alone and isolated. He rose from the table.
"The dinner was excellent," he stated, softly. He had always made it a point to compliment Rosemary on her cooking, but he had never used the term "excellent" before.
Rosemary glanced up at her husband. Hurt, confusion and loss was communicated in that brief glance betweeen the two.
Calvin quietly went to their bedroom and prepared for bed--earlier than usual. Rosemary, tearfully cleaned her kitchen and when finished went up to their bedroom, pausing briefly at David's door.
No one in the Patterson house slept soundly that night.
David stayed in his room the next morning, repacking his clothes. While Calvin and Rosemary were at church, he loaded his Malibu and quietly left Rhinelander.
All three endured the experience of a profound loss that day. Church didn't help. The long drive to Madison didn't help. Nothing assuaged the distress that all three experienced. Rosemary, the truly innocent member of that insane confrontation, suffered the most. She was caught between two protagonists whom she loved.
Arriving in Madison, David stopped and phoned his former roommate, Jim. Upon graduating from Whitewater, Jim Ashton took a position in Madison.
"Hey, Jim, this is David. How are you?"
"Hey 'roomy,' Whatch ya up to?" asked Jim, pleased at the call.
"Well, I need to ask a big favor."
"Shoot! What's that?"
"Do you have a place for me to crash for a couple of days?"
"Sure do. Where are you?"
David related where he was and Jim gave him directions to his apartment.
After arriving, David told Jim of the confrontation, not all the gory details or the elemental reasons. Jim had been aware of the contentious nature of the father-son relationship of his former room mate and was truly solicitous. He invited David to stay as long as he needed. David was appreciative, but being basically an independent sort, stated that it would only be a few days that he would impose. He needed to find a job for the summer and get an apartment or room for himself.
Later he phoned Eleanor and ask if she could have lunch with him the next day, Monday. Eleanor seemed a bit reserved, but said she looked forward to lunch with him and suggested a restaurant and the appropriate time. Eleanor's reserve was prompted by a phone call from her mother earlier. She did not prod her brother at that time, being assured within herself that the morrow would reveal the reasons, David's reasons.
David met his sister at the small, intimate restaurant near her office. They slid into a booth in the back.
"Ma called yesterday," she started. "She was pretty upset! What happened?"
David slowly related the whole incident as honestly as possible, leaving nothing out. Of course, his description was colored by his perception and his natural bias.
"I see," Eleanor stated flatly after David had finished. "Davey, I love you. You know that!"
David nodded his head.
"But, I must say honestly, I think you over reacted a bit." David started to speak, but Eleanor raised her hand, "Let me finish."
She had a way of subduing him, always had! "I know that Pa can be difficult at times . . . Hell!" she smiled and added, "most of the time! But, you know where he comes from! You know his history!" David offered no reaction. "His life, his experiences have been limited, therefore, his knowledge, his perceptions are also limited. . . . You and I might see a hundred possibilities or reasons for a given situation. . . . Pa sees only two or three. . . It's not his fault, . . . completely."
Eleanor respected her father with all his shortcomings. She understood him. But, then she was his daughter. Also, she never asked whether Calvin's accusations were true or, for that matter, baseless. It was not that she didn't care. But, if her brother was gay or not simply did not, or would not affect the way she felt about him. She was the type of person for whom one's sex life or sexual preference simply was no concern of hers.
She was now more concerned about the familial rupture and the way it was affecting her mother, her farther, and her brother. She knew her mother was more open and outwardly displayed her emotions. That was to her advantage. She also knew that her father suffered too, but simply hid his reactions. That was to his disadvantage! Luckily, David was the most open of the three . . . although he was basically a private individual like she. Further, it was not that Eleanor was a peacemaker, by nature. She merely loved her family, as dysfunctional as it was, and hated to see them suffer.
"Davey," she said quietly, "would you consider calling the folks . . . and . . . try to mend his situation? You know, maybe . . . apologize?"
"No," David said flatly with no thought or consideration.
Eleanor shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Davey and Pa are too much alike . . . stubborn," she concluded to herself. She hoped inwardly that time might cause this rift to heal . . . but she wasn't terribly optimistic.
When they were sipping their coffee, David said, "The reason I asked to have lunch with you Sis, is . . . ." he was obviously embarrassed, "I need a loan for a short time. I'll pay you back . . . I promise!"
A fleeting smile flitted across her face. She knew how difficult this was for her brother.
"Sure . . . how much do you need?"
"Can you spare a couple of hundred?" he asked with no small amount of trepidation.
"Sure," she said reaching for her purse. She had anticipated the request and came prepared. "Besides, you need to pay for the lunch . . . since you invited me," came the amused jibe.
"Thanks, sis!" David was relieved, still he was embarrassed.
Eleanor suggested a couple of places where her brother might try for a job. Then they took their leave, embracing and kissing each other affectionately.
"Please, think about what I said, Davey."
"OK, sis."
David was surprised at how quickly he obtained employment. He suspected his sister had something to do with it. After renting a room for the summer, he thanked Jim for his hospitality, plunged into work with his normal zeal and repaid his sister's loan.
It was early August, he was window shopping when he heard a vaguely familiar voice.
"David?"
He turned and instantly recognized Rick.
"Hi, Rick," came his tentative greeting. He had not forgotten that foray those months ago. But, it had taken its place in the relicts of his mind and senses.
"What are you doing in Madison?"
"I live here now, . . . going to Grad School!" he offered.
"Mmmmm. You've been to Our Place lately?"
"No," he said with a faint smile, then added, "Not since the night we met."
"Oh," came the reply tinged with disappointment. Then he added, a bit wistfully, "I was hoping you'd call me."
David smiled, "Got too busy, and besides I didn't live in Madison . . . Remember?"
"Yeah . . ." then he added, "Maybe we could get together again . . .You know!"
Shrugging his shoulders, "Maybe . . ." then stated as tactfully as he knew how, "No! To be honest with you . . . I don't think so. . . . Sorry, Rick."
"I understand," he was sincerely disappointed. During that "one-nighter" something about David had struck a chord in Rick. "But, it was not to be," he guessed to himself.
They shook hands and went their separate ways.
The summer passed, the Fall semester was about to begin. David found an efficiency apartment near school that was at the top end of what he had budgeted for his digs. "If I don't use my car too much, it will work," he thought. He moved in, had a phone installed, his one luxury and started to settle down. He called Eleanor and gave her his phone number. They had seen each other often that summer. It was his only contact with his family. A week or so later his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Davey?" I was his mother. He immediately knew that Eleanor had given his phone number to his mother. He wasn't upset about it, either.
"Hi, Ma. How are you?"
"I'm Ok. How are you Davey?"
"Ok, Ma. School's just started."
"Davey, I miss you!" he could her fighting her emotions.
"I know, Ma . . . . I'm sorry, Ma . . . ."
They talked for long minutes, avoiding that painful confrontation. David also avoided any reference to his father which did not go unnoticed by his mother.
At the end, "Davey, . . . call me . . . when you have the time . . . ."
"I will, Ma," and he did, regularly, . . . every Friday afternoon. This pleased her immensely.
The term seemed to fly by. His class load was less than undergraduate's--only four classes a term, but infinitely more demanding. His work for the department amounted to twenty hours a week in the departmental library. He was even able to sneak in a few hours of research for his various classes with that assignment. These snatched hours were not 'illegal,' almost expected. David applied himself with focused vigor. His first term was a success. He did well! He plunged into the next term with the same concentrated, fixed drive.
Towards the end of the spring term David began to tire easily. He was not too concerned as he had been driving himself. He got a cold which he couldn't shake. Finally he went to the Student Health Center for some medicine.
He was ushered into a Dr. C. Anderson's office. C. Anderson ended up being Claire Anderson, a robust, assertive but friendly physician. After as fairly extensive examination, she sent him to the lab to have blood drawn. It was common practice, she explained.
He sat in the waiting room for nearly an hour leafing through year old periodicals which had lost most of their covers. Then he was called back into Dr. C, Anderson's office.
"I can't firmly diagnose your problem," she stated, matter-of-factly, "I'm having a couple of more tests done, but won't know the results for a couple of days."
"Anything serious?" David asked, becoming concerned.
"I'm sure not. Nothing to worry about . . . but need to be sure. I want to see you day-after-tomorrow."
"I have classes in the morning, will the afternoon be OK?"
"That'll be fine. Make an appointment at the desk . . . and . . . will see you Thursday."
"What did the doctor say?" Eleanor asked when he called her. He had told her last night that he was going to the Student Health Service.
"Not much, took some blood and I have to see her day-after-tomorrow."
"Call me then, Davey. OK?"
"Sure, sis."
His appointment was for 3:00. Again David glanced at the ratty periodicals. He was unable to concentrate.
At 3:15 he was called into Dr. C. Anderson's office.
Glancing up from a folder, she said, "Hello, David."
"Hello doctor."
"I've gotten the tests back, and . . . they are not what I had anticipated." She folded he hands on the folder, his folder, and continued. "David, I'm afraid I have some disturbing news. Your blood tests indicated some . . . abnormality. The reports of the other tests indicate . . . a serious condition. David, you have leukemia."
There are times when being a physician has its distinct advantages. Diagnosing a condition and watching the patient recover and leave healed. However, there are those times that rattles the soul. Times for which no amount of girding is sufficient. Every physician wishes they were provided a class in medical school--Med. 401 - Giving Bad News. But the truth of the matter is that no class, no amount of preparation and regardless of how many times a physician has to give bad news--you are never prepared. Some physicians are better at it than others. Some physicians try to avoid the unavoidable. It rents the heart even in the most jaded practitioners.
He was poleaxed! He gripped the arms of the chair and visibly paled.
"I . . . see," he stammered. "How serious?"
"Serious," came the answer. "But, we think that we have caught it early enough, and your age and current treatment procedures . . . seem to indicate positive results."
"A cure."
"I'm afraid it's too early to tell, but we have every reason to be positive."
"Who's 'WE?'" he blurted out.
"I've consulted Arnold Rogers, one of the finest oncologist in the country . . . he's on staff here in the Medical School."
"I see," he said leadenly.
"We're to meet with him in. . ." she glanced at her watch, "ten minutes, here at the Center, in his office."
Ten minutes later Dr. C. Anderson and a visibly shaken David were ushered into the office of Dr. A. Rogers, Professor of Oncology. Introductions were made and he was handed David's file. He was an average looking man in every way. But, his manner was warm and caring.
"You've been told the news?"
David nodded his head.
"Not what anyone wants to hear, I'm afraid," he stated quietly and with a nod to his colleague, "Not something that we relish telling a patient either."
David was in a state of shock still.
"David, let me explain a few things. You have acute myelogenous leukemia, specifically. If one is to have leukemia, it is the best to have."
"Hah!" David stated incredulously.
Dr. Rogers smiled, wanly, "I know you've had a shock . . . ."
"Poleaxed, is closer to the truth," David blurted out.
"Yes," Rogers nodded, understanding his reaction. "But let me say, we've gotten it early. That's good. I would recommend immediate and aggressive chemotherapy. You know about chemotherapy?
"Yes."
"It isn't pleasant, there are numerous and varying side affects, but . . . you're young, and in obvious good physical condition . . . "
"EXCEPT! I have leukemia."
"Yes. But nowadays the success rate in treatment is quite good."
"How good? 50%, 60% . . . 100%?"
"I'm not an odds-maker, David!" he glanced at his colleague who smiled back her understanding. "But, . . . good! And, I would also like to employ, in tandem, a new technique which is very, very promising . . . SCT . . .Ah . . .stem cell transplant."
Dr. Rogers went on to explain to David the treatment regimen he proposed.
"What does this stem cell transplant include?"
This was explained throughly, albeit a bit clinical.
"We would like to test your family members for a certain compatibility. We may need to do bone marrow transplant if we can find a close match to you among them. I assume you have a family."
"Oh, Yeah! I have a family all right!"
Both physicians glanced at each other.
"But only one I'm in contact with . . . my sister."
"Where does she live?"
"Here in Madison."
"Would she be willing to come in for some tests? Tests for compatibility?"
"I'd have to ask her."
"The sooner the better, David." Now Dr. Rogers was all business. "I'd like you to check into the University Hospital and we can do further tests and begin the chemotherapy as soon as possible."
David wasn't prepared for any of this! Yet, he knew he'd need to make certain arrangements.
"Would Monday be OK?" he asked leadenly. "I have things to do."
"That would be fine."
"David," Dr. C. Anderson asked, "would you like me to prescribe something for you?"
"You mean . . . like a sedative?"
"Yes."
"No! Unless it will take away all memory of this shitty day!"
Both physicians glanced at each other, knowingly.
An hour later David closed the door of his apartment and sat at his desk. The news of that afternoon jolted him to his core. He held his head in his hands as his mind raced, uncontrollably. Some time later the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, but said nothing.
"Davey?" It was Eleanor.
"Yeah."
"Are you all right?"
"No."
"I'm coming right over."
"OK."
Within fifteen minutes there was a knock on the door. David opened it and Eleanor walked in, concerned.
"What's wrong?" she said, deeply concerned.
"I have leukemia," he blurted out as he sat on his sofa-bed.
"Oh, my God!" she whispered and walked to where he sat. She enfolded him in her arms as she sat beside him. Suddenly David was racked with uncontrollable sobs.
Eleanor, tears streaming down her own cheeks, could only hold and rock her brother. "Everything will be all right Davey . . . everything will be all right," she kept repeating.
Later, he quietly related to her the details of that afternoon, as he remembered them. They were sitting across from each other at the small table, sipping mugs of steaming coffee which Eleanor had brewed.
Eleanor had a number of questions, most of which David was able to answer, some he was not. He told her about the SCT and asked hesitantly whether she would consider being tested for possible compatibility.
"Are you crazy?" she almost shouted, "Would I consider? . . . Would I consider it? CONSIDER! . . . YES! in a second!" as she reached across the table to grasp his hand. "I'll go tomorrow!" Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Have you called the folks?"
"No."
"You should, Davey. They have a right . . . "
"Not now! Later!" he interrupted, closing the topic.
Through the next two weeks David progressed as an emotionless automaton. The coompatibility tests with Eleanor went better than expected. She was almost a perfect match. He had begun his chemotherapy and it wasn't as bad as he had expected. But, the oncologist told him that the side effects usually didn't kick in until the second or third dose. The doctor was right, within hours of the second treatment, David began to feel nauseous.
Eleanor called him every day and tried to stop in at least twice a week during the initial stages of his treatment. She was a godsend. She had called Calvin and Rosemary Patterson and related the disturbing news. Rosemary seem devastated and wept during the lengthy conversation. Her father seemed more distant than usual, "Probablly because of David," she thought. However, he asked a number of questions of his daughter that telegraphed his concern for his son.
As the chemotherapy progressed David seemed to lose his will, his self-discipline. The nausea sapped him of his energy, his condition dulled his senses and blunted his normally active mind.
Eleanor was concerned about his state and went, on her own, to see the oncologist. He assured her that this was not unheard of, but David seemed to be a bit on the lower side of the norm. He decided to have a visiting nurse-practitioner visit David. He informed David of his decision, and the patient acquiesced.
Two days later, there was a knock on David's apartment door. He had been alerted that Dr. Rogers was going to have nurse-practitioner visit him three times a week to moniter his condition and aid him as was needed. David lifted himself from the sofa and padded to the door and opened it.
David was a bit taken back. There stood a tall black man, conservatively dressed and carrying a brief case.
"David Patterson?" he asked in a low voice, bordering on a rumble.
"Yes."
"I'm Aaron Johnson, the nurse-practitioner assigned to you."
Aaron Johnson was black. Not black-black but dark like a beautifully oiled, black walnut. His color resembled that of one of those impressive Nuba of Kau. Indeed, his ancestors came from that region of southern Sudan. Tall, well over six feet, he carried his height with an innate genetic grace. His movements were purposeful, never gangling or awkward.
His features had a quality about them that was commanding. Aaron could not be described as handsome, but could be described as a splendid specimen, in an understated way. He was eminently masculine, but not macho. There was a singular feature about him that caught the attention of most people--his dark, strangely angular face was punctuated by full light colored, perfectly sculpted lips. Aaron's voice, another of his noteworthy attributes, might be described as that of a basso profundo and had the ability to command attention if the situation warranted it. Normally, it was subdued.
"Oh! Come in."
David led he way to the living room and indicated a chair, "Please, sit," then added, "Sorry the place is a mess." David's normally neat apartment was not exactly messy, but it wasn't clean either.
"So . . . what is it that you do? I mean . . . the nurse-practitioner . . .thing?"
Aaron smiled, "Well, I'm the intermediary to the physician, Dr. Rogers." David nodded in understanding. "I will be monitoring you . . . your vital signs, seeing that your taking your meds, make minor adjustments, evaluate your . . . emotional state . . . . And, of course, report back to the doctor. Kind of a jack-of-all-trades as far as you and your therapy is progressing."
David nodded, "OK." He wasn't sure how to react.
David felt mildly miffed at having his privacy invaded in this way. He was, by nature, rather private. But, he believed that if it would help, he could accept the inconvenience.
Aaron opened his briefcase and took out a blood pressure gauge and stethoscope. He took David's blood pressure, temperature and listened to his heart and breathing. All was done in a thoroughly professional manner.
"Everything OK?" David queried.
"All within normal bounds, considering."
"Considering what?"
A fleeting smile crossed Aaron's face. "Well, the chemotherapy can do some strange things . . . ."
"Tell me about it!" came David's sarcastic reply.
"Have you been eating properly?"
"I try," came the vague reply, "But the nausea doesn't make food very palatable!"
"Try a long hot bath . . . . That has a way of helping."
"Oh?"
"Let me draw a bath for you . . . . Then I'll be going."
David was in no mood to object. Besides, he'd try anything to quell the nausea.
Aaron went into the small bathroom and began to fill the tub. After a couple of minutes he returned to the small living room-cum-bedroom of the efficiency and stated, "All ready!"
"Thanks," replied David as he roused himself and walked to the steamy little room.
"Stay in there for as long as you want," Aaron suggested. He walked to the front door, "I'll let myself out. See you in a couple of days."
"OK," David answered as he shed his clothes and started to get into the tub.
Not paying any attention, and in his weakened state, David went to get into the tub and slipped--sprawling on the bathroom floor.
"Damn!"
Before he could gather himself, Aaron, hearing the sound, entered the bathroom.
"You all right?"
"Yeah," replied David, a bit embarrassed from the fall and Aaron finding him in his unclothed state, trying to right himself.
Aaron bent over, placed his strong hands under David's arms and helped him into the tub.
"Thanks . . . ! Think I can take care of myself now," David stated.
"You sure?" Aaron asked standing there as David attempted some degree of propriety.
"Yeah. Thanks." David was not only disconcerted over the circumstances, he helt slightly aroused upon feeling those strong arms lifting him into the tub. But, the chemotherapy, hapily, had supressed all but the slightest engorgement.
"OK. See you day after tomorrow."
Aaron left and David just lay there. Normally, David wasn't a prude or overly modest. He felt no compunction being nude in the showers after gym classes or after a work-out. That was normal. But, sprawled naked on his bathroom floor with Aaron, fully clothed, towering over him was too much! It was to David, an embarrassment, even in his condition. He also questioned his reaction, incomplete as it was.
For the next few weks Aaron came regularly, monitered david's condition, writing down notes on a small pad and then chatted. After a couple of visits, david relaxed and tended to anticipate the visits. They broke the monotony.
David was soon able to unburden himself to Aaron. Telling him about his feelings about the leukemia, the chemotherapy, and the lack of energy and drive. The nurse-practitioner not only fulfilled his professional duties, but genuinely enjoyed talking with David.
Over the weeks they talked about other things--David's family, particularly his father, his studies . . . . normal talk. The gist of some of the conversations Aaron would note on his pad, other's he did not.
Aaron was, by nature, reserved, but with a wry sense of humor. When he smiled, his brilliant evenly spaced teeth lit up the room. This, David would later muse, "Was imminently better medicine than the damned chemotherapy!"
When David would find himself in the doldrums, which was less and less as the months progressed, Aaron would, somehow help him out of the depths. They became good friends.
Once, during thee initial stage of a visit, David stated, "I feel like shit!"
To which Aaron replied with a twinkle, "Yeah? You look like it! A big load of it, too."
David burst into laughter. "You really know how to cheer a guy up!"
"That's what I get paid for."
Another time, when the chemotherapy wasn't as invasive, Aaron suggested, "Ya know what? You need to get out once in a while. Go to a bar or something."
"Tried that!"
"And?"
"Wasn't my cup of tea!"
"Damn! Bars aren't for tea! Beer or something stronger is what you needed!"
"Well as a matter of fact I did have a beer and a bit more than I bargained for!"
"Oh? And what would that be? A little gratuitous nookie?"
"Not exactly nookie . . . but close enough . . . I guess."
"What is 'not exactly nookie, but close enough? Nookie is nookie!" Aaron snorted.
David explained his foray to Our Place. Their association which started out professionally, even clinically, had developed into one of those friendships where even difficult things were discussed, from time to time.
"Well, you don't seem any the worse for wear," Aaron observed.
Nine months of tests, procedures and chemotherapy, not to mention hundreds of times draped over the commode, had produced positive results. Dr. Rogers announced late in the spring after the original diagnosis that the tests, which had indicated definite progress, finally came back with negative results.
"Am I cured?" David asked hopefully.
"Cured? That might be a premature diagnosis. Certainly you are in remission. We will have to moniter you regularly. Only time will tell," he stated cautiously, "But, I am quite optimistic!"
At the conclusion of Aarons visit, the following Wednesday, he announced, "Well, my friend, this is my last visit. Dr. Rogers seems to think I won't be needed any longer."
"What does he know?" David replied, sarcastically.
Aaron merely smiled and as he was about to leave, he turned and gave David a hug, "I'll miss you Dave."
"Me, too," and added, "Can we still keep in contact?"
"Of course," came the reply with a light punch on the shoulder.
During the months of chemotherapy, Aaron's visits had become bright spots. At first, there was an awkwardness, on David's part, with the visits of the nurse-practitioner. But, the two had developed a friendship that transcended David's medical problems. In truth, David soon realized that other than Jim Ashton, Aaron Johnson was a person with whom he could confide . . . maybe even more than with Jim.
David was on the road to recovery, he was also on the path which led out of a self imposed private world . . . a type of nonmalignant isolation. His illness, as horrific as it was, would to lead to unimagined, verdant fields.