If I leave you it doesn’t mean I love you any less
Keep me in your heart for awhile

— warren william zevon

—

I’m hooked up to a needle and a bag of stuff that looks like it’s straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie.

And all I can think about is Jenny.

If you ever want to confront mortality on its home court, spend some time at an infusion center that deals mostly with cancer patients. The hours of tedium as toxic chemicals are pumped into bodies that are already under so much stress. The blank stares of four hours of hoping against hope. Nurses who seem a little TOO kind. What do they know that we don’t?

I’m one of the lucky ones, just here to get my iron topped off, no signs of the vermin making a return appearance so far. But others in my little cubicle corner aren’t so lucky.

Cancer is such an awful disease. One minute you’re living your life, not thinking about much of anything. The next, you’re in an office being told you should watch the Hallmark Christmas in July series because you’re unlikely to make it long enough to celebrate in December.

We still don’t know where all my iron went, but there are worse things in the world. Things that begin with the words Stage 4 and Inoperable and Terminal.

I was talking with a nurse who was trying to find my vein with the ultrasound gizmo. I noted that the joint was pretty empty today and speculated that maybe they had finally found a cure.

He just sighed. So many variations, so little time. He said there are new breakthroughs and new immunotherapies all the time, but it’s a cruel moving target. Breakthroughs will come too late for the people here.

Maybe if we thought more about death, we’d be more inclined to do something about it. But nobody wants to think about dying.

Which makes me think about Jenny.

We saw her just a couple of weeks ago. She seemed fine, although I didn’t pay much attention. No reason to. She would always be around.

And now she’s not.

She died on my birthday. Her body just shut down. Bodies are so complicated. Life is so delicate. Death is so final.

Why is saying goodbye so hard? I guess it’s a good thing, because it means you loved them. Everybody in the clinic today has somebody. They will eventually be saying goodbye, some much too soon. I guess the moral is to tell people you love them today. You don’t know if there will be a tomorrow.

Enjoy every sandwich, Mr. Zevon said. Although I had leftover salmon.

No run today. Mo googled the after-effects of the infusion and that was that. She seems to think “no exercise allowed” means you shouldn’t exercise. Weird. So the triumphant return will have to wait a day. I guess that’s a small price to pay. Although I hope Medicare pays most of it.

Safe travels, Jenny. I’m sorry I didn’t pet you more when I saw you last. I hope I see you on the other side. Maybe save me a sandwich …