by Edwin Zack

  About six months ago, I was at my bi-monthly meeting with the oncologist supervising the A-1 (first with human subjects) clinical trial.  Doctor AB is an absolutely delightful human being… tough, brilliant, compassionate.  If she is five feet tall, she must be wearing thick socks.   Super scientist-type. Ask her the color of the house across the street, and she would probably answer: “The side of the house I can see is brown.”  She patiently answers my endless questions with: “Well, the data does not support such a statement…” and “The latest lab results would indicate otherwise…”   (This is the way she talks.)

            In front of the computer supported by an articulated wall-gantry, Doctor AB sits perched on a metal stool.  Her feet don’t reach the rungs.  She has to sort-of-hop up onto it.  As she finishes typing her notes of our meeting and ordering the meds, I begin my carefully rehearsed words:

             I want to thank you, Doctor, for giving me the opportunity to have eighteen extra months of life.  [On 11 December 2018, I was told that the variant of my metastasized cancer has a terminal prognosis of six months.  Of the 35 volunteers in that original study, I am unaccountably (and have been for quite a while) the only one still alive.]  Thank you for getting me into the trial.  Thank you for being part of the incredible ad hoc circle of support that has sustained me through all these months.  Somehow the best, the very best, oncologist, radiologist, acupuncturist, urologist, death counselor, masseuse, hematologist, palliative care experts just appeared and surrounded me. You all have lovingly supported me and given me this extra time. I need to thank you.”

            She finishes typing, signs out, and turns to face me.  Soft-focused, she stares over my right shoulder and says:

            “Yes, I have found that love is the greatest determinant in a cancer patient’s acceptance of clinical protocols.   Umm.  The second is the patient’s physical condition…and physical activity.  And, umm, the third is diet.”

            She hops off the stool.  With a “See you in two weeks.” she is out the door.