.5

Chapter A

Survivors Guilt:

This was put in under Dark as Daylight Chapter 15A,

just to update you on my status. I have not started on chapter 16 yet, because I am still a little fuzzy, in the head, from all the testing. As soon as that clears I will get back to business. I am happy to see that you were enjoying chapter 15, and I hope chapter 16 will be equally as enjoyable /Bob.

I am home. I am surrounded by family and friends. They are laughing, while complaining that I am going to be an anchor around their necks for the next 30 years. They want to know if they should rewrite the names on my Will, so the money from my insurance policies will go directly to my great- great-grandchildren? I can't imagine where they got that idea from?"

I am going to have to change the password on my computer, and the hiding places, where I keep my notes telling me what it is."

I am healthy. I am very healthy according to my doctors. 2 of them; one, a female offered to change bodies with me. I almost accepted. Then why do I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, when people in my group, 3 who I barely interacted with, did not make it to this convocation. Why did I tear up, when I was told of their passing?

Did you know all doctors are bitches? They have a recessive gene implanted in them, but as soon as the white lab coats that have the MD stitched on after their names are placed over their shoulders, the recessive gene takes over, and the bitch switch is turned on. Everything that made them nice goes out the window, and now, their only reason for being alive is to kill cancer, or any other disease they deign to work on. Your body is the host for their disease. It is the disease the doctor cares about. They want to know everything about it: from what creates it, to what can kill it most effectively, without hurting any neighboring structures. Receiving a Nobel Prize wouldn't be bad, as he battled against this dread disease, but that doesn't really matter. Only killing the disease matters.

(As you recall, I hated flying, when my battle with pancreatic cancer was over. It's still 2:05 from my airport to Houston & I still hate flying.)

I walked inside this building that I know so well, and before I was 10 feet inside, an aide came up to me, introduced herself, and relieved me of my wheeled suitcase. From that moment on, it was nonstop. Admissions had all my paperwork lined up for my signatures, and initials. In my demented mind, I hoped I was signing clemency forms for all the prisoners in Texas that are on death row. But then again this is Texas; you may be safer in your 6 x 12 cell, then you are on the streets near your Burger King. There are fewer murders committed on death row, then there are in front of convenience stores, in Texas.

We ate breakfast in the executive dining room. I mean silver forks and knives, crystal glasses, and bone China dishes. I'm 72 years old. I know when someone's fattening me up for the slaughterhouse.

I noticed the seating arrangements were kind of odd, but who was I to complain, while looking over the most mouthwatering, heart healthy, breakfast known to man.

You could hear crunching going on from 50 feet away! And they hadn't gotten to the Muesli, yet. God bless the Swiss. It gets so cold there; you don't have to chew. You put a bit of Muesli in your mouth, and as the temperature drops, your natural muscle reactions do the chewing for you.

As breakfast ended, we all held our coffee cups, with 2 hands. It was an attempt to regain feeling in our fingers, and make sure our servers did not take them away too quickly. 'Coffee,' in moderation only.

We heard the microphone come alive at the lectern, and knew the purpose of our being here was about to be revealed. When I saw the head of the CDC approach the microphone, I knew I was in trouble.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for returning to this fabulous facility on such short notice. Your test group developed a blip, which has caused us to temporarily suspend your program, while it is being reevaluated."

A BLIP? OH SHIT!

I found myself standing, and shouting like a crazed college student, at Tom Frieden, the head of the CDC. However, because of my advanced years, I was doing it politely.

"What company is paying you to shut us down Mr. Frieden. The doctors here are at the forefront of CAR-t technology, and have a success rate of 65% or better with pancreatic cancer, like mine. Why are you shutting us down?"

"I am not shutting you down. Unfortunately, in the last 3 months the program has lost 9 patients, and four others have had relapses. We have to find out where the problem is, and the only way to do it is from a bottom up process."

"Who did we lose?"

"You know I can't announce that publicly. You will know once you give us blood for your genetic testing."

"Are my genes going to change from last years' models to this years?"

"Your temperament genes could use a little adjusting."

"I believe that could be said about all clinical researchers' genes, Doctor."

"Mister G, I'm going to take a personal interest in your case as time goes by. I want to know if I was born angry, or if it was my patients that made me this way."

"Doctor, you should always ask your mother-in-law that question. She will always be honest and straightforward with you. You were never good enough for her daughter. You always left her daughter alone at night so you could work at your lab. She always had to substitute for you to go to the opera. Your wife spent many a night at her house trying to save your marriage. You were a bitch of a husband, an absentee father, and your only redeeming value was you made a lot of money so your children could follow in your footsteps. Are you sure you want them to do that Doctor?"

"Mister G, before I kill you for summing up my life so succinctly, what did you do for a living?"

"I was a psychiatrist. When would you like to see me?"

"My gun is at home in Atlanta."

"My office is on the back of a boat. We go through the Jupiter Inlet and travel Southeast until we are 13 miles east of the Palm Beach Airport. I turn off the engines, put out a sea anchor, and let her drift in the Gulfstream current. Normally, I am alone, because all my life I have been with someone else, and helped them with their problems. Now, I can choose the people I help."

"Nowhere on your forms does it say the word Doctor, Doctor."

"Gee whiz, imagine that. It must have been an oversight by my secretary's, secretary's, secretary."

"You and I will talk, before you leave here Friday evening, Doctor."

"Moving on to other, more important matters, you will only be here for 5 days. That number is written in stone. Each day you will complete a certain number of tests. Try to sleep in between them. By the time you leave here Friday afternoon, if you walk past a fluorescent bulb, you will light it. However, when you leave here, you will know, once and for all, how you are. There will be no more question marks to worry about.

It is now 10:45 AM, you may proceed to your rooms and get into your hospital gowns. Your testing will begin promptly at noon. Your friends and doctors here at Anderson are not going to be nice to you. They fear losing their funding, more than they fear a letter to the editor."

The 4 ½ days that followed were a stylized military drill. The technicians, and nurses worked with maximum efficiency, while every machine worked to its statistical limits and beyond. It was as if God planned it, and his angels and saints executed it flawlessly.

(If you find this last sentence objectionable to your religion, please forgive me. I am a practicing atheist myself.)

Friday, at 2:35 PM, I completed my testing. They took me down a wing of the hospital I had never been down before. I noticed a line of empty wheelchairs parked alongside the corridor. I surmised many of my compatriots were inside, but had no knowledge of what were they doing? As I was let off at the door, two mail attendants held my arms to steady me, which was a very good idea, and helped me through the duel metal doors.

The 1

st

thing that hit me was humidity. This is Houston Texas. Yes, we are by the Gulf of Mexico, but there is no such thing as humidity in Texas.

I waddled through the door, and onto wet tiled floors. I was relieved of my hospital gown, exposing my fabulous 72-year old flabby body to the world. The next thing I knew, I was 10 feet in the air. My head was down, my ass was up, and my legs were making like rotor blades. I must have been one hell of a sight, because everyone was laughing. (I was one hell of a sight, and I have the pictures to prove it! You should see my battle scar.)

This was a segregated pool, and I was really test about that. I know Houston is in the deep South, and all, but I thought we had passed all these equal rights laws in the 60s 70s and 80s. I wanted a Naked Co-Ed Pool. At my age, this might be my last chance, and then again, maybe not! However, at that moment, I hadn't received the findings of my tests yet.

They pulled us out of the pool in the order they throw us in. They took us to our rooms to shower, dress, and pack. Then we waited to be called for a conference with our doctors. My call came at 5:45 PM, and my conference started at 6 PM in a small conference room, with 3 doctors I had never seen before. Each of them greeted me with warm smiles, which gave me a great deal of comfort. They made no bones about it, and they did not keep me in suspense.

Prof. Fidler said, "Mr. G, all your tests have come back positive. You are in complete remission. There are no signs of any cancers in your body. That is all we have for you, Mr. G. Do you have any questions for us?"

"Just one, Dr. Do you have any other patients to see after me?"

"No, Mr. G, you are our last patient for the day."

"In that case, where would the 3 of you like to eat, and get drunk? We can get into the specifics of your findings Sunday morning, at brunch, as I recuperate from a lost weekend."

Assistant Professor Katharina Schlacher is a very pretty woman, in her middle 30's. She has long, auburn hair, and fair skin. She politely turned down my offer.

Professor Fidler told me not to be insulted. Every male on staff had asked her out at one time or another, and they had been turned down. She kept using a word no one could translate for them, but one year, the translation showed up at a New Year's party. He was 6'7" tall and 250 or so pounds. As soon as the male staff met Eric, they kept a polite distance away from Katharina. Eric owned businesses that trained professional bodybuilders. In his youth, he was one also. With his blonde hair, and fair skin, they looked like an idyllic Nordic couple.

As for me, I listened to the results of all my tests, and didn't interrupt once. I took notes for questions I would ask at the end of each of their statements, and just to keep my hand moving.

It didn't take us 10 minutes to go through all this medical data that it took one week of testing to compile, but the good news in my case was, "I am healthy! No, I am very healthy! My kids are not going to get rid of me so easily, but unfortunately, I'm not going to see my wife of 42 years, for many years to come.

"I miss you baby."

The End