Installment #43 Anton

     Anton Fuhrman hung up the phone and turned to his wife, Stacy.  “He’s lying to me.  I know he is.  He says he is fine, but he doesn’t sound fine.  How am I going to find out what is going on with him?  Damn it, Stacy!”  He put his head in his hands.  He needed to think, but think what?  Who could he call?  He didn’t know who Tucker’s doctor was, and he knew few of his friends.  None of them close enough to call and what would they tell him?

     Stacy studied the top of Anton’s head.  She hated to see him upset.  Anton did not handle rejection well at all.  Ah, she had a thought.

     “Anton!  Who was that woman he was seeing a while back?  Is he still seeing her?  You know, that widow woman?”

     “Oh, Cynthia?  Yeah.  She was over there when I talked to him.  Probably still there.  Cynthia Browder.  She would know.  But how do we find her?”

     “Why don’t we look in the phone book?”  She laughed.  “No one thinks to do that anymore!”  She picked up the phone and dialed 411 for information and soon was handing the number to Anton.  “There, now you can call her!” She turned toward the kitchen wondering what she could make for lunch that would be comfort food for Anton, but not raise his blood sugar.  He followed her into the kitchen like the kid he was.

     “I can’t call her now!  She is at his house.  I will call her tonight.  What is for lunch.  I am hungry.”

     “Of course you are!  You always are.  I think you have a tape worm!  Call her later then.”  And with that she began to tear lettuce into a bowl.  Anton scowled.  Salad again. Damn!

     And later that evening Anton dialed the number on the paper.  He had only one thought in his mind as he listened to the phone ring somewhere far away, “Please, not an answering machine.  I have to know.  Please answer.”  And his silent prayer was answered when a raspy voice answered the phone.

     “Hello?”  Anton tried to conjure a face to go with the voice, but nothing came to mind.

     “Is this Cynthia Browder?”

     “Who wants to know?”  Well, that was strange, but of course she would want to know who he was.

     “This is Anton Fuhrman from St. Louis, Missouri.  My brother is Tucker Fuhrman and I am hoping you are his friend in Pueblo.  Are you?”

     “Yes!  I am!  Tucker has spoken of you.  How are you Anton?”

     “I am good, Cynthia, but I am worried about Tucker.  I got off the phone with him later this afternoon and I want to know how he is.  He sounds pretty down to me.  Do you know why?”

     Cynthia cringed inwardly.  This guy was pretty demanding.  “Well, what did Tucker tell you?”

     “Nothing!  I asked him how he was and he said he was fine.  He doesn’t sound fine.  Is he sick?”

     Cynthia’s mind raced.  This brother knew something was wrong, but not what.  Tucker must be protecting him from the truth.  That would be so like Tucker.  Always the big brother.  “When was the last time you saw Tucker?”

     “A couple years ago, but we talk on the phone real regular.  He just sounds kind of evasive when I ask when he is coming home and when I tell him we might come visit he has an excuse why this is not a good time.  I know something is going on and I hoped you would tell me.”

     Cynthia inhaled deeply.  How could she say what needed to be said  without selling Tucker down the river?  “Anton, why don’t you plan on a visit out here.  I would love to meet you and Stacy.”

     Anton sighed.  He was not going to get anywhere with this woman.  He knew that.  “Ok.  I will talk to Stacy and maybe we can plan on coming out this fall sometime.”

     “No, Anton!  I think you should come sooner than that.  I think you should come right away.”

     “Well, Tucker does not want me to come now.  He said that!  What is going on here?  Is he sick?  Is his cancer back?  I need to know.”

     “Well, Anton, if you need to know then ask Tucker.  I will not discuss him behind his back.  You should know that.  Do this, call him tomorrow evening and let me talk to him tomorrow morning.  That way he will have time to think it over.  Just when you call him, tell him you want to come now.  OK?”

     “Got you!  I will call him tomorrow night.  It is going to be a long day tomorrow.  And thanks, Cynthia, for what ever you are doing.”

     And with that they broke the connection and both went back to their own little worlds, praying that tomorrow would bring some sort of peace of mind.

Installment # 42 Hospice

     Cynthia and Tucker sat on the blue love seat, not touching.  Marge sat on a folding chair in front of the closed up fireplace.  She had her notebook and a pen.  The rest of the room was filled with strangers who also had notebooks and proceeded to write in them furiously.  Cynthia glanced at Tucker and shrugged.  They needed no words.  These people were writing words that shaped his future, or lack of it.

     The head social worker would speak and everyone would write.  “The nurse will come 3 times a week.”  Scribble, scribble.  “The CNA will come every day except Saturday and Sunday.”  Scribble, scribble.  “She will help you with your shower and personal hygiene.  She will do your laundry and fix your breakfast and tidy the kitchen.”  Scribble, scribble.  “Now if you have any pain, call hospice.  Do not call 911.  Do you understand, Tucker?  Cynthia?”  They nodded.  Scribble, scribble.

     Finally the interview was over, the scribbling all done, the notebook on the desk for everyone to write in when they came so everyone else would know what was going on with Tucker.  As they each left they stopped and hugged Tucker and offered him words of encouragement.  They also hugged Cynthia and smiled.  With a heavy heart Cynthia realized that this was the death watch patrol.  They were the ones who would be with him until the end.  They would send the people that would care for him.  She suddenly felt like she was smothering.  Muttering something about poor Cleo, she grabbed the leash and walked to the back door.  Cleo was always ready for a walk and as they walked through the house and out the front door to the river Marge and Tucker watched them quizzically.  Cynthia just knew she had to be some where else or she would explode.

     “What is her problem?”  He asked Marge.  She laughed.

     “Her problem is she is a woman and she is dealing with losing someone she really cares about, again.  She just needs some time.  I think I will fix a sandwich.  Want one?”

     “No, thanks.  I think I will wait for Cyndi.  Think I will set on the porch awhile.  Bring your sandwich out and set with me.”  And she did.  And when she had finished they walked to the path that led up from the river walk.  They sat on the bench facing the river and Tucker saw her first.

     She and the dog were walking very slowly.  She once again emitted the ethereal quality that Tucker did not understand.  Marge watched him very closely and then she smiled.  “What are you thinking, Tucker Fuhrman?  I have never seen that look in your eyes before.  Quick!  Tell me before you decide to lie to me!”  She laughed at his look of surprise and suddenly realized that he was going to tell her the truth because she already knew.  He was not the only person on this earth to see Cynthia in this light.

     “She is special, Marge.  I don’t know what it is, but I do know that she is different.  It is like she can see into my very soul.  She communicates with the dog, you know.  Never talks, just looks and the dog does it.  I don’t think she knows it.  Do you?”

     “Oh, I agree she is special as far as special goes, but she is only human.  I think she is here because you need her and I think you need her because she is here.  Makes sense?  It is like someone in the great cosmos knew what was needed and here she is.  What if you had met her 30 years ago, Tucker?  What if you had met her before your prostate went sour?”

     Tucker watched Cynthia coming up the bank of the levee.  He knew the answer to this one.  “If I had met her 30 years ago, or 20 years ago or 5 years ago, I would have married her.  I would not have thought about it twice.  I would have swept her off her feet and carried her to Shangri-La.  We would have lived happily ever after.  I love that woman, Marge.  I know that clear down in whatever spot in my soul love comes from. We would have had babies and I would have played with them.  A boy and a girl.  The boy first.  The boy would look like me and the girl would look like her.”

     “What about the motorcycle club?  What about all your collections?  What about your photography?”

     “I would have still have had all that.  She would have been the perfect wife.  The guys in the club seem to like her.  She is fun.”

     “Are you going to tell her you love her?”

     “Oh, hell no!  Early on when we were dating, she said, ‘Tucker, I think I love you.’  Want to know what I told her?  ‘Why thank you, Cyndi, that is a real honor.’  Shortly after that we had our falling out and I never spoke to her for five months.  I hope she forgot that, but I don’t think she did.”

     Marge sighed.  “Tucker, you do not have much time.  Are you just going to let this die with you?”  And with that Cynthia stepped onto the pavement and the two fell silent.    

Installment #41...The final will and testament of Tucker Fuhrman

Installment #41

The Final Will and Testament of Tucker Fuhrman

     Tucker listened as Russell read the highlights of the will. 

Yes, sell everything he owned and pay his bills.  That was always first on the list.

Yes, Give $1000 to the no kill shelter where he had gotten Cleo.

A painting to Marge.

The desk to Cynthia.

Pay Marge for administering the will.

Everything else would go to the motorcycle club.

     It was simple.  Simple and straight forward.  He reached for the pen and signed his name.  He signed with bold strokes. This was good.  This would make it a good clean break and everyone could then get back to the act of living.                               

     They shook hands all around and left the office.  Marge looked both ways before pulling into traffic.  “Let’s go eat, Tucker.  I am starved.  Are you hungry?”

     “It seems like eating is rather a waste of time and good food. Wonder how long this is going to take?  Wonder if there is a way to hurry it up and get it the hell over with.”

        “If I could change it, I would Tucker.  I do not know the answers.  I know it is something that only you can go through.  Only you.  No one else.  Just know that I am here for you and I will be until the end.  And David.  And Cynthia and so many of your friends.”  With that she pulled into a parking place in front of the Pantry.  “Come on, sweetie.  If you don’t want to eat, just keep me company so I don’t have to eat alone.”

     Tucker mustered a smile and opened the car door.  “Sorry, Marge, I know I am not much fun, but I sure am glad you are here for me.  I don’t know what I would do without you.”

     Marge ordered a small chef salad which she devoured while Tucker rearranged a hot beef sandwich into several piles without ever putting a bite of it in his mouth.  Marge appeared not to notice.

     When they reached the house Cynthia was waiting.  She and Marge talked briefly and then Marge headed North leaving Tucker and Cynthia on the front porch. She pulled onto Pearl and headed for 4^th Street which would take her to the Interstate.  Her eyes filled with tears.  Cynthia was such a sweet, unassuming creature.  How would she be able to do the things Tucker needed done?  Did she have any idea what he needed to get ready to leave this world?  Then she laughed softly.  Of course she knew!  Cynthia had been helping people cross the bar for many years.  That was why she was with Tucker now.  It was like it was preordained.  Tucker had felt it first.  And she had known when she met her.  It was instinct.  Cynthia had guided her husband over.  And her mother and mother-in-law.  How many AIDS clients?  Yes, Cynthia was exactly what Tucker needed and they both knew it.

Installment #40 A Plan

    Tucker glared at Marge.  She looked him straight in the eye.  “Tell me what I said, Tucker.”  He looked across the room at the silent television.  He glared at Marge again.  “Tucker!  We can set here all day with you ignoring me, but I am not going away.  Tell me what I said.”

     Tucker sighed heavily then closed his eyes.  “You said my cancer has metastasized on my spine and pubis.  You said the radiation was to get the pain under control.  You said there is no hope and that I am going to die.  Right?”

     “Yes, honey, that is right.  That is exactly what I said and that is exactly what is going to happen.  I would give everything I have to be wrong, but I’m not and we need to deal with it honestly.  There are things that need to be done before you can die.  There are things that need to be done so you can live comfortably for the time you have left.”  She stood up and walked over and laid her cheek on top of his head.   She was going to miss this man.  He had been an integral part of her life for many years.  He had been best man at the wedding when she married his best friend.  She had been his office manager.  Now she was his medical liaison and held his medical power of attorney.  When he was gone she would be his executor and settle his estate.  She would have liked to hide and not know, but she did and she could think of no one she could trust like herself.

     She patted his shoulder and reached for the phone.  “I am going to make an appointment with Russell Mark to do your will.  Cynthia recommended him.  Guess he taught law classes where she got her Bachelor’s.  At least he is someone we know as opposed to a name in a phone book.  The sooner we get your affairs in order, the sooner your mind can work on the rest of your life.”  What became of his immortal soul was not a question she even wanted to tackle.  That was beyond personal and definitely not in her realm of expertise.  She dealt with hard facts, not the great beyond.

     Tucker did not want to hear that conversation.  He did not need to hear it.  Marge knew his schedule better than he did, so he stepped out the front door and settled himself in his white deck chair.  It was a beautiful day.  He waved at a kid going by on a bike with a fishing pole, headed for the levee.  Damn!  He was going to miss this.

Installment #39 The reality of it is…

     Cynthia and Tucker entered the medical building and took the stairs to the second floor.  The tiredness was gone.  He felt good.  Well, maybe not as good as he had before, but almost human.  He was glad Cyndi was with him.  It was kind of nice having someone to share part of his life.  He really enjoyed her company and occasionally he wished she would not go home at night.  It got so quiet with just him and the dog.  Mark was going to have to come back soon and give him permission to drive.  Tucker was nothing if not a man of his word.  He had told Mark he would not drive and he wouldn’t.  That was just how it was. 

     He checked in with the receptionist and then he and Cynthia walked to the window facing the mountains.  It seemed to be her favorite place.  Tucker wondered what she could see in the mountains that he did not see.  She seemed to have an ethereal quality about her whole body as she looked west.

     The wait was not long today.  He turned to Cynthia, “Come with me.  I know I am going to get good news and I want you to hear it.”

     Cynthia shrugged, smiled and turned to walk up the hall with him.  Soon they were seated in the small room waiting for the doctor. Dr. Bonine was his primary and that is who he would be seeing today.  Tucker smiled at Cynthia.  He liked to smile at her because she always smiled back.  Janice had been a lot like Cynthia, or Cynthia was a lot like Janice.  However that worked out Tucker knew one thing for sure, Cynthia was here and Janice was not.  Janice was long ago.  She was long ago and very, very far away.  Cynthia was now. 

     Dr. Bonine rapped on the door and then entered.  Tucker smiled at him and extended his hand.  Dr. Bonine gripped Tucker’s hand firmly and smiled.

     “Well, Tucker, you survived the radiation I see.  You are looking pretty good.  How are you feeling?  Any pain?”

     “Not a bit of pain.  I feel great and I am gaining weight.  I think that radiation did the trick on that cancer.  I think I have beat it!”  He smiled broadly at Dr. Bonine.  But Dr. Bonine did not smile back.

     “No, Tucker, you did not beat the cancer.  The radiation did not get rid of it.  It was never meant to cure the cancer.  When I told you it was metastasized it does not go away.  It is in the bone.  The radiation was to slow it down just enough to let us get you on a regimen of pain pills that could keep you comfortable and let us get your care lined out for your final days.  I thought I made myself clear on that when we talked about it.”  He stopped and suddenly saw Cynthia for the first time.  “And you are who to Tucker?”

     Cynthia swallowed hard.  “I am just a friend.  Cynthia Browder.  Just a friend.” 

     “Well, Tucker, is there anything else I can help you with?  I will call Marge and tell her about our talk.”  He turned and left the room leaving a visibly shaken Tucker and a very subdued Cynthia behind. 

     Cynthia spoke first.  “What a jerk.  I am sorry, but that man has nothing that faintly resembles bedside manner.  I am so sorry Tucker.  Let’s get out of here.”

     Tucker stood up and together they left the room.  They both knew they would never return to this room and they would never see this doctor again.  The two people that left the clinic were not the two carefree people that had entered.  Those two people had held out a hope for a future.  These two people had no hope for anything except pain, suffering and death.  The bagels were forgotten and the ride home was in complete silence.  When they opened the door to the house, it was stifling.  Cleo looked at them and turned and walked to the back door.  Cynthia let her out and then went to the sink and began to run dish water.  Tucker joined her.  As she stood with her hands in the water hot tears quietly ran down her cheeks.  Tucker glanced at her and knew he should say something, but there seemed to be nothing coming to mind.

     He started to the living room, but stopped and picked up the scales.  He walked to the back door, opened it and threw the scales as far as he could. When he passed Cynthia, he patted her softly on the shoulder.  He picked up the remote and turned the television on to the Fox news hour.  With a sigh he settled in his recliner and pushed back. He looked at the talking heads, but his mind was far away, very far away.  He was back in St. Louis with his baby brother in front of him on his first motorcycle.  Back home where momma was in the kitchen, daddy was at the mill, brother was petting the dog and Janice was next door.

Installment #38 A Semblance of Normal

     Two weeks later found Mark back in St. Louis.  Marge had not been down for over a week.  Tucker was on his own except for the nurse 3 days a week.  Marge had bought a big calendar and installed it in the doorway over a set of scales.  It was for notes to be made when anyone came in.  Once a week the nurse put his pills in the pill reminder and twice a day Tucker took them.  She changed his pain patch every fourth day.  Appointments were written so everyone knew what was going on.  He stood beside Cyndi as they looked at the calendar.  They were looking at the weights that were written there.  Cyndi smiled.  Tucker smiled.  Cyndi placed her finger on the first weight.

     “When I met you your weight was 203.  Right after the radiation was finished it was 164.  Look Tucker!  Now you are 183!  That has to mean something.  Maybe the radiation killed your cancer.  Maybe it is going to be alright.”

     “Maybe.  I feel really good.  No pain at all.  I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and Marge said I could go alone.  Just one problem.  I told Mark I would not drive until he comes back and checks me out, so will you take me?”

     “Sure, Tucker.  Maybe we could go get a bagel when we are done?  Let’s take Cleo to the river.” 

     Tucker picked up the leash, but Cleo walked very close to Cynthia as they picked their way down the levee and to the trail below.

     Cynthia picked a leaf off the Cottonwood tree, folded it in half and pulled it taut.  She blew through it and Tucker was surprised to hear the  loud shrill whistle.  He laughed.

     “Hey! I forgot about that!  I can do it as good as you, maybe even better.  You are a good teacher.”  He walked to the cottonwood tree and  very soon Tucker was making whistle sounds that could be heard all across the river.

     Yes, life was good.  Life was good and he had a dog on a leash and a woman beside him and he could whistle.  He smiled at the dog.  He smiled at the woman.  And he smiled at God in his heavens who had handed all this to him, just because he was Tucker Fuhrman, the big tall German from St. Louis.                         

 

Installment #37 Radiation, pain pills, side effects

     Tucker looked at the handful of hair and put it in the trash.  He pulled more out of his brush and then put the brush in the drawer.  He looked at his arms. Before the radiation he had auburn hair on his arms.  Now he did not have hair on or under his arms!  There was no hair under his arms and none on his arms.  He now had skin like a baby.  This was some powerful shit, that was for sure.

     Mark called up the stairs to hurry or they were going to be late.  This was day 10 of the radiation.  There would be no more treatments.  He was glad of that.  He had already lost his appetite and now he was having nausea.  Failing to eat and tossing his cookies was not a good combination.  He was losing weight and he was so damn tired all the time.  He hoped he could survive today because then it would be over.  Already the pain pills were making life easier.  His dose was just enough to deaden the pain without affecting his thought process.

     He took his heavy coat off the hook and started down the stairs.  Mark waited at the bottom of the stairs with a cup of coffee in a travel mug.  “Here you go, buddy.  Fixed it just the way you like it with French Vanilla and two sugars.  I stirred it myself.”  He smiled and held the door open for Tucker.

     “I am damn glad this is the last one.  I don’t think I could take even one more.  This is about to knock me on my ass, Mark.”  He slid into the seat, but was too tired to buckle the seat belt or close the door.  He sat passive as Mark did it for him.

     When Mark was behind the wheel he turned to Tucker.  “Tomorrow is the BMAC meeting in the Springs.  Do you want to try and go?  It is up to you, Buddy.”  He started the car and backed onto Howard, then pulled forward to Pearl.  Ten minutes later and they arrived at the Roger Dorcy Cancer Center.  Tucker was still thinking about the meeting tomorrow.  His mind was just not moving as fast as Mark’s.  Hell, his mind was not moving at all!

     Mark patted his arm.  “Just set tight, Tuck, I am going to get you a chair.”  Without waiting for an answer he closed the car door and was across the lot before Tucker could form his thoughts. 

     Tears filled Tucker’s eyes.  Well, crap, this crying stuff was something new!  Hell everything was something new.  It was like he had a ring side seat to his life and watched as things happened over which he had no control.  Marge made his medical decisions.  Mark took him to his appointments.  A nurse came once a day to check his vitals.  Cynthia drifted in and out like a ghost and hell, even the dog was acting strange.  Just last night she had came to his bed and looked at him, barked twice and left.  He had no idea where she slept.  Always before she was with him, but now she avoided him.

     He watched as Mark pushed the chair across the lot.  It was good to have a friend like Mark.  He sighed.  He knew he had a lot of friends and he knew someone was going to have to tell them he was dying.  Tomorrow would be a good time to break it to the Motorcycle club.  He would stand up tall and he would tell them in a very matter of fact manner that his cancer was back and it would kill him.  And he would not cry.  He would be brave.

     But even as he searched for the words, he knew it would not play out that way.  This death thing was to personal and too raw to say out loud to a room full of people.

     And before he could finish the plan that was in his mind, he realized the treatment was over and Mark was returning the chair to the Center.  He would finish thinking about this later.  Right now he needed a nap.