This Month's Story

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they.
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Dylan Thomas, 1947

I was in the living room reading when the phone rang. I was alone; Stella had gone to Pittsburgh for some medical tests. We had been getting our share of nuisance calls and I hesitated for a moment before answering it.

The caller identified herself as an operator for UPMC Hospital in downtown Pittsburgh who wished to speak to Mr. La Violette. I identified myself and was then told that my wife had suffered an emergency and it was important that I come to the UPMC Hospital immediately. I asked what had happened and the operator said she did not know what was wrong except that I should come downtown to the hospital’s emergency ward immediately. She then hung up without telling me anything further.

I was flabbergasted. I had neither knowledge of downtown Pittsburgh nor any idea where the hospital was. Worse, I was recovering from a serious accident and was on a regime of opiates that did not allow me to drive. At that moment, Jenny came into the room and saw my terrified expression. Jenny was a resourceful person who comes in once a week to generally clean and help Stella around our large house. When I told her about the call, she quickly hustled me into her car and rushed us to the UPMC Hospital.

Once there, the two of us were sent to the emergency ward where I found Stella laying sedated in one of the ward beds. The doctor in charge told us that Stella had fainted as she drove into the hospital parking garage and fallen to the cement floor of the garage. Luckily, a medical person was nearby who immediately realized her problem. Stella couldn’t breathe; a lump in her throat was cutting off her air supply. She was rushed to surgery where they performed a tracheotomy.

Now, standing there with Jennifer, we found her asleep, breathing through a tube inserted in her throat. Another tube was stuck in her stomach so that liquid food could be fed her. A semi-permanent port was placed under the skin on the left side of her chest to allow her to receive the medicine she needed.

The emergency ward doctor took us aside and seeing my expression said as best he could, “We have to run a number of tests, but it appears she has cancer in her throat. She’s going to be here for awhile.”

It was awhile! Even as I write this, more than a year later, there is more to come; none of it good.

Fortunately, UPMC has a satellite cancer unit in Indiana’s Regional hospital just twenty miles from our farm. After a few weeks in downtown Pittsburg, Stella was transferred to the Indiana unit and began receiving more of the chemo treatment that had been started in the downtown main UPMC Hospital.

The move was a good one for both of us. For Stella the move put her in the hands of a doctor that could only be described as superb in both caring and skill. For me the move allowed me to commute to the UPMC cancer hospital comparatively easier. I was thus able to visit her daily and safer than driving downtown. For me, driving downtown was both dangerously unwieldy and legally unsafe. I was classified as an addict due to the codeine I was taking to reduce the pain from my tractor accident six years earlier. The pain from my crushed neck, despite the six years, required the doctor to prescribe the twice daily use of a strong opiate. I was forbidden to drive and I would be in a great deal of legal trouble if I was found driving. I had no choice but to ignore this, I wanted to be with Stella and so I made the daily drive daily to Indiana to see her.

Despite the convenience of the move to Indiana, Stella began to have serious problems. After a few chemo treatments at the hospital, she developed pneumonia and was transferred to a nearby rest facility for treatment of the pneumonia. Because of the pneumonia, however, all chemo treatment was stopped and the danger of the cancer growing without the chemo was a major problem. She stayed in the rest center for slightly over three weeks. When the doctors then declared her pneumonia cured and she was again transferred back to the cancer facility and her interrupted chemo regime began again.

With the passage of time, the chemo treatment was finally completed. But it was not over; she was now ready to start the next part of her cancer treatment: radiation. She was sent home to rest before the radiation treatment was started. We were released in early December and were to start radiation at the end of January. This was a nerve wracking time for us as it meant that the two of us would have to take out the tube in her throat and clean it each day. To say we were nervous doing this dangerous delicate procedure each day was putting it mildly.

In the middle of all this “rest” period, something happened. Something that even today, I can’t believe actually happened.

For some reason, a reason I don’t remember, I had to take Stella to the Indiana Hospital Emergency Room. There the Emergency Room head doctor, Dr. G, examined Stella carefully and then called up her cancer file on his computer. He looked at it for a long time and asked Stella several questions. I was there and could see he was obviously disturbed. He asked his nurse assistance to stop recording his examination and to leave the room. After she was gone, he began to talk to us in a measured, very serious tone.

After he had spoken for a few moments, I realized what he was saying. Stella cancer was serious—no I’m wrong, he was saying something more than just serious, he was suggesting we should consider starting a Hospice regime!

He outlined how to start it and that we should started it as soon as possible. He spoke quietly and said that in Stella’s case, the timing to start was crucial. He made a point of asking both of us if we understood what he was saying and its gravity. He then shook both of our hands and left the room, telling us we could leave the emergency room and return to our farm.

Stella’s face was ashen. Mine, however, was livid! I told her to wait a few minutes, to remain calm and that I would return in about a half hour. I left the main hospital and walked across the street where the UPMC satellite cancer facility was located. Once inside I told the nurse at the admitting desk that I wanted to immediately speak with Dr. R., Stella’s cancer doctor (and also the head of the satellite cancer facility). I stressed to her that I meant immediately. She looked at my face, saw I was deadly serious and quickly left to find the doctor. When she returned, she asked me to follow her and led me to a small exam room where Dr. R. was waiting.

I explained to him what had taken place in the Emergency Room, who the doctor was, and what he had said. Dr. R looked at me for a long time, and then said, “Mr. La Violette, Stella’s cancer is extremely serious, but at this time, it is not even close enough for her to be considering Hospice. I would like you to take Stella home immediately and the two of you relax, enjoy one of Stella’s wonderful suppers. I will see you next week when we will start her radiation therapy. Meanwhile, I will take care of Dr. G. It is important for the two of you to disregard anything he said.” I collected Stella and told her what Dr. R had said. She nodded agreeably and the two of us drove home.

The radiation treatment went pretty straightforward and after a few months, with its completion, we were again called to visit Dr. R. His news was both very good and very bad. The good news was that the cancer was now in remission and despite requiring regular checkups, our worries about cancer were, in his estimation, over.

However, there was the bad news. Because of side effects caused by the intensity of the radiation, our nightmare was to continue for another year. Because of the location of her cancer, the radiation treatments were so close to her mouth that they had burnt one of her voice boxes, destroyed her salivary gland and most immediately important, the roots of all of her lower teeth. They would have to be replaced with implants. This would have to be done gradually and would take some time, perhaps as long as a year.

This replacement is being done now as I write this. Today is also Stella’s Seventy Fifth Birthday. Our present hopes are that in a few more months, Stella will enjoy the ending of these two year’s of mental and physical pain. When her birthday comes next year I hope to enjoy seeing her new smile.