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brain tumor | brain tumor

annette-talbert's picture
Jul.28.2011
I made pancakes for breakfast yesterday. I don't often fix a big breakfast anymore. My teenagers stumble out of their rooms like moles emerging from their tunnels; blinking and shading their eyes from the bright sunlight. With a few mumbled syllables they head for the t.v., the computer or the...
lynn-henriksen's picture
Oct.31.2010
Grey some say. I always spell it gray, so I guess that means I'm one of those wayward Americans, which I am proud to be!—I’m told the King’s English uses an “e” to spell gray. Either way, gray or grey can be dispiriting. Would Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue have connected so powerfully with music...
delia-cabe's picture
Nov.29.2008
At 3 a.m., the hospital is in stasis. On the floors with patient rooms, all lights are turned down to a softer hue and patients, for the most part, are tucked in their beds. At one end, the nurses station remains a pocket of bright light, where the night shift of doctors and nurses intersperse...
delia-cabe's picture
Nov.19.2008
Gary checks into the hospital that night. His room is on the neurology floor, a dimly lit hall with patient rooms on either side It is odd to spend New Year's Eve in a hospital. People are out there getting drunk, making passes, dancing to loud music till blisters form on their feet, eating too...
delia-cabe's picture
Nov.12.2008
As soon as we arrive to see Dr. Kim, the young internist arranges for a psychiatric evaluation right then and there. The psychiatrist, who makes people of slight builds look like professional bodybuilders, leads us into a small, windowless room that feels more like a large closet. This doctor, his...
delia-cabe's picture
Nov.09.2008
Much to my relief, the doctor is a bright, gentle resident—the kind that I hope will win Gary over to the medical profession. For now, at least, until he gets past these feelings of hopelessness that I do not want escalating into suicidal tendencies. The doctor is Asian, but his first name is Hans...
delia-cabe's picture
Nov.04.2008
By Thanksgiving in 1997, Gary was in rough shape. He struggled to study for the exam to keep up his certification to fly 727s. He couldn't get through the manuals. Fortunately, his exam wasn't for awhile. At the end of November, he flew his last flight for the month—a trip that, to his surprise,...
delia-cabe's picture
Oct.30.2008
In the six months that I knew him before his diagnosis, my contact with him was mostly by phone. He flew up to Boston only about four or five times, and we'd get together for a movie or a trip to a museum. I would try to glean something of his inner world, his experiences, his relationship to his...
delia-cabe's picture
Oct.24.2008
After that, he called regularly and I soon knew that mad cow disease wasn't his only preoccupation. Every morning, he concocted sludge-like drinks, blending bran, pineapple, frozen broccoli and any other food or drink from the all-natural supermarket that were on his kitchen shelves. "Blech!...
delia-cabe's picture
Oct.16.2008
Our friendship is six months new. Gary, an airline captain, lives in Greenwich, Connecticut, on the New York border. On his layovers, he explores whatever city his flight schedule has sent him. In June during my lunchtime walk in Boston, he introduced himself. I had meandered through the streets of...