When I decided to get my prostate cancer treated
with
radiation at Dana Farber/Mass General in Boston rather than with
surgery in
Orlando, it meant I would have to be in Boston for a month and a half. I knew this wasn’t the easiest route to take,
but I was also hopeful that all that free time would give me an
opportunity to
visit relatives and some old friends and maybe do some
only-in-New-England
things—assuming the expected fatigue and digestive systems issues from
radiation were not too bad.
Since I was going to need clothes and things for
a month and a
half and since I wanted to be travelling to a lot of places up there, I
figured
driving up made the most sense. Pat
decided to drive up with me—a decision she likely quickly regretted
when she
realized how uncomfortable my 2008 Scion TC was.
The first day of driving was relatively uneventful. We did hit some slowdowns and construction in
the Carolinas. That plus getting a later
start than I’d hoped meant we got to our hotel after dark.
At Pat’s request, we stopped
at Peach World
in Georgia. Surprisingly, the peaches we
got there weren‘t really that good. I guess you can have a successful
produce
business by growing great-tasting fruit or by erecting a lot of
billboards to
trick unsuspecting passersby into stopping and buying your mediocre
peaches.
The first night we stayed in Lumberton, North
Carolina,
which I always point out was where Michael Jordan’s father was murdered
by
someone who wanted his red Lexus. I
figured no one would be committing murder to get a 2008 Scion. After the poor choice of trying local Mexican
food for dinner and the disappointingly empty serving bins at the Best
Western
breakfast buffet in the morning, we were on our way.
Day 2 of the drive was more challenging, with some
heavy
traffic, especially around the northern Virginia-Maryland-DC area. It
also was
the shortest leg of the journey, so we still got to our hotel pretty
early.
The second night we stayed at a Doubletree in
Silver
Springs, Maryland. While there, we were
able to have a great dinner with my (second) cousin Holly who lives
nearby and
works in DC.
Holly is the oldest of my second cousins. As I was the youngest cousin of my generation, my second cousins were actually closer in age to me than most of my first cousins, so I always felt somewhat of a bond with them. Although we didn’t spend a whole lot of time together, we were usually all at various family events and had kind of grown up together.
I hadn’t spent any significant time with Holly in
many
years, so it was great to catch up and hear about her life’s journey
and
reminisce a bit about the old family get-togethers.
We also talked about the state of the world and,
as happens during any gathering of people of certain ages, there was
much
discussion among the three of us about our health issues.
Years ago, when she was in college, Holly took a trip to the
then Soviet Union. I gave her a T-shirt
or two to swap for me and she brought me back a great Leningrad University shirt. After I was back in Florida, our discussion
about that experience led me to search my closet where I actually found the shirt!
The hotel was great except for a couple glitches. First, they tried to bill me for a breakfast
I had already paid for with the room.
After getting that sorted out, I found that the hotel had tacked
on $15
in charges for what they claimed were a Kind bar and a water we had
bought. After I checked the bill and
called to complain, they took it off the bill, although I’m sure the
accounting
clerk was convinced we were devious thieves who had gotten away with
one.
We had parked in the hotel garage for the night. After we had checked out and tried to exit the garage, I found my room key card would not activate the gate to let us out. Maybe this was their last effort to force me to pay for breakfast twice. In any case, we were saved by a nice young gentleman in the car waiting behind us at the garage exit who ran up and used his card to allow us to escape.
The last leg of the drive showed us a couple
things we don’t
see a lot of in East Central Florida: tolls and really bad traffic. I had wondered about paying tolls since most
states are now “cashless,” without any toll takers.
Also, as far as I could tell, I couldn’t get
a toll-payment transponder in Florida that would work all the way up
the east coast. I found most states use
“pay by plate” where
they take a picture of your out-of-state license plate, figure out who
you are
from that, then send you a bill with a premium added for travelling
through
their state.
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New Jersey was the exception that still had toll
takers who
took cash. Maybe that shouldn’t have
been surprising since New Jersey also has no self-serve gas stations. I guess New Jersey should be thanked for
maintaining
these civic jobs.
So, on the New Jersey Turnpike we dutifully
collected our
toll card upon entering and paid our $20.70 when exiting into New York. To my surprise, after I got back to Florida,
I found a bill from the New Jersey Turnpike for $20.70 plus a $50
“administrative fee” for running the toll.
The notice explained that, if I had paid the toll in cash, all I
had to
do was send them the receipt. Of course,
we didn’t get a receipt, didn’t know we could even get one or ever
would need
one—I’ve paid thousands of tolls in my life and I don’t know that I’ve
ever
gotten a receipt.
The toll notice did threaten me with revoking my
Florida
license and registration which I was really hoping they couldn’t do. They also mentioned sending the item to a
“collection agency.” Given that this was
New Jersey, I hoped that wouldn’t mean I could wind up buried next to
Jimmy
Hoffa in some swamp by Giants Stadium.
Instead of succumbing to New Jersey’s extortion, I
wrote
them a nice letter saying I’d paid the toll in cash, my wife was my
witness and
they should check their cameras to see me handing the toll taker the
money. I even described my recollection
of what the toll taker looked like.
Perhaps not surprisingly when dealing with bureaucracy, New
Jersey
rejected my appeal and again accused me of being a toll cheat. I seriously doubt they did anything to
investigate the alleged
toll running incident.
My response was to send a letter to New Jersey’s
governor,
explaining that I had visited his great state many times and paid
hundreds of
tolls there. I asked him to look into
why, after my last visit and paid toll, the Turnpike Authority saw fit
to brand
me a liar and a cheat.
Surprisingly, the day after I submitted my letter
on the
governor’s web site, I received a call from the New Jersey Turnpike
Authority. When I called the customer
service rep back and explained the situation, she said she would look
into
it. Even more surprisingly, less than 2
hours later she called back to say they had viewed the video evidence
and saw
me paying the toll. Turns out the real
toll cheat was the guy behind me.
Apparently, their automated toll system is not flawless.
After my vindication, I actually felt pretty good
that the
system had ultimately worked, even though none of it should ever have
happened. I sent another note to Governor
Phil Murphy, thanking him for the resolution to the problem. I also included the name of the Turnpike
Authority
employee who actually did their job, looked at the video, and arrived
at the
truth of the matter. While not quite
acknowledging
their error, the Authority did send me a new bill for zero dollars. Maybe I should frame it.
Even though the worst that might have happened to
me from
this wrongful accusation was that I could have been made to pay $70 I
didn’t
owe, it got me thinking about all the people in jail wrongfully
convicted of
various crimes. The local paper, the
Florida Today, has run many stories about how, decades ago, a corrupt
sheriff, prosecutors,
judge and dog handlers conspired to fake evidence to get convictions of
several
people. Some of the wrongly convicted
were exonerated and released decades later but one of those innocent
men,
Crosley Green, will likely spend his life in jail.
An appeals court actually—correctly—overturned the
conviction and freed Green temporarily.
However, Florida’s Attorney Generals, first Pam Bondi, then
Ashley Moody
fought hard to ensure this innocent black man would spend the rest of
his life
in prison. Governor Ron Desantis put the
final nail in Green’s coffin by denying him clemency.
Apparently, our governor and attorney general
would rather see an innocent man be jailed for life rather than admit
the
Florida justice system had failed due to corrupt people in power
decades
ago.
When I got that notice from the Turnpike people, I
felt I
was pretty powerless to do anything about it.
However, luckily for me, the current New Jersey governor is not
afraid
to admit his government entities sometimes make mistakes.
I can’t imagine how powerless someone must
feel when the entire Florida political leadership is working to make
sure you
spend your entire life in jail for something you did not do.
Now I’ll climb off my soapbox.
Our last annoyance for the drive was yet more traffic. As expected, getting through the chaos of the George Washington Bridge was not easy. First you have to merge into traffic and maneuver to one of the correct, pay-by-plate lanes out of the 20 or so lanes available. After getting through the toll booth, the 20 lanes merge back into 4 or so.
With the bridge behind us, and now actually
moving, we
followed Google’s directions to the Merritt Parkway, or Route 15, to
get
through Connecticut. Both my brothers
had driven on this road and recommended it as a truck-free alternative
to the
interstates. John had mentioned that
there were a lot of interesting bridges on that road.
He was right, there were a lot of
cool-looking stone bridges and we got a good look at all of them as we
were
able to travel about 30 miles in 2 hours.
Seeing that the road was intersecting with I-95,
we decided
we’d seen enough cool stone architecture and veered off, knowing this
would be
a longer route and that we would undoubtably hit more traffic. At least we felt like we could move and
breathe a bit.
So we hit a little more traffic but managed to
meander up
the coast through Connecticut and Rhode Island. We
took the route into Boston with which I had
become familiar from all those preliminary appointments.
We eventually saw our destination Homewood
Suites hotel on the “wrong” side of Route 9.
I was able negotiate a 3-point turn on a side street to get
going in the
proper direction and park in front of the hotel.
Despite the challenges, we had gotten to the hotel
before
dark. However, the problems with hotel
technology
apparently followed us to Boston. After
checking in, unloading the car and delivering the bags to the room, I
went to
park the car in the $39 per night garage below the hotel.
As I waited to turn into the garage entrance,
which was a ways down the street from the lobby, a car was backing up
from the
steep decline of the entrance ramp. I
waited until he left, figuring he had made a wrong turn. My
room key card was supposed to raise the entry
gate to let me in, but it did not. At
that point I realized the other car was probably another guest and the
gate
wasn’t working.
While I was failing to activate the gate, another
car pulled
in behind me. I put my car in park and
walked up the ramp to tell them the problem.
Although I think I scared them at first, the older couple
eventually
backed out and I managed to back up and pull my car into a narrow side
area
where they store the dumpsters and garbage cans. I
then walked back to the front desk to
report the problem.
The clerk re-coded my key card and told me to try
again. If it didn’t work, she said to
push the button (which I hadn’t seen before) and she would buzz me
through. I returned to my car and,
unsurprisingly, the gate did not open. I
rang the call button to report that the problem still existed. She tried to open the gate from her station
(at least I assume she did) and, unsurprisingly, nothing happened. She said she would be on her way to open the
gate manually.
After a few minutes, she showed up and opened a panel on the gate apparatus. The entrance gate still did not open although, at some point, the exit gate came up. She told me she would have to wait for a repair person to show up. I was thinking how we probably waited less in traffic at the George Washington Bridge than I had waited on entrance ramp, a few feet from being able to park. I asked if I could drive in the exit ramp. After she assured me there were none of those “severe tire damage” spikes ready to flatten my tires I was able to drive in the exit and, finally, park.
The key card issues persisted for a while during
the trip,
mainly because of the hodge-podge of multiple, back-to-back
reservations I
had. I don’t know how many times the
front desk asked if I would be checking out.
I would usually respond, “no, not until August.” Then
I would explain I had another reservation
starting the next day. The problem was,
when
the computer thought I was checking out, it deactivated my room cards
until I
realized they didn’t work and needed to get them re-coded at the front
desk.
One quirk was that the key cards are also required
to
control the elevator, but only if you are going up.
Pat got trapped in the garage once and only
was able to get up to the room through the kindness of strangers who
happened
to be in the garage at the same time. On
another occasion, I was able to blissfully get down to the garage, only
to find
myself trapped, unable to drive out of the garage or take the elevator
back up
to the lobby. That precipitated another
walk up the steeply inclined ramp, down the block and to the front desk
to get the
card re-keyed. At least I got a little
more “forced exercise” that day.
Once checked in, with all the luggage moved into
the room
and the car parked, I realized I needed a few things from a drug store. I’d stayed at this Homewood Suites before and
thought there was a Walgreens about a half a mile away, but the front
desk
person directed me to a CVS “a couple streets down and to the right.” Since it was a nice evening, I decided to
walk. A few minutes outside the hotel, I
felt a few drops of rain. I pushed on,
since the street where I needed to turn was right ahead.
Soon it was absolutely pouring and there was
no CVS after I took that right turn. I
was soaked and kind of receding into a doorway trying to ask Google
where the
damn CVS was when three young women walked by.
Hopefully I didn’t scare them when I kind of popped out and
asked if
there was a CVS nearby. They happily
said yes, about a half mile down of the left.
ANOTHER half mile, I thought. But
I was already soaked, so I trudged on.
I finally got to the CVS, found the 6 or 7 items I
needed
and proceeded to check out. I was a bit
surprised when they asked if I wanted a bag, since I clearly had too
many
things to carry. Later I realized that I
was now in a “blue” state where you are encouraged to bring your own,
reusable
bags. Further, it cost me 5 cents for
the store paper bag—not environmentally unfriendly plastic.
After I had gotten a few minutes from the CVS on
my way
back, I realized that a paper bag was a poor container to use in
pouring
rain. First the bag split in the bottom
and a couple things fell out. This
scenario repeated all the way back as I continually attempted to wrap
the
remnants of the paper bag around my purchases while I cradled them like
a
football held by a sure-handed running back crashing through the line. When I finally got back to the room, Pat got
a good laugh at me, totally drenched and still clutching the drug store
items and
the few remaining scraps of the bag that were left.
So began my stay in Boston.
The day of my appointments for scans and things
two weeks
prior to starting radiation happened to be the same day as the first
game of
the NBA Finals between our beloved Celtics and the dreaded Dallas
Mavericks. Luckily for me, the Celtics
made pretty short work of Mark Cuban’s team and sent the evil Kyrie
Irving and
his teammates home before I needed to head back to Boston.
I knew there would be a famous Boston victory
parade featuring the Duck Boats forthcoming and I thought that, if I
was in
town, it would be a great opportunity to actually attend one of these. Being in Florida, I had missed the 2008
Celtics parade—as well as victory parades for all 6 Patriots Super
Bowls, 4 Red
Sox World Series and one Bruins Stanley Cup.
While driving down, my nephew Andy texted me that
the parade
would be Friday—while I was in town. He
also mentioned temperatures were supposed to be in the 90s so not
optimal for
standing outside for a long time.
Further, the parade was scheduled to start at 11am from the TD
Garden
and my first radiation treatment was at 1pm, so it didn’t look like I’d
be able
to squeeze the parade in.
However, after reading about how Boston was
putting on extra
subway trains for the event, I came up with a plan.
I could walk to the T station about 5 minutes
from my hotel, ride to North Station (where the parade was starting)
before 11,
watch the 15-minute parade, then get on a train back to the medical
area
from where I could walk to my appointment.
Everything had to work out pretty perfectly, but I figured it
was worth
a shot as I was unlikely to ever again be staying in Boston when a
championship
parade was happening. Also, the weather
had cooled considerably, although it was still in the mid-80s (or a
cool summer
day in Florida).
I said goodbye to Pat and left the hotel around
9:30 to
catch my train. At the station, there
were a few fans adorned in Celtics gear, so I knew I was on the right
track (so
to speak). On the train there were lots
more jubilant fans. Some got off at
various stops to get to their favorite watch spots.
I got off at North Station, followed the
crowd to where the parade would start and got as good a position as I
could
get, about maybe 5 people deep from the street, and figured I had about
a
50-minute wait for the planned 15-minute parade to start.
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Me across the street from the TD
Garden waiting for
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The view down Causeway Street
before the parade
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As expected, the joyous fans were in a party mood,
chanting
Celtics slogans and such. It was cool to
see the different types of people sharing the experience.
There were some 20-somethings behind me who
had taken the day off work and were doing shots of something that
smelled like
Sambuca (a young woman with the group actually took some pictures for
me). There was a middle-aged Black woman
there
with her young grandson who had perched himself on a pole to get a good
view. There was a business-looking man
in a bright Celtics green sports coat (that must have been sweaty). About when the parade was starting, a late
comer begged for everyone to let him through to the front.
If they did, he promised to share some of his
wine with them. He got no takers.
When 11am came and went I start getting worried about making my appointment. But finally, around 11:15 or so, the first vehicle emerged from the garage under TD Garden with Al Horford on board. Everybody went nuts. The rest of the team followed: Jason Tatum, Jaylen Brown, Derrick White, Kristaps Porzingis. I can’t say I had the best view of everything going on, but it really didn’t matter. The important thing was the chance to join a crowd celebrating our team being the best. Towards the end of the parade, the Dropkick Murphy’s “Shippin’ up to Boston” was blaring out to punctuate the event.
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The parade starts with some green
confetti
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The parade floats start rolling by
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Me at the parade
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Me again
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As promised, the parade lasted only about 15
minutes. A lot of people were hanging
around to
celebrate more, but I headed back to North Station.
Also as promised, there were MBTA employees
available to direct people to the correct trains. I
knew I wanted the Green Line E but the T
worker reminded me I wanted the one for Heath Street (i.e. the one
going in the
correct direction) which was important information.
The subway ride was maybe even more raucous
than the parade with the driver leading “Let’s Go Celtics” chants. Most people that got on were riding the train
to get their preferred vantage points ahead of the parade.
By the time I got to my stop, which was in the
medical area
and beyond the end of the parade route, the train was almost empty. After the walk to Mass General, I arrived for
my first radiation session a full half hour early.
I not only thought about how much fun the
parade was, but how great it is to be in a place with a mass transit
system
that allowed me to see it.
Once I was checked in for my appointment, I sat
down and
started drinking water. The instructions
for each session were that I should arrive with “full bladder” and
“empty
bowels” so that they can get a good image to guide the radiation and
also to
protect other body parts. I was worried
the bottle of water I’d drunk at the parade might not be enough so I
chugged a
couple more cups in the waiting area. By
the time I was called in, I really had to go to the bathroom so I was
pretty
sure I’d sufficiently filled my bladder.
Everyone I met, from Erik, the gentlemen who
checks people
in and validates parking, to the nurses, to the folks that delivered
the
radiation commented on my Celtics 2008 championship shirt.
Most were a little surprised when I told them
I had already been to the parade. As for
the radiation itself, I was amazed at how simple the process was. I simply emptied my pockets, took off my
shoes and laid down before what looked like half an MRI tube and
remained still. After getting covered with
a blanket, I slid
down my shorts and they took the image.
If everything looked good (and it always did), they left the
room and I
was slid into the tube. Sometimes they
would ask what kind of music I wanted to hear.
I usually asked “heavy metal” or “punk” but Spotify usually
served up
something like Tom Petty (not metal or punk) which was fine. There wasn’t the loud noise you get with and
MRI and the tube itself was open such that I could see the ceiling once
I was
slid all the way in. You can tell when
the radiation starts only because a big red light comes on. I never felt anything and the whole thing
lasted only 5 minutes or so.
After the radiation ended, I simply pulled my
shorts up, put
on my shoes, collected my belongings and was on my way, walking back to
the
hotel—after stopping at the bathroom, of course.
Pat was definitely not thrilled with the prospect
of me
being away in Boston for a month and a half, but I tried to convince
her that,
when she was up there, it would be like a vacation for us.
Boston has great restaurants and lots of
great museums and other things to visit and I would have most of the
days free
since the treatments didn’t take very long.
The night after my first treatment, we decided to
go to a
French restaurant called Aquitaine. I
was not supposed to eat for at least 3 hours prior treatments so, with
the
first one being at 1pm, I ate nothing just to be sure I didn’t mess
anything
up. Needless to say, I was pretty hungry
when I got back to the hotel around 1:30.
Since Pat hadn’t had much to eat either, we made a reservation
for as
soon as they opened, at 5pm.
As it turned out, Aquitaine has multiple locations
and I
meant for us to go to the one in Chestnut Hill, which is only about 3
miles
from the hotel and away from the city.
Instead, I punched in the Boston Tremont Street location when I
made the
reservation. I didn’t think it was a big
deal until we ran into “surge pricing” and paid over $60 for the Lyft
ride
back. Welcome to the Big City!
The other glitch about the night was that, fearing
traffic,
with Google saying the ride would take 15 to 45 minutes (thanks a lot
for the
specifics), we got to the restaurant very early and way before they
opened. We had to give them a credit
card in order to make a reservation so I was worried that, if we were
late,
we’d get charged a “no show” fee, not get seated and we’d still be
really
hungry. The funny thing was the front
door was open so we could walk right in, but no one would acknowledge
us until
5, so we just sat and waited by the hostess stand until then. I was thinking maybe they were trying to
replicate the reputed rudeness of an authentic French restaurant.
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Once we got to eat everything was great. I especially liked my mussels appetizer with
cream sauce. I had dietary restrictions
while on radiation and had to avoid some vegetables and spicy things
but was
able to find a fish entrée I could eat.
Pat enjoyed her Dover sole, although it wasn’t the best she had
ever
had. And the waiter was definitely not
rude (or French, for that matter).
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Saturday, we put my driving and directional skills
to the
test by trying to find the Stop and Shop grocery store in the downtown
Brookline
area. We eventually navigated the
never-straight streets to get there and pick up a few things. I would later find that the Star Market on
Route 9 in Chestnut Hill was easier to get in and out of and probably
had a
better selection of items.
For lunch, we tried Dolma, a Turkish restaurant
that my
radiation oncologist had recommended. It
was a casual place but had some delicious Mediterranean food. I think I wound up eating there four times
during
my trip. Even better, the same people
also owned a French-style bakery next door which meant Pat got some
pastries
and, most exciting for me, they had gluten-free cheesecake. With plentiful leftovers and desserts in the
fridge, we pretty much relaxed at the hotel the rest of that day.
Sunday, we travelled down to Rhode Island to spend
the
afternoon with my brother, John, his wife, Carol, and my nephews. Even though I’d driven the route several
times, I used Google Maps to make sure I didn’t screw up and make Pat
ride in
my uncomfortable car any longer than necessary.
Surprisingly, Google gave us blatantly wrong directions, telling
us to
take exit 37B to downtown Providence and not 37C towards Cranston. Mr. Google quickly recognized its error—or
maybe it chastised us for following its directions—and rerouted us back
to the
right track.
While there, we looked at the house next door
which was up
for sale. Since I retired, I’ve wanted
to figure out how to spend more time in New England and was thinking
owning a
house next my brother would be pretty cool.
Ultimately, however, the idea of trying to maintain an 80-year
old house
1300 miles away from our primary residence seemed like too tall an
order,
especially with everything else that was going on.
The visit was capped with another dinner at Avvio
Ristotante,
where I had those great scallops a few months back.
I was upset with myself that I didn’t get a
picture of the rare occasion of 7 Kostrzewas together for dinner. After dinner it was back to Brookline to get
ready for the first full week of treatments.
My second treatment, on Monday, wasn’t scheduled
until after
6pm so we planned to have lunch, visit the JFK Presidential Library,
then
return in time for my appointment. We
decided to eat at a little Japanese/Sushi place that was just up the
road from
the hotel in the downtown area. We were
going to take the car but, when we asked the front desk about parking,
they
offered to have the hotel shuttle take us as it wasn’t in use at the
moment. The driver entertained us on the
short ride, explaining her fears about sea monsters, creatures of the
night and
such things. I was so appreciative of
the stories that I gave he a five-dollar tip for the short ride.
After lunch, I told Pat I’d just take the 5-minute
walk back
to the hotel, get the car and pick her up so we could be on our way to
the JFK
Library. The only tricky part was that,
when leaving the parking garage, I would again be on the “wrong” side
of the
divided Route 9 and would need to turn around to get back to the
restaurant. This should have been easy,
especially since I had just seen the shuttle driver take the same trip.
I guess I wasn’t paying attention to how the
driver had
navigated the route, but figured I could just take the first right—the
same one
I’d taken on that rain-drenched walk to the CVS the first night—then a
couple
lefts and be all set. Well, it turns
out, there really weren’t any lefts that led right back to Route 9—at
least
none that I could find. It seemed every
turn I took brought me further away from that 5-minute walk I had taken
from
the restaurant. My next hour-plus was a
blur of journey through Brookline, Boston and its environs, passing
through all
sorts of bad roads, construction zones and various landmarks as I
desperately
tried to navigate back to somewhere I recognized. Eventually
I found a spot where I could pull
over and get some Google directions to get on the right track. I was surprised how far away I actually was
from where I had started.
I was pretty sure Pat hadn’t brought her phone
with her so I
had no way of telling her about my travails.
When I was finally getting close to the restaurant, my phone
rang with a
Boston area code. I answered, not
knowing if Massachusetts had a law against using handheld devices while
driving. I imagined now getting a ticket
on top of everything else. It was Pat,
who had been able to borrow a phone from a gentleman who had felt bad
for her
when he noticed her waiting for so long.
I quickly told her “I’m almost there” and quickly hung up,
avoiding any
potential brushes with the law.
When I finally was able to pick Pat up it was
probably too
late to get to the JFK Library and back and I had had my fill of Boston
driving
for the day. It was a funny and sad
lesson about my need to plan my trips through Boston, regardless of how
short
they might be.
For my second treatment—and all the treatments
after that—I
took the 20-minute, 1-mile walk from the hotel to Mass General,
drinking a
bottle of water on the way. The treatment
went off without issue, however, after it was done, one of the
radiation
specialists told me my bowels were not as “empty” as they needed to get
as
good an image as they would like. That
surprised me since, per instructions, I hadn’t eaten since lunch and
had done
some “business” before the treatment.
After that, I decided I better not eat at all before any
treatments—luckily,
most of them would be in mornings.
After my treatment, it was time for another dinner
at a
French restaurant—La Voile, which means "sailing" in French. Pat had
another Dover sole and it was better than the previous one. I rather sacrilegiously ordered risotto in a
French restaurant. The meal was perhaps
even better than the previous one and the service was, again, excellent. It was a nice end to a rather comically
chaotic day.
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The next day, Tuesday, I had a 9am treatment. My regular routine of preparation at the
hotel, walking to Mass General while drinking water, taking the
elevator down
two floors, then scanning my special card to check in was starting to
gel. There were different specialists in
the
radiation room that day. During the
course of treatment, about 6 different “regulars” mainly would take
care of the
imaging and deliver the radiation and I got to know them by name by the
time I
was done. Although others had said my
regular shorts were fine to wear, at this session the man in charge
said he was
concerned my metal zipper would “steal radiation” from where it was
supposed to
go. He said, for future visits, I needed
to get shorts with no metal or change into a gown.
Other than that, the appointment was
uneventful.
We had plans to meet my cousin Richard and his
wife Fran for
dinner out in Essex that evening. With
another free afternoon, we took another crack at getting to the JFK
Library,
this time with the aid of Mr. Google’s directions.
As we drove, I became skeptical of the route
we were being given as we meandered through bad roads and
neighborhoods--especially
given the ugly Rhode Island wrong exit incident. Eventually,
magically, we emerged at the
beautiful Boston seaside and our destination.
The library is located on Columbia Point that juts out into Boston Harbor. In addition to the library, The Commonwealth Museum, The Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the United States Senate and University of Massachusetts-Boston campus are all located in the area.
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I had never been to a presidential library before
and I was
impressed. Personally, I probably could
have spent the better part of a day there, listening to recorded
speeches,
television broadcasts and debates. The
museum also included displays about the Kennedy family history and
various
artifacts from the 60s and earlier. Pat
was quick to point out that the embellishments and inaccuracies
surrounding the
famous story about the rescue of JFK and his crew after they were
marooned on a
desert island.
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View of the Kennedy sailboat and
Boston Harbor from a library window
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Me in front of the JFK Library |
When deciding when we needed to leave the library
for
dinner, we again consulted Google Maps, which gave us the rather
unhelpful
range of an hour and 45 minutes to 2 hours and 45 minutes as the time
it would
take us to get to the Boathouse restaurant in Essex.
Not wanting to be late, we left early and,
although we hit lots of traffic, still got to the area near the
restaurant quite
early.
Knowing we were going to have time to spare, I
figured this
would be a good opportunity to try to find a pair of metal-free shorts
to wear
to my treatments. After a couple
fruitless searches of a shopping plazas, we pulled into a busy sports
shop
where I located a zipper-less pair of tennis shorts in my size. At this point, I was ready to get the shorts
at any cost, which appeared to be the $50 price on the tag. However, after waiting at the register line I
was pleasantly surprised to find they were on sale for $15. Truly a bargain to not have to wear a
hospital gown every day.
Still with extra time, we decided we might as well
fill the gas
tank. At this point, we realized Ipswich
and its environs did not appear to be welcoming to petroleum stations. We found one down the road from the
restaurant, but the lines were so long and stagnant I couldn’t even get
off the
road to get in line. Eventually we
backtracked into the center of Ipswich where I was as happy to find gas
as I
was when I found the metal-free shorts.
After all that, we were still a bit early getting
to the
restaurant. We had a great time with
Rich and Fran talking about travel, health issues (as always) and maybe
some
politics. It was another great dinner
with my second round of scallops on the trip.
The portions were certainly not stingy and we had leftovers to
bring back
to Boston. Despite no one really wanting
their picture taken, I managed a couple shots.
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Richard, Fran, Pat and Me at the
Boathouse (no one wanted their picture taken)
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Me and Richard at the Boathouse restaurant |
With my Wednesday appointment not scheduled until
after 6pm,
we decided to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast at the
hotel. I figured I could eat breakfast and
skip
lunch and leave enough time before my treatment to make the radiation
folks
happy. While I enjoyed my eggs and
sausages, Pat was less impressed with the selections, plus her
make-your-own
waffle did not come out right.
With Pat being a great fan of art, I figured she
would enjoy
visiting one of Boston’s numerous museums.
With my afternoon free, we decided to visit the Isabella Stewart
Gardner
Museum. The museum was featured in the
Netflix docuseries, “This is a Robbery,” which investigated the story
of the
1991 theft of several of the Gardner’s works of art.
Although the series pretty much figures out
who stole the paintings, they were never recovered.
The museum still displays empty frames where
the stolen paintings had hung. Like the
Kennedy Library, the museum provided loaner wheelchairs so Pat could
enjoy most
of the museum displays.
The most famous and valuable stolen painting was
Rembrandt’s
“Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” We
purchased a print of it from the museum gift shop on our way out and
now it
hangs in our dining room. It goes good
with my Van Gogh place mat.
The museum itself is quite eclectic with
tapestries,
reliefs, sculptures and furniture in addition to the paintings. There is even a mock-up of the tomb of a
Spanish knight. In the center of the
museum is a lush courtyard that is visible from all floors.
After her disappointing breakfast, Pat decided to
get lunch
in the museum cafeteria, which she found had a gourmet menu. While she was eating, I took another pass
through some of the areas I found most interesting and snapped a few
pictures.
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Me in the Gardner Museum
courtyard
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Gardner Museum courtyard
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Pat looking down on the courtyard
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Impressive relief at the Gardner
Museum
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Cool fireplace at the Gardner
Museum
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Antique chairs at the Gardner
Museum
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Another cool relief at the
Gardner Museum
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One of many tapestries at the Gardner Museum |
My fourth treatment was the first one on a
Wednesday, the
day on which I would have a check-in with the radiation oncologist on
duty at
the time of my appointment. I also found
that Wednesdays meant “homework,” as front desk person Erik called it. The homework was actually a questionnaire
that I completed on a tablet. It was
mainly
about side effects like urinary frequency, hot flashes and bowel
movements and
was designed to advise the doctor about any issues I might be having.
I noticed Erik had the same name as a famous guitar player and I asked him if he was that guy. While he said he was not, he was, however, a fan of the famous guitarist’s music and had seen him in concert.
Because my radiation machine was running a little
behind
schedule, they moved my meeting with the radiation oncologist, Dr.
D'Amico, to before the
treatment. The meeting was
very brief as I had nothing really to complain about,
having just started treatment.
When it came time for my treatment, I was able to
“show off”
my new, non-metallic tennis shorts that I bought just for radiation. I don’t think my specialists of the day were
that impressed.
Thursday was another uneventful morning treatment
day,
leaving the rest of the day free. We had
made plans to go visit my cousin (by marriage) Chris in New Hampshire. The treatment produced no issues and they
were now becoming very routine.
We left the hotel late morning and after, again, battling the traffic to get out of Boston, we arrived at Chris’ home early in the afternoon. Somewhere on that journey I decided that, for all subsequent trips out of the City, I would just head west on Route 9 until I hit I-95 and circle all around Boston rather than attempt potentially shorter routes that Google suggested that required going through that downtown traffic. Although this was not always the optimal route, I found it to be less stressful than shorter ones. Plus, taking the familiar way meant I pretty much would know where I was going.
It was nice to visit Chris and find she was mostly
recovered
from a bad car accident she had been in earlier in the year. We had lunch at Plaistow Pizza Company, or
PPC, where I had actually eaten the previous fall with Chris, my
brother John
and wife Carol, Carol’s sister Mary and my now deceased godmother
Barbara--that
would be that last time I would see her alive.
When we got to the restaurant I was, again, quite hungry after not having eaten until then. I was happy to realize they had gluten-free pasta (I think I had gotten scallops the time before). I had a very large and tasty helping of chicken cacciatore and had plenty to bring back to the hotel.
After lunch, we talked a bit more at Chris’ house
before
heading back to Boston, hoping to avoid the worst of the traffic, which
we
pretty much did. That night was one for
chillin’ in the room with leftovers and streaming some shows on our
Roku that we
plugged into the hotel TV.
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Chris, Pat and me in one of
my notoriously bad selfies (I blame my short arms)
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Chris' cat, Juvi (I probably have it spelled wrong) |
By the end of the first week, I had established a
routine
for going to my treatments, even as the times of the treatments varied
widely. I would leave a half hour before
the
appointment and drink a bottle of water on the 20-minute walk.
Friday’s appointment was the earliest yet, at
6:30am and
just after dawn. I had mentioned I would
be flying out that day, which is probably why they had me come in so
early. On this day, I took the opportunity
of being
out in the quiet early morning to take a few pictures along the way.
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The
distinguished looking former First Bank of Brookline building, on
the first corner I pass on my walk, is actually now a medical cannabis
dispensary
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Sun rises over Brookline fire
station across the street
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View of the fire station from
further down the street
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I
pass by Dana Farber corporate offices on my walk in
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The
Hilton Garden Inn was my landmark for where to turn onto Brookline Ave
while I learned the route (I later found a shorter, more scenic route)
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This condo across Boylston Street
near the corner of Brookline Ave had kind of a cool waterfall
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My
view down Brookline Ave
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Further down Brookline Ave Dana
Farber comes into view and the Muddy River is on the right
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Despite being in the city, there
are still bunnies around
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Arriving
at Mass General (across the street)
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After treatment, I return to
Homewood Suites with the
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After my Friday treatment, Pat was returning to
Florida. I was flying back with her so
she wouldn’t have to negotiate the airport and everything else alone. Also, while in Florida for the weekend, I
could mow the lawn, add chemicals to the pool, do my laundry and get
Pat
groceries.
I booked our flight to Florida out of Providence,
figuring
that small airport would be easier to negotiate. Also,
we could visit with John and Carol a
bit and I could leave my car at their house to retrieve upon my return. By the way, I checked Google again when we
were driving back to Cranston and verified it was still telling us to
take the
wrong exit.
Of course, nothing was simple and our flight left
over an
hour and a half late, apparently due to weather. I
felt bad for my brother Walt, since he was
picking us up at the airport and the flight was now getting in around
midnight.
I felt worse after we got in and Walt reported being stuck in airport gridlock on his way to pick us up. I would not have expected that much traffic at midnight but, after observing the number of cars that were illegally parked at or near the curb, I could see why it was like that. What happened to all those post-911 security measures, anyway?
We finally got back to the house in the dead of the night
(or, early morning, actually). We talked
about maybe going to a local comedy show with Walt and Terry Saturday night,
but I was doubtful I would get everything I planned done in time.
Another nice thing Dana Farber did was give me a $250 gift
card that could be used for gas or groceries during my stay in Boston. I decided to try using the card at our local
Publix on Saturday while picking up groceries for Pat. I had activated the card successfully but, when
attempting to pay following the instructions to choose the option saying it was
a credit card with no PIN, the card was rejected. Slightly embarrassed, I quickly switched to
my own credit card and completed the transaction.
At first, I thought maybe the card didn’t work because I
tried to use it in Florida, rather than Massachusetts where I was a patient. However, when I got back up north and tried
it at a Star Market in Chestnut Hill, I got the same sad result. I began to wonder if this was a conspiracy by
the gift card provider to sell worthless cards to Dana Farber, figuring
patients might feel awkward complaining about something they had received for
free. My suspicions were heightened by
the fact that the company, Blackhawk, had no customer support. They had a website that included the bogus
instructions and a phone number where a computer would tell you to go to the website
for instructions. It seemed no real
people worked for this company.
Eventually, I decided to try doing the exact opposite of
what the instructions said: I created a PIN and used it as a debit card. That worked fine. No maybe no grand scam, but just really
terrible, awful instructions. I did use
up the card--except for $2.40—and certainly appreciated Dana Farber’s
assistance. By the way, the reason I
didn’t use the last $2.40 was because card restrictions said you could not use
the card in conjunction with any other payment during a transaction. So I could only use it if I were buying $2.40
or less in groceries or gas and my grocery and gas bills tend to be more than
that. I guess the company got to keep
that $2.40. Maybe THAT is the grand
scam.
About midway through Saturday afternoon, I was doing well
with my chores, having picked up kitty litter and groceries and finished the
pool maintenance and yard work. I called
Walt and told him we’d love to check out the comedy show but he told me, when
he called for tickets, he was told that the show was sold out. Maybe the scarcity of comedy shows in Brevard
County creates great demand when one pops up.
With no stand-up laughs in our future, we made an alternate
plan to go to dinner. I picked up the
check with the thought that, since I would be returning to Florida in a couple
weeks to accompany Pat back when she returned, I would need another late Friday
night airport pick-up. So the dinner was
kind of a combination thank you/bribe for the next pick-up.
Pat’s friend Lynn brought me to the airport early
Sunday
evening. Maybe not surprisingly, my
flight back to Providence was also delayed by weather.
It was already scheduled to get back around
11 p.m. so, when it was delayed, I told my brother John to not bother
waiting up
for me. I told him I would just get a
rideshare from the airport to his house to pick up my car.
The delay did give me a chance to get some airport food, so I headed to the food court. I chose Chipotle, even though I had only been to one a couple times and was worried about whether they could accommodate all my dietary restrictions: no gluten, no beans or anything gassy while on radiation. They actually made me a tasty bowl with chicken, rice, vegetables and no violations of my eating rules. I was so impressed I actually bought some Chipotle stock a few months later.
My flight got in after 1 a.m. but, surprisingly, it
was easy to
get a Lyft ride at that time. My driver
told me he was in Rhode Island on vacation with his family. They wanted to stay longer, so he had to earn
some money so they could afford to extend the vacation.
Whether that story was true or not I’ll never
know, but it worked: I gave him a juicy tip.
With my car retrieved at 1:45 a.m., I now just had
the easy
drive back to Boston to get some sleep before Monday’s 9 a.m. treatment. Or so I thought.
While taking my normal route from Cranston back to
I-95, I
thought I saw a flashing sign about construction or something but I
wasn’t
worried, figuring they couldn’t really close I-95.
Maybe not, but the ramp where I expected to
get on the interstate WAS closed.
Having driven around Providence a little, I kind
of knew
where I wanted to go to get to the next place where I could get on I-95. As it turns out, it was where we had to get
back on I-95 when Google sent us to the wrong exit on the way to
Cranston. Maybe Google’s AI was so smart
that it
diverted us that way so I would know what to do in this moment?? Probably not.
To my dismay, that entrance ramp to 95 in
Providence was
also closed. Franticly I backtracked
south to a third option and finally got on the highway.
I finally got back to my hotel at 2:45 a.m., got
a garage pass from the front desk, parked, went to my room and tried to
get a
little sleep.
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