An Inconvenient Tumor

Three words: WHAT A DAY.

I keep thinking I'll get to the point where I'll be blogging about the mundane stuff, like how the wait at the Cancer Center's valet stand is twice as long as Bryan's actual radiation treatment. You know, random observations that don't mean much but are actually great "blogging" material.

Then today happened. Today's events were anything but mundane. The hours between 11:00am and 12:26pm were heaven sent. Or wherever sent, depending on what you believe.

Bryan and I went to his radiation appointment, as scheduled. We shared an elevator down the Oncology Unit with Jerry, a tall, skinny African American orderly whose job it is to bring wheelchairs for patients who are too sick to walk between the valet stand and their destination in the Cancer Center. He is a wonderful guy with a great sense of humor and a beaming smile, always happy to see us when we arrive. But instead of a wheelchair, this time Jerry happened to be carrying cake. And cookies. And a small bowl of ice cream. Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE me some good cake. Not just any cake. It has been to GOOD cake. And this really looked like good cake. So, I asked Jerry where all his sweet treats came from.

"Oh, these? It's Hospital Appreciation Day out on the Plaza. They have cakes, cookies, ice cream, jugglers, massage chairs, balloons, you name it! It's a great time! You should definitely check it out after your radiation." We thanked Jerry, assured him we would check it out and went down to the Oncology Unit.

It was a slow day at the Oncology Unit, with no new appointments and only two breast cancer patients waiting for radiation. We see the same people everyday, so we said hello and Bryan went straight back for his treatment. I sat in my usual chair to wait, but for some reason, I didn't feel like sitting this time. In addition to the chairs, the waiting area has a lovely separate "snack station" with a water machine, coffee station, juice station and snacks for the radiation patients. I got up and got some water and hung out in the snack area until Bryan was done. (Note: I didn't actually eat any snacks. Those are for the patients. Besides, I was waiting for cake).

Bryan was done with his treatment in about five minutes, so we decided to take Jerry's advice and go check out "Hospital Day on the Plaza." The Plaza is an outdoor area a few floors above the radiation unit, somewhere we'd never been before. It's big, with lots of room for people, tables, chairs, etc. Even jugglers, apparently. We walked out of the elevators and there was a swarm of people. Not surprising, as I've learned from experience in the advertising industry that there are few things people love more than free food and free "stuff." In this case, the free stuff included Cedars-Sinai hats and t-shirts. There were at least 200 people on the Plaza – mostly hospital staff, although there were a few inpatients who had snuck out of their rooms – eating, drinking and generally enjoying their day of being "appreciated."

Bryan and I made our way through the crowd, checking out the different stations. We were almost to the other side of the Plaza when I panicked and stopped in my tracks. Apparently, I have a habit of running the tip of my left thumb over the diamond in my engagement ring, because I immediately felt something new. NO diamond. Only four sharp prongs. I looked down at my finger and sure enough, the diamond that Bryan had bought for my engagement ring was gone. MISSING. My heart sank and my adrenaline spiked.

"Bryan. BRYAN. BRYAN!"

He turned around, only to see me "white as a ghost, completely panic-stricken with my left arm outstretched towards him." Those are his words. I showed him my ring, and this is where it felt like a movie. If the camera panned out, you'd see that we were surrounded by hundreds of people milling about on an outdoor concrete Plaza. We've been on no less than three floors of this gigantic hospital. And we were missing a diamond. OUR diamond. The diamond that represented our upcoming marriage and commitment to each other. For Christ's sake, we're not even married yet. It seriously took all my strength in the world not to fall on the ground of the Plaza, in front of all these cake- and cookie-eating revelers, and scream "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO US????" Trust me, I know that in the grand scheme of things, it's just a diamond. It's a piece of rock. But this was ridiculous. It was almost like, in the past month alone, something was out to get us.

Our serendipitous time-line aside, I truly believe that "bad" things happen in sets of three. First, we both got laid off. Then we were diagnosed with a brain tumor. Finally, our engagement diamond, for which we had saved up for months and months and only yesterday received the "don't forget get to insure your ring!" papers, was missing. Not only that, but in a hospital with countless hallways, nooks, crannies, and a standard practice of wearing rubber-soled sneakers (perfect for stepping on, and catching, a diamond like ours).

This was absolutely my low point. Only last week, I told Bryan that there would be a day when I would just lose every bit of composure I've worked so diligently to maintain. Today was that day. I started to cry. On the Plaza, in front of everyone. I didn't care. I went from being on a fun cake-hunt to wanting to punch these happy people, eating their ice cream without a care in the world, straight in the nose. I was beyond angry. I was so f*cking pissed I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs until there was no more air. I apologize for the vulgarity, but after everything we've been through the past few weeks, this was TOO much.

We decided we had to retrace our steps. Over and over again. We looked on the Plaza, under chairs and tables. We looked in the elevator bank, waiting for the exact elevator we had taken up to the Plaza to open again. We went back down to the Oncology Unit, looking through the maze of hallways for any glint or reflection coming off the fluorescent-lit floors. We went back to the Radiation center and ran into Tracy, one of our favorite techs. She saw us and knew immediately something was wrong. We told her what had happened and all of a sudden, everything moved into fast-forward.

Now, for the record, patients in the radiation area generally have enough going on in their lives that they don't need any other drama. But Tracy and her team went above and beyond to help us find this diamond. She literally jumped out of her chair, called for her two other techs to come with her, and ran out to the waiting area to meet us. These people SPRUNG into action, abandoning their posts (luckily there were no more patients waiting for radiation). It was like CSI: Cedars-Sinai. In addition to Tracy there was Francine – the only doctor in the bunch – cell phone in hand and ready to retrace every single step we had taken throughout the hospital. And there was Len, the radiation room tech who came out with a giant flashlight, ready to search in every dark corner. Len is a really great guy who is in the control room everyday Bryan gets his radiation done, so they've become friends. (He gives great advice on L.A. sushi joints, if you ever need it.)

The team took control. We retraced our steps – for the 3rd time – and went back upstairs to the Plaza. It had been about 20 minutes since I first noticed the diamond was gone, and I was convinced we weren't going to find it. I mean, forget about a needle in a haystack. We're taking about a DIAMOND in a HOSPITAL. I was wondering around aimlessly, trying my best to look at every inch of ground, when a random woman walks up to me. She worked at Cedars but I had never met her and she wasn't part of our "search committee." She stops me and asks if I'm looking for something. I tell her "yes," and she says very calmly, "I have a very comfortable feeling you're going to find it." And then she was gone. I'm not kidding. GONE. I looked around to find her and ask her if she's seen a diamond. But literally, she was nowhere to be found.

All of a sudden, I see Francine start running towards the elevators. She's on her cell phone and yells out to me, "I think they've found it!"

We run back downstairs to the Radiation area and sure enough, they have the diamond. Leila, one of the ladies on the cleaning team who keeps Cedars in its immaculate state, stepped on it. She was by the water machine and the snack area, where I had spent eight minutes during Bryan's radiation.

It was all too much for us. Bryan starts crying. I start crying (again). Francine brings us to her office, where they had locked the diamond away, and brings us inside. She gently hands over the diamond to me, and I ask if she has an envelope to put it in. I'm an organized person, but there's not a chance in hell I'm carrying that diamond in my pocket or purse. Francine opens her drawer and pulls out a tiny zippered bag. The bag is labeled, "My Rosary." She takes out her rosary and gently places the diamond inside the bag, telling me, "There you go. That will keep it safe. You can bring the bag back to me next week." You've got to be kidding me. It's her rosary bag. Not only are they working everyday to save Bryan's life, they literally dropped everything to help us find our engagement diamond, and then Francine give us her personal rosary bag. Seriously, this woman and her team are our angels.

I swear I'm almost done. As we're walking back towards the elevator (for our 10th trip in just over an hour), we run into Jerry again. This time he's replaced his cake with a wheelchair. He sees us holding hands and says, "That's good. I like that. More people need to hold hands. There's not enough love in this world." I want to tell him we've got enough love for at least a couple dozen people. We tell him our story about the diamond and he says, "I want you to know, it's your love that brought that diamond back to you. It knew where it's home was. Now go buy a lottery ticket, because today's your day."

I actually thought it was a good idea. Shoot, we're both unemployed. The lottery can't hurt. But Bryan didn't want to tempt fate. He simply said, "we've already won."

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