The Best $2 We've Ever Spent
Newsflash: cancer is expensive. But you knew that already. There are a million prescriptions to fill, procedures to have, doctors' to (co-)pay, and so on. But those are big-time costs that we freak out about. For example, was the $5,400 PET-CT scan ordered by Dr. Doom covered by insurance? No, it wasn't (but we're appealing). And, why was one of our doctor's co-pay fees $375? Because the doctor's name is Dr. Keith Black. And finally, why does insurance only cover 21 days worth of Bryan's anti-nausea pills, rather than 30 days (those extra nine pills cost $160, by the way). So like I said, cancer is expensive. All the costs add up and while we're not thrilled about paying certain things, that's just the way it goes.
Then there are the things for which you are more than happy to pay. In this case, it is Cedars Cancer Center's mandatory valet parking. Don't laugh. There's no other place to park your car (unless you want to walk about 5 blocks), so valet it is. With validation from the radiation center, valet parking costs a flat fee of $2.00.
Listen, I know you could care less about Cedar's valet parking. But let me tell you why *I* care about it so much. Cedar's valet team is fantastic. Our new valet "friend," Sergio, in particular. He/they know us, remember our car, memorize our valet ticket numbers and know I'm the only girl in the place with a tiny USC football on my key chain.
Granted, valet can take FOREVER. On one of our first days of radiation, we literally waited 30 minutes for our car. This was after Bryan's 6-8 minutes of radiation. Something didn't add up. But I believe that being nice to people, greeting them by name every day, asking how they are, and tipping them occasionally (we tip every other day), makes a big difference. It's the whole idea of "treat people how you would like to be treated." No matter how tired you are, no matter how grumpy you are, no matter what else may be going on in your day. Because when you're in a place where tension and extreme fatigue run high, very few people are what you'd call "polite." Cordial, maybe, but not polite. So not only being polite, but actually being friendly, makes a huge difference in how you're treated back.
Let's take a few steps back. Yesterday and today, Bryan and I have been beyond exhausted. This is for two reasons: 1) We're smack in the middle of treatment and radiation fatigue is starting to kick-in; and 2) We had put off running so many errands that we ended up running almost all of them yesterday. This was the biggest, busiest day we've had in almost a month, for both of us. I know that I'm not the one with cancer, and for all intensive purposes I'm 100% healthy, but I'm going to be really honest here. Being the caregiver of someone who has cancer is perhaps just as stressful and just as exhausting, because you want to take all of the burden and all of the duties off of their shoulders. And it's not a burden on you because it's something you WANT to do. But you can only do it so much before the fatigue catches up with you, too. I've realized that while I'm "taking care" of Bryan, I've got to take care of myself, too.
That said, to normal people with normal jobs and normal schedules, it seriously must sound crazy that "running a bunch of errands" knocked us on our butts. But it did. Which is why, when we were at radiation this morning, our valet "friends" were such a Godsend. Usually there is a very positive feeling in the air in the radiation center, but today everyone just seemed exhausted. Where there is normally chit-chat between Bryan and myself and a few of the "radiation regulars," today there was silence. Where there's usually a joyous greeting, there were only a few head nods. It's not just Bryan and me who are very, very tired; everyone in radiation right now is on somewhat of a similar schedule. And you can see it wearing them down; both the patients and the spouses/significant others/supportees.
Please don't misconstrue our fatigue for negativity. We couldn't be more positive that things are working and that we're in the long haul. Believe you me, cancer's big fat ass is in the process of being kicked. However, as Bryan's wonderful Aunt Denise reminded us: this is a marathon, not a sprint. And when you're training for a marathon, sometimes you're exhausted. Your feet are blistered. Your muscles are tired and achy. And morning after morning, it's hard to pull yourself out of bed to train. Well, foot blisters aside, that's how we feel right now. We're trying not to exert any extra energy, and we're sleeping a lot. We take whatever help we can get right now, which brings me back to the valet stand.
Every single day, when we leave the radiation center and begin the 60-foot walk to the valet stand, Sergio or one of the other great valet guys see us and go straight to get our keys. We don't have to get their attention, show them our ticket, or wait longer than five to ten minutes (the cars are kept off site, so they still have to go get them). We get to go straight to the comfy leather bench and sit down. They ask us about our day and how our radiation treatment is going. They ask us how many more days we have left. And they always, always make sure to go around to Bryan's side when he gets into my car. He's totally capable of getting in himself, but they just want to make sure he's good to go. They know we're tired and they know he's the patient. So they go that little extra mile for us (and I hope for everyone else), too. But it's those things, those extra miles, that make all the difference in the world. And it only costs $2. So right now, it's easily the best $2 we've ever spent.
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