Cancer,

 actually  

Just a routine checkup. Dr. Basran had been surprised to see Dan’s iron levels
so low – okay, not unusually low, but low. So – repeat the bloodwork. The
second test confirmed the first.

Now what? Dan waited on a high tech examination room chair, the space-saving
Midmark 680, with blue leather upholstery, high-impact plastic arms and black
steel tubing that matched Dr. Basran’s adjustable ergonomic task chair.

Dan’d wanted to talk to Dr. Basran about a malaise in his gut, but it disappeared
shortly after he made the appointment. He went to the doc anyways.

“Must’ve been my hypochondria acting up,” Dan said.

“No, I’d say it’s time for a complete checkup,” said Dr. Basran, and ordered a full
set of tests.

Basran, now atop his perch, nose just brushing the retina monitor, scrolled back
and forth through Dan’s chart.

“So, Dan,” said Dr. Basran. “Low iron is the characteristic finding in cancer of the
colon, stomach or gullet. Your iron’s always been good, and even now, it hasn’t
dropped to dangerous levels. Still - what’s unusual is so big a drop. So first we
look for a benign explanation.”

Dr. Basran looked from Dan to the computer then back to Dan through greasy
glasses as they went through the standard checklist.
Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“I’m ordering a colonoscopy and a gastroscopy.” Basran set his clipboard on the
examination table, and rubbed his ear between his thumb and forefinger. “I look
at you, Dan, I see only a picture of health. And I admit the diagnosis is weak. The
stool samples are contradictory, and we even have contraindications: no rectal
bleeding, no fatigue.

“But at your age” – he looked at his watch – “a procedure won’t hurt.”

“Oh, it sure as hell will,” said Dan. “I’ve had one. No anesthetic. Starved for two
and a half days and I hurt like a bitch for the third. Having six feet of garden hose
shoved up your hind end is no picnic.”

Dr. Basran permitted himself a bleak smile, then placed an unmanicured hand on
Dan’s shoulder. “It’s better now, my friend. You can eat jello during the fast – all
you like, and every color under the rainbow. Plus I’ll see to it you get Propofol;
you’ll sleep well and wake up refreshed.” He peered into Dan’s face. Dan caught
a whiff of AquaVelva.

“I know how much you worry, Dan. Let me write you up a little Diazepam to get
you through it.”
__

Saturday night. Dan planned his menu. Gatorade, water, white grape juice, green
jello Sunday, yellow jello Monday. Kind of like Lent. He poured a cup of cold
water into a little pot and set it on the range to boil, then stuck his head into the
family room, where Elaine stared into the television watching curling rocks clunk
against each other.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

Dan grinned. “Those Team Norway women sure can holler. Thought someone
was having an orgasm.”

“That’s disgusting.” Elaine’s cell chimed. “Your pot’s boiling.” She turned away.

Dan returned to the stove. It wasn’t even steaming.

“Louise!” Dan heard Elaine say. “How about you and Ben join us for brunch
tomorrow? The kids’ll be here! Dan’s seeing the rectum reamer on Tuesday.”
From the stove Dan heard Louise shriek. Christ, the woman could be a curler.

Elaine clicked her cell off.

“Hey,” called Dan as he added a stream of green crystals, “Anna Sidorov playing
tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“Paper says she’s kind of foxy. I wanted to take a peek.”

“You’re such a pig. For just once –” Elaine sighed, hauled herself off the big
couch and headed up the stairs. “Screw it. I’m watching this in bed.”

“Sounds exciting. Night!” said Dan.

“Grow up.”
__

Dan had married partly to escape loneliness; Elaine, he’d come to realize, to
escape waitressing. He’d quit school to take a job at Elite Office Furnishings for

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minimum wage and 1% of the company. Elaine came home with him one night,
and never left. Bragged to her girlfriends that Dan had gone to university and
already owned a business.

When Donny and Suzy were born, something wild in Dan finally rested. Elaine
never worked out of the house again. With the kids now in their twenties, Elaine
spent her time with friends over coffee and cigarettes, or gossiping with big sister
Louise, who lived 30 minutes away.

Dan stirred the jello powder about in the water, then set it in the fridge to cool.
Maybe he’d open up his Macbook and look at iPhotos.

Dan scrolled back until he found a picture of Kathryn. He’d met her at Lois
Novakosky’s house three years ago. Kathryn’d been visiting from Denver. She
and Dan had more than hit it off, and sent emails back and forth until Kathryn
stopped answering. Three months later, he saw the obit on Legacy.com. Bone
cancer.

Lois. Must have invited him to a dozen parties a year (Elaine was always
“otherwise occupied”) and gave him culls from her garden. Diagnosed three
years ago with intraocular melanoma that metastasized to her liver. She enrolled
in an experimental trial that cost $2500 a month, and lived happily for another
year and a half.

Greg. Phoned from California, emailed Dan a photo of his boys. Non-Hodgkins
lymphoma. After getting a doctorate in architecture at Oxford, Greg took a high-
flying job in Oakland, never looked back. But his voice shook as he apologized
for not staying in touch.

Even Skip was gone.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

This wasn’t helping. Dan popped a couple Diazepam. Heaven had no pity
nowadays. He popped another.
__

Sunday. By 11 a.m., the sun had painted their kitchen a lovely shade of egg yolk.
Elaine laid out a grand spread for brunch: waffles, Dutch pancakes, whipped
cream, blueberry and maple syrup, bowls of cut melon and pineapple, scrambled
eggs, bacon, sausages, freshly brewed coffee.

The clan clinked cups; Dan ploughed into his jello. Donny, now 23, was telling
Louise he was learning to operate a bobcat at work and loved it. Suzy modeled a
cute black dress with red cherries she’d just bought. Louise shared a gory
emergency room tale: a biker’s head had been sheared off by a semi, and his
gleaming vertebrae wiggled out of his still warm neckhole like a newly-hatched
larva.

“So, Dad, you get arseholed on Tuesday?” Donny poured a glittering stream of
maple syrup on his second helping of waffles. “This old guy at work says it’s a
shitload of fun. I bet it’d be just the ticket for you, Uncle Ben.” He winked at Aunt
Louise, who frequently counselled Ben about proctology and shoving.

“Anyone want some jello?” Dan asked, holding high a quivering green mound. “I’ll
get another spoon.”

“Now, Danny, don’t you go getting your shit in a knot,” Ben said, a gooey paste of
eggs, sausage and Dutch pancake spackled across his choppers. Ben had a
grade eight education, and would fix a small motor for anyone. “You’re twice as
worse as the women when it comes to worrying.”

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“Thanks, Ben. I appreciate –”

“We should pray,” interrupted Elaine, her lower lip suddenly trembling. She held
out shaking hands to a slightly incredulous Donny and Ben. “Our kind loving
Heavenly Father, bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We thank thee
for the love and warmth of family, for the opportunity to offer each other support,
for…” Dan felt the old wrench in his gut – “Amen,” Elaine said, and wiped an eye.
__

The jello was filling. By Sunday night, Dan didn’t feel the least bit hungry as he
browsed his Twitter feed at the kitchen table.

“Dan!” Elaine called from in front of the TV, “Louise said that prayer I did today? It
was really beautiful. She wants me to do something for their 25th.”

Suzy strutted past Dan into the family room. “Hey, Mom.” Elaine looked up from
Big Brother. “I’m wearing your red shoes tomorrow.”

Elaine turned down the TV and sat up. “Oh, no, you’re not, missy,” she said. “I’m
wearing them. I planned a night out with the ladies ages ago.”

“Mom, they go perfectly with my new dress!” Suzy bounced on her heels,
something she’d done when irritated since she was a toddler. “I don’t have
anything else that goes with black—“

“So wear a different dress,” Elaine dug up a dollop of sour cream dip with a kettle
chip.

“Don’t you have other shoes you can wear?” said Suzy.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

Mother and daughter scowled at each other.

“You two having fun in there?” Dan called.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Elaine said. “You can’t live without my shoes? Just take
them. I’ll go barefoot.”

“You’re the best mom ever!” Suzy bent over, gave Elaine a hug, then skipped
upstairs, dishing Dan a smug grin.

“For heaven’s sakes, Elaine.” Dan stood in the doorway looking at Elaine, again
horizontal on the couch. “She’s such a brat. Christ, after everything we went
through with Donny – ”

“Hey.” Elaine propped herself up on an elbow. “Lots of kids use drugs and get in
trouble with the law – remember when Marvin got picked up with a stash of red
crystal? He even did time and he turned out just fine, Mr. High and Mighty.”

“Sure. He worked retail for the rest of his life,” Dan said.

“Oh, and you’re such a winner?”

“Not everyone can be a curler.”

Elaine shoved herself into sitting position. “Jesus, you think you’re perfect, don’t
you? Well, you’re perfect, all right.” Elaine chucked the remote and headed
towards the landing. “A perfect asshole. Well, fuck you, asshole.”

“Goodnight,” Dan called up.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“Fuck you. Fuck you!”

“Have a good sleep,” Dan sang.

“Oh, don’t you tell me what to do!” A door slammed.

Dan sat down at the kitchen table and downed a helping of yellow jello. And two
Diazepam. Yum.
__

Monday morning. Dan stared down the four plastic jugs of Golytely, the
nitroglycerin of bowel cleansers. A long summer night years ago, he and a buddy
from Elite Office Furnishings almost certainly drank three dozen beer between
them. They didn’t keep a tally: not likely, all things considered, that they could
have, but Dan was confident he’d tipped back at least seventeen. Even allowing
for a considerable margin of error, the beer throughput back then significantly
exceeded today’s projected Golytely throughput.

He could do this.
__

Monday night. Elaine went out with her girlfriends sans red shoes. Suzy breezed
off on her pub crawl, red shoes ablaze. Donny was working an evening shift at
Home Depot. Kind of a drag to be home alone, but what did he expect? Family
Game Night?

With the remote to himself, he flipped listlessly through the channels. It was a
sad secret of middle managers that for a brief time, they’re worth more dead than
alive. Much more. Should he die now, Elaine gets his pension, worth about half a
million, plus another half million from his compulsory group life insurance plan.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

He pictured his funeral. Elaine, rich and teary-eyed, widowed too soon, fervently
clasping the hands of well-wishers. Donny’d get another chance. Suzy’d finish
university debt-free.

If, ont the other hand, he climbed over the fixty five mark, the insurance would
expire, and and he and Elaine would get to live on half that.

He wanted to live. What a selfish prick. Even with Ealine, Suzy and dumb,
fucking Donny.
__

“Cripes, Dan!” a loud voice knocked against his subconscious. “It’s eleven
o’clock. We’re leaving in half an hour. God, it stinks in here.”

Omigod. Dan sat up dizzily, swung his legs over the bed, feet dangling against
the carpet. “Jeez, Elaine, why didn’t you wake me?”

“Not my goddamn job, Dan Dennett. I was at coffee with Alice. That rat’s ass
Frank gave her the shittiest ring imaginable after buying himself a big fancy gun.
She was sooo grateful for my sympathetic ear. Said I – Dan! For god’s sake,
hustle!”

“I’ll skip breakfast.” Dan shucked his pajamas, and headed to the shower. “Get
it?” Elaine didn’t crack a smile.
__

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“The wipers can’t keep up with this rain,” said Elaine. “Plus this car doesn’t
handle worth shit.”

“What do you mean? It’s got traction control. Try slowing down.”

“Right. And drive like an old woman. Like you do.” One hand on the wheel, she
wiped her nose. Dan felt the car hydroplane. “I wouldn’t recommend a Camry to
anybody,” Elaine said.

“What? So why didn’t you say so before we bought it? Christ, you picked the
model, the color, the heated seats, the whole shitteroo. And now you’re
bellyaching?” Elaine clunked over a pothole; Dan did an ass-kegel.

“I hadn’t driven in Ben’s Murano yet. We’ve got at least an hour left in this
downpour. Why’d Basran schedule you in Humboldt?”

“Shorter wait times outside the city.”

“Yeah, well, the driving times are way longer.” Elaine applied a little brake and
flicked the turn signal. “I’m stopping for a smoke at that rest stop up ahead.”

__

Dan shivered in the running car, envious of the secret society modern smokers
enjoy. Pariahs at work, home and even play, they formed instant cozy
communities at designated smoking areas, sharing brands and a sense of
oppression, like followers of a new faith. Dan watched Elaine have a jolly
conversation with a well-heeled man.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

She opened the driver’s side door – “… miserable out there” – snapped her
seatbelt, flicked on the radio.

Giving Dan a peculiar smile, she said, “I told Sanford” – she nodded towards the
distinguished gentleman wading towards his BMW – “’does my husband ever
have a toilet to clean tomorrow!”

“You said that?” Dan said. “Seriously?”

“Well, think about it,” Elaine smiled. Such a sensible smile. “That brew of yours
made for some mighty nasty backsplatter. No reason I should –”

“I get the picture, Elaine. God almighty. I really don’t appreciate it when –”

Elaine jerked the Camry into reverse, then looked behind her. “While we’re on
that subject, I didn’t appreciate it yesterday when the minute I plugged in my
curling iron you had to go into the bathroom and take a colossal du –”

“That Golytely acts – no way I could get –”

“Oh, and Golytely shuts your brain off, too? Maybe you should have stayed near
the upstairs bathroom.”

“Sanford’s wife has Alzheimer’s,” she added fifteen miles down the road. “He was
so happy to have someone to empathize with.”
__

At the Humboldt Clinic, Elaine, lower lip quivering, asked Heidi, the admissions
nurse, could she stay in the ward with Dan? “I can’t bear the thought of him alone
in there.” She fished in her purse for a tissue, glancing at the muted television.

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“Holy shit,” she said. “South Korea made the quarter-finals!”

“We’ll take good care of him,” Heidi said.

“I can’t believe those little buggers got ao far,” Elaine said.

__

Dan sat on a cot behind a curtain in paper slippers and a pink surgical gown,
while Heidi wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and stuck a digital
thermometer in his ear.

“We’ll have this saline intravenous into you in a jiffy. That’ll get you nicely
hydrated, then they’ll use the same line in surgery for the anesthetic.”
__

Heidi and an aide rolled Dan on his wheeled bed into the operating theater,
where the surgical team towered over him under blinding lights. The
anesthesiologist described the rare allergic reactions to Propofol, and the
gastroenterologist listed the probabilities of the procedure perforating his colon or
causing bleeding when taking tissue samples.
__

“You with us, Mr. Dennett?” A smiling Heidi floated over him. “I had to call an aide
to help wake you up.”

Heidi was so darn cute: purple scrubs, red hair like Molly Ringwold. Angelic. Dan
thrilled as Heidi said, “You may feel the need to pass gas – a lot of gas, since
they had to inflate your colon with CO2. Don’t be embarrassed. We’re used to
that around here.” Why did her words feel like Easter? “I’ve left you the key to

12
Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

your locker; the surgeon will be by see you momentarily.” She smiled. “After that,
Mr. Dennett, you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Dan felt great!

The glum gastroenterologist loped into Dan’s curtained area maybe fifteen
minutes later. God, he looked miserable. He sighed as he shed his scrub cap and
gloves. Looking at Dan with bloodhound eyes, he took a deep breath and shook
his head.

Dan looked past the doctor. The ward had listed; in a moment, he could slide off
the world.
__

“Mr. Dennett,” said the gastroenterologist. “Everything’s fine. No lesions, no

polyps. No need for another visit.”

“Are you shitting me?” Dan’s knees cracked as he jumped off the table. “I’m
going to live to be ninety?”

“I guess.”

“Wow!” Dan stuck out his hand. The doctor gave it a limp squeeze.

__

Resurrected! Heart thumping, Dan Dennett trips, yanking on his pants. Nurse
Heidi rushes in to see what’s the noise. Dan wants to hug her, marry her. He tells
her, “I’m going to live to 90!”

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

“You’ll have great-great-great-grandchildren,” Heidi laughs, helping him up. The

touch of her hands feels like silk, like when Skippy was a pup, like a week in
Disneyland, like getting a new Gameboy, like his first kiss with Velma Schroeder,
like reading Donny Goodnight, Moon.

He becomes reverential. He’ll start going to church. Once a month. Or more. He

won’t smoke pot again. Ever. To show his faith. He’ll buy Basran some super
nice expensive aftershave. He bursts into the waiting room where Elaine’s
engrossed in The Young and the Restless, her favorite soap.

“How’s that wascally Jack Abbot?” he teases. Elaine shushes him with a hand
signal: she doesn’t want to miss the ending.

Nurse Heidi turns the corner with the paperwork; Elaine springs to her feet,
squashes Dan with a dramatic hug.

“Any news yet?” cries Elaine.

“Aw,” says Nurse Heidi.

“You bet,” says Dan. “The surgeon had just two words for me: Perfect Asshole:
Your words, Elaine – remember?” He laughs.

Elaine’s face stains blotchy. “I’ll start the car,” she says stiffly. She looks at Heidi.
“What a kidder!” she says. Elaine takes Dan’s arm and fast-walks him towards
the exit. The sky outside hangs a heavy grey.

“You’ll never guess what happened this afternoon,” Elaine’s heels clack over the
polished tiles. She beams at passing patients pushing IV poles and walkers.
“Penny from high school? Penny Arnst? Well, she has a hole-in-the-wall

14
Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

restaurant here. Serves organic meat and vegetarian. So I walk in, and Penny’s
not doing so good. She’s got serious depression. Really needed someone who
could empathize with her. ‘Elaine,’ she says, ‘you’ve just got a gift for making
people feel good.’

“It’s spooky, Dan. My horoscope said something like that.”

The double doors to the parking lot slide open for them. Dan can smell wet
garbage. “…and,” Elaine is saying, “I wrote out a wish list for my birthday. July
17th will be here before you know it! I’m going to tape it to the inside of the
rightmost cupboard door. Next to the fridge. You tell the kids, okay?”

A splat of rain hits Dan’s forehead. Another. Giant drops. “You bet.” Dan feels
woozy. The anesthetic maybe, and the sudden cold, damp air.

“There’s something else we’ve got to talk about,” Elaine says, sliding behind the
wheel. “While I was waiting I realized – If something happened to you in there,
Dan, I wouldn’t’ve had gas money to get home!”

Dan gets his feet inside and slams the passenger door. “Don’t you carry a
wallet?”

“Don’t be a jerk. If something happens to you, I’ve got to know I can live. We
need new wills, Dan. I need to know how to take money from your bank account.”

A kick inside his gut: systemic unwellness. He’s read about it. His eyes feel ill.

“Elaine,” Dan says, “the wills are in your top dresser drawer. Our only asset is the
house, which is already in your name. There’s never more than a thousand bucks

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

in my bank account, and we have a joint fifty thousand dollar line of credit. What’s
the big deal?”

“Peace of mind. When Jack died, Sheila took the kids on a cruise. I might like to
do that. A trip to the spa …”

Dan pictures Elaine in her red shoes, reading her horoscope.

July 17.

Elaine is a Cancer.

He still has no explanation for his low iron.

Dan closes his eyes; the Camry enters the rain.

__

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Cancer, actually Eric Neufeld

original intro

Just a routine checkup. Dr. Basran had been surprised to see Dan’s iron levels
so low – okay, not unusually low, but low. So – repeat the bloodwork.
The second test confirmed the first.

Dan had wanted to talk to Dr. Basran about a malaise in his gut, but it
disappeared shortly after he made the appointment. But he went to the doc
anyways, and said his hypochondria must be acting up. “I’d say it’s time for a
complete checkup,” the doctor said, and ordered a full set of tests. Now Dan
waited on a high tech examination room chair, a Midmark 680, with blue leather
upholstery, high-impact plastic arms and black steel tubing that matched the
adjustable ergonomic task chair Dr. Basran perched on as he squinted at Dan’s
chart on the computer.

“So, Dan,” said Dr. Basran. “Low iron is the characteristic finding in cancer of the
colon, stomach or gullet. Your iron’s always been good, and even now, it hasn’t
dropped to dangerous levels. Still - what’s unusual is so big a drop. So first we
look for a benign explanation.”

Dr. Basran looked from Dan to the computer then back to Dan through greasy
glasses as they went through the checklist.

“I’m ordering a colonoscopy and a gastroscopy.” He set his clipboard aside, and
rubbed his ear between his thumb and forefinger. “I look at you, Dan, I see the
picture of health. And I admit the diagnosis is weak. The stool samples are
contradictory, and we even have contraindications: no rectal bleeding, no fatigue.
An extended bout of unexplained abdominal malaise after Remembrance Day
had reminded Dan that it was time to book a physical. Par for the course, the

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pain vanished without a trace within a day after he phoned, and by the time the
appointment finally rolled around, Dan had nearly nearly forgotten to mention it.
When he did, Dr. Basran became quiet, then tried without success to induce the
tenderness.

“Daddy!” said Suzy, “None of your beeswax. You stick to your office furniture!”

Suzy hadn’t gotten over Dan buying her an Aeron chair for her sixteenth.

“This isn’t just about style – ”

“What is it about, then, Mom? Making me look like a loser like Phillipa Schrag?”
“And make damn sure you turn out all the lights and lock the back door! For
once.”
Why couldn’t they stay home? He hated being alone: just made him brood again.
He broods a lot about that sad secret of 21st century middle managers, who for a
brief time, are worth more dead than alive. Their pensions have maxed out and
they still carry a generous compulsory group life plan. Should Dan die now,
Elaine would receive his pension of half a million, and another half million in
insurance plan.

18