Not right, nor orderly.

Back to work

Laura had a dedication to her work that puzzled me at times. After Dr. Goldberg  sent her for an MRI to see what might be causing her difficulty with reading, she headed right back to her office.  She was more concerned about the time she was losing on completing an assignment than waiting around for the results of the MRI.  She went back to work even though the MRI had taken a while because they seemed to keep looking for something that concerned them.  She called me from work to say that she was very unsettled that one of the technicians had said, “Bless you!” on the way out. Nevertheless, she went back to work.  Very soon after that call, she called me again to tell me that Dr. Goldberg wanted her back at his office right away. She was reluctant to leave.  She wanted to finish her project first, but Dr. Goldberg insisted that she come right then.

Then, about an hour later, she called from Dr. Goldberg’s office.  She said they had found a mass on her brain.  She put Dr. Goldberg on the line.  He said that he was working to get Laura seen at the hospital where he had trained.  They had one of the best brain surgeons in the country, and Dr. Goldberg wanted him to see Laura.  He gave me contact info for scheduling an appointment with the surgeon.

It was hard for Laura not to go back to work after this news from Dr. Goldberg.  As frightened as she was, she wanted to get that job done.  Nevertheless, she went home, picking up Anne Mei from her camp on the way.  

Laura was out of the office from that day in August 2008 until March 2009.  Despite her continued impairment with aphasia, she was determined to return to work.  She was concerned about the economic consequences of running out of sick leave.  (I have described elsewhere how the compassion of her colleagues and the administrators in her office prevented this from happening.)  Even more, Laura was adamant that she was going to get back to her old self.  Aphasia was not going to keep her down. Even when she was out of work, as I have described in my blog, she would not give in to aphasia.  She would not watch TV, listen to the radio or to books on tape.  She kept working on reading the New York Times and the New Yorker.  I've told the story elsewhere about what happened when Laura finally consented to listen to recorded books in November 2009 after a year of treatment had failed.  She picked Shakespeare plays.  Heavy ones, like Macbeth and Othello.  

For two weeks after the first and only clinical trial infusion after Thanksgiving 2009 at the National Cancer Institute , Laura was never well enough to go outside.  She was only physically weak.  Her will-power was like steel.  On the afternoon before she went to Anne Mei’s school concert, she insisted on going out for a walk.  She was barely able to stand. Nevertheless, she made it down our long driveway and down the block and back, complaining every step of the way about the cold.  But the cold did not stop her.

During the last two weeks of her life, Laura stayed in bed, sleeping most of the time.  In the evening, however, if she did not hear Anne Mei practicing her violin, or did not like what she heard, Laura would cry out, “Ken!”  If I wasn’t already with her, I would come running to assure her that Anne Mei would practice soon, or that I would speak with her about doing better.  On the evening of Laura’s last night, a Friday, we were all gathered around her—her father, mother, brothers, sister, and me.  Laura had been on morphine since the Sunday before and was sleeping continuously.  She had stopped eating and drinking the day before.  She had not shown any signs of recognizing people when they spoke to her.  Yet, when Anne Mei started practicing, recognition flashed across her face.  She started to open her eyes.  She looked as if she were saying, “That’s right.  Keep it up.” to herself.  We all saw it.