Chapter 7 - Lucy’s Treatment Did Not Stop All at Once
The dangerous part was gradual.
Her first treatment cycles went:
mostly as planned.
Then an infection delayed:
one.
Blood counts delayed:
another.
The oncology team changed dosing.
Still medically normal enough.
Then Lucy developed severe depression.
Not because she was:
weak.
Because cancer treatment can make a person feel like their life has become:
appointments,
side effects,
fear,
other people discussing them.
She missed one follow-up.
Theresa rescheduled.
Then another appointment conflicted with Melissa’s court hearing.
Theresa told Lucy:
“We’ll move it.”
Lucy said:
“I need to go.”
Theresa answered:
“They move these things all the time.”
The appointment was delayed:
twelve days.
Then transportation became:
another issue.
The hospital offered social-work support.
Lucy felt embarrassed.
“My family is helping.”
That sentence kept resources away.
Then her employer-sponsored insurance ended after extended leave.
She could transition through COBRA or a marketplace plan.
Paperwork mattered.
Theresa said:
“I’m handling it.”
She missed:
a deadline.
Coverage lapsed briefly.
The oncology center worked with Lucy to avoid complete treatment abandonment, but scheduling and payment complications added delays.
Eventually she entered a period where treatment was:
dangerously inconsistent.
Not because doctors demanded cash before saving her.
Because fragmented caregiving, insurance problems, depression, infection, missed appointments, and Theresa’s control combined into:
disruption.
Lucy told me:
“Things are messy.”
I said:
“I sent Mom more money.”
That sentence would later make me sick.
Money.
Again.
Lucy did not ask for:
money.
She asked:
“Can you come home?”
Three times.
The first:
after the insurance lapse.
I said:
“I can be there next month.”
The second:
after a hospitalization.
I said:
“My deposition is scheduled.”
The third came in an email I did not answer for:
four days.
Nathan, I don’t need another transfer. I need you here. I don’t think your mother wants me in this house anymore.
When I finally called, Theresa answered Lucy’s phone.
“She’s emotional.”
“Why?”
“She’s sick of being sick.”
“Did she say you don’t want her there?”
Theresa sighed.
“Nathan.”
“You know how people get when they’re miserable.”
I let my mother translate:
my wife.
That was the moment I should have come home.
May you like
I didn’t.
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