Thanks Paul: Friday, December 04, 2009
You know, one of the important things that’s makes an adventure like this tough, is being organized enough to get through this without screwing anything up. I mean things like missing a treatment, getting lost, there’s a myriad of things that can wrong in your day even when you’re at home, let alone on the road.
As I’ve mentioned before many times that Sher has played a huge role in helping me get, and keep all this together. For those of you that know me, they know sometimes I’m not the most organized person, and there is so many things going on that it’s hard to keep it all in order. On top of that, I’m in a city that I really don’t know that very well, and the MGH campus is absolutely huge and complex. I mean sometimes its even hard to find a place to eat, or grab a fast coffee … traveling and living out of suitcases just ain’t always fun and easy.
But there is one guy I’d really like to thank for making my time at the Proton Center organized, comfortable and as close to fun, as it can possibly be. It’s not a fun place to be, and it’s a tough place to work at. Everyday this dude comes in and deals with all the problems that patients have and believe me, that can be a huge number of things, and often, all at the same time.
His name is Paul, and he’s the first row of defense for patients at the hospital … what I mean by that is, when patients first go down to the treatment floors and get off the elevator, he is the first person they see. Now they don’t ask him for medical advice, but they do ask him just about any and every thing else. I know, I did when I first started treatment.
Let me tell you, this man is amazing. He runs the front desk and is face-forward to the patients whether they’re nine months old, or ninety years old, he handles them and their requests.
Honestly, I don’t know how he does it. I’ve watched him everyday since I’ve been in treatment and he still amazes me. It’s Paul’s job to register new patients, make sure their insurance info is up to date, they’re in the right treatment room and all things that go along with that … but he’s more then that.
He takes care of all the other things that patients need too. The Proton Center is not your typical doctor’s office by any means, the furthest thing from it in fact. You need to keep in mind that many of these patients are sick … I mean really sick. Many are sleeping in the chairs, in need of bathrooms, constantly on the edge of vomiting, kids crying, kids laughing, kids running around, grumpy old man, grumpy young people, teen-agers, punk rockers, people in wheelchairs, my god, you name it, they’re in there and they are usually not at their best.
Who lost this, who lost that, who got a parking ticket, who’s late, the phone is ringing, where’s that fax, page the nurse, the printers out of paper, some kid locked himself in the bathroom, where can I buy lunch? Can I pay my co-pay now? Who took my coat?
How does he do it? … and he does it alone.
And wait, it gets worse, add to the top of this, that I don’t know the percentage, but I bet fifty percent of the patients aren’t fluent in English. Remember these folks are coming from around the globe for proton treatment. In my three months there I bet I’ve heard twenty or more languages being spoken there.
Everyday I watch him, of course after three months he knows I’m watching him … we’ve become friends. I told him he was one amazing dude, so organized that somehow, single handedly he keeps that place in some sort of, what I’ll call a chaotic order.
Even when the proton machine is having technical problems and appointments are running hours late, he still handles it, and handles it like a pro.
He keeps a big basket of candy at the front of his desk, a smile on face, and even has time to tell you a joke now and then (for those that can handle it). He’s one amazing man, and he’s made my time at proton as pleasurable as possible, if there’s any pleasure in being there.
Let’s face it, no one, there isn’t one patient including myself, that really wants to be here. Certainly no cancer patient asked for the cards they were dealt. For many it’s the last stop or hope, I’ve seem people that want to run away when they enter that room … I mean it. It’s as rough and tough as a place can get, short of a war zone. My first impression or thoughts, was to back off and quickly rethink the traditional surgery may have been the better choice. Of course in hind-sight I laugh at that … but that’s the truth. First thought when those elevator doors open is run … run for your life.
I remember one day the elevator door opened and some guy, maybe around thirty-five – forty years old, starts yelling at his wife for bringing him here, “this is it isn’t it, this is the place, right?”. She says “calm down honey, they’re just going to talk to us” … ” I don’t want be in this F-ing place, let’s go”. People know, like cattle before the slaughter … or I should say, they think they know, but many are mistaken. Healing takes a strange and unusual form here.
His poor wife was just started to cry and handed their insurance card to Paul, he took it and started to fill out the paper work. You could see fear in this man’s eyes, I mean fear of what he was about to face. He knew, he probably knew for a long time … but he just couldn’t deal with it, he wasn’t ready for the room.
He looked toward me, made eye contact, and as if to say “you poor sucker, what you doing here? You’re an asshole for staying here and taking this shit.” He couldn’t stand still even for one second, adrenaline was pumping through him and I thought to myself “this dude going to explode, they need to drug him or give him something”,
He was like a trained rat in a cage, and every time he pushed the button for food, he’d get an electrical shock too. Crazed with fear of the unknown. Maybe not believing that he’s as sick as they say he is.
Just then Paul handed him the papers, and the guy just threw it all back at him and started cursing, grabbed his wife and literally ran for the elevator again. It happens, some folks are being diagnosed right upstairs and you never know what their reaction will be.
Yeah, Paul’s got a rough job, not one I think I’d want to on a daily basis. I don’t know how long he’s been working there, but when he leaves, it’ll take someone special to replace him. I believe you have to be born with the ability and desire to help people, and love people, to do a job like this, and then go home and deal with your family.
On the other hand, there are rewards too … maybe not many, but they’re big ones when they’re there. A lot of kids come through this place and if you watch their faces you’ll see what I talking about when I say rewards.
The bright eyes and beautiful smiling faces of those kids when they get the chance to grab a candy or a toy from a shelf behind him. That shelf always seems to have something that grabs the interest of every boy or girl that has the misfortune of passing though the Proton Center … and amazingly, it’s always full great choices.
Paul deals with those kids too, from toddler to teenager, and in a way that most of them accept him for what he is. Just a person there to organize and help.
There have been times when I’ve almost gotten up to help him. Leaped up to answer that third phone ringing, or even answer the question that he’s being asked by a new patient, while he’s on the phone with a doctor or insurance company.
But somehow, with speed and efficiency, like a special tribal dance that has some deep spiritual purpose, and that only he can perform, it all gets done and things run smoothly in a scary place.
Paul … I just wanted to say “thanks”, thanks for helping me too. You’re a fabulous defender of the human spirit, and in a place, where even though so much good is being done, the emotional highs and lows, the fear of the unknown and mis-understood, are always on the defensive because of you. It’s from your courage to do this job, that makes it a better place for those who must go through this experience to simply survive, that makes you, shine above so many others.
Thanks buddy.
