Having spent a wonderful thirteen months at Remission Junction, my wife was recently told her cancer had returned. Along with other somewhat grim passengers, we reluctantly climbed back aboard the cancer train, and we’re hoping to get off at Reprieve, the next station down the line. Some describe the experience as a battle. We prefer to think of it as a journey.

As expected, we are told there are fewer residents at the next village and the stay is not likely to be as long as at Remission Junction. The long-term residents are the fortunate few in Reprieve. As we depart, I notice the old train rattles and groans as it works its way up a mountain. The grade is steeper and the little engine struggles as it carries its apprehensive burden though Chemo Pass.

On board, the same impressive staff members efficiently goes about their now familiar duties, but there is sadness in their eyes behind the warm smiles of encouragement. The doctors, nurses, and support staff that work the BIDMC Line know that each stop brings their passengers closer to Submission, the aptly named terminal at the end of the line.

A nurse, my wife has no illusions about what she is facing. While we hope for more time, she knows her chances have diminished. Always good in a crisis and one to face problems head on, she studies her tests and medical records online to assess her progress. She had hoped to come back as a volunteer in the oncology department and not as a patient.

“I haven’t finished raising my adult children or my grandchildren,” she tells her doctors. I greatly admire her strength and spirit and only hope that I can face adversity with such courage and grace. She worries how I will get along if she is no longer around. I know she would do better without me than I without her. After 52 years of marriage, the loss would be profound.

Every passenger on the train has a similar story. Some are far sadder than our own. Together we had a long life, raised a family, and enjoyed the company of our children and our grandchildren, three of whom are now in college. Those memories will warm many lonely nights.
The mountains surrounding Reprieve are colder and higher as at nightfall the engine strains its way up another incline. There is a chill in the air and snowflakes dance across the tracks. This passage will not be as easy as the earlier route. Heavy chemo obscures the destination and contributes an air of uncertainty to the anxious passengers.

They know that the longer you ride the train the less likely it is you will reach a refuge that will at least assure you of more time before moving on to the last stop where only ticket-holders disembark. Friends and family must return whence they came.

The train’s crew members have made the journey many times. They know the shock, pain, resistance, and ultimate resignation the ticket-holders face. With compassion and understanding, they dedicate themselves to making the journey as painless and as comfortable as circumstances permit. Their empathy is evident in the warmth and caring that permeates the train.

In a world that promotes the kind of shallow self-absorption so evident in the recent Oscar extravaganza, it is comforting to feel the love of the healthcare givers as they offer hope and encouragement to those on the brink of despair and solace to those traveling to the end of the line.

We can only hope to disembark at Reprieve and pray for more time with the person who is the heart of our family. But if that is not to be, we will persevere and carry on in the spirit that she so represents at all those family gatherings she has organized.

We will absorb the loss and treasure all those marvelous moments we shared with a remarkable woman, mother, grandmother, and wife.

James W. Dolan is a retired Dorchester District Court judge who now practices law.