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I have a confession to make:  I am flirting with my mother’s doctor.  I know it sounds terrible, but I am, in fact, hitting on my mom’s oncologist. Yes, there is some seduction involved but it has absolutely nothing to do with sex.

I just want Dr. T. to focus on my mom.

My mom is 82 years old. I realize that’s around the age that President George H. Bush decided to parachute, escorted of course, out of an airplane, reliving his youth during the Vietnam War.  Generally speaking, it’s an age when most of our culture starts to write you off with platitudes meant to comfort: 

“She’s had such a good life.”

I heard a lot of that nonsense when my mom was diagnosed four years ago with a rare Lymphoma. It’s called “Large B-Cell Lymphoma, Leg Type.”  The cancer appears like small bruises on her left leg, which she self-consciously covers with slacks and long skirts. She wonders every day, when or if the cancer will spread and become deadly.  Her HMO ran out of treatment options three years ago.

My mother is alive today because of Dr. T.  He believed in her case, believed in another round of chemotherapy and an experimental radioactive isotope injection. After each treatment, some which left my mom bald and thinking death would be better than living with side effects, the cancer would retreat; sometimes her remission lasted only for a few months.

The last treatment, a phase 2 clinical trial that Dr. T spent weeks researching for my mother, gave her a nine month remission. But my relationship with Dr. T is as complex and mysterious.  What does Dr. T really want from me….uh…I mean, my mom?  Does he really like her? Or does he just want her body for science? 

We first met Dr. T three years ago. My late husband, Will, was treated at UCLA during the final stages of his cancer. UCLA was the only medical center willing to even try to extend his life.  When I called Will’s doctor on my mother’s behalf, I was angry and in a panic. Her HMO was recommending hospice care. There was nothing more the HMO could do.  Will’s doctor referred us to Dr. T, a Lymphoma specialist who is boyishly handsome with eyes that danced with excitement.   Right then and there, I decided Dr. T was going to make all my dreams come true and save my mom’s life when no one else could. 

I smiled, looked deeply in to his blue eyes and hung on his every word.  I came up with excuses to email him for status updates on my mother’s prognosis. I took him to lunch and regaled him with war stories from the CNN newsroom, always popular with people who spend too much time in an airless laboratory.

Now, I don’t claim any quid pro quo here, but I will say that Dr. T went the unexpected mile, a Prince Charming in a white coat. He set about slaying the cancer dragon by first battling a dark forest of insurance bureaucracy. He wrote a letter to my mother’s HMO and argued that it should pay for UCLA’s experimental therapies because of laws guaranteeing patients certain standard of care, something not all doctors would take the time to do. He made my mom feel like a queen when he hugged her and called her a fashion model after her hair grew back and seem take delight in her girlish giggles. (Hey, who’s flirting with him now!)

When her remission ended and the cancer came back, Dr. T, our prince, appealed to the pharmaceutical company and the FDA to allow her to be treated with the life saving experimental drug even though the clinical trial had ended. 

Yes, Dr. T is getting something out of this relationship too. He’s written extensively about my mother’s rare case and her unexpected response to new therapies and stood in the international spotlight by showing his “before” and “after” photos of her leg at global medical conferences.  He’s made my mom a poster girl for what’s known as the next generation of cancer patients, those who live with cancer as a chronic disease. But, we are just human, and “chronic” is not as sexy as “life threatening.”  

Lately, I’ve noticed Dr. T has been vague about the future, ever polite but slower to respond to emails and a little reluctant to commit to our next date…I mean appointment. My mother’s cancer always adapts and waits to strike again. It has returned. There’s no guarantee there’s another treatment available. It’s up to Dr T to try again but cancer treatment is generally not a long-term affair.

Still, I beckon for his attention because this is a love I cannot let go. I’ve always loved my mom, but lately I’m actually starting to like her. I’m already picking out a nice dress to wear to my mom’s next appointment and while we’re there, I’ll take note of Dr T’s summer tan, perhaps his new tie. Maybe he might be interested in a light lunch?

Former CNN anchor, Carol Lin is the mother of one daughter and the co-founder of TulaHealth.  She is a regular ShareWIK.com contributor.  Visit her on the web at CarolLinReporting.com.

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