It had scarcely been two years since McGator had brought his mother, Freda home to live with us while seeking treatment for her  lymphoma at MD Anderson, and we found ourselves in a numbed and disbelieving state of déjà vue, as we started the process over with my mother. Freda’s story had not ended well; after successfully completing a week and a half of testing and evaluation, she suffered a massive stroke the night before her first round of chemo was scheduled. Unable to eat, drink, or communicate, she lay in an agitated, semi-vegetative state while McGator, his brothers, and our family took turns sitting at her bedside until she  passed away under hospice care eleven days later. It was a nightmare our family had barely recovered from, and yet, there we were, entering into Cancer Wars  2.0, the Melanoma Menace. It was difficult to feel hopeful, as Mom had been diagnosed with a new 4-inch tumor on her kidney and was referred to MD Anderson by her oncologist as a last resort.

The feelings of trepidation and helplessness faded as we made our into the heart of Houston’s world class Medical Center. Bastions in Texas pink granite, the many buildings that make up MD Anderson line several blocks of Holcombe Boulevard: The Mays Clinic. The Cancer Prevention Center. The Nursing Center. The T. Boone Pickens Academic Tower. Finally, turning onto MD Anderson Boulevard, three lines  of traffic stream under the portico of the MD Anderson Cancer Center efficiently directed  by a battalion of cheerful valets . We  arrived at the first stop of Mom’s cancer battle understanding she  had a well equipped force of awesome proportions on her side.

Creating and maintaining an can-do atmosphere of cheerful confidence  is as important to the culture of MD Anderson as their mission to fight and eradicate cancer in all of its ugly forms. Like a hive full of bees, MD Anderson hums with energy, efficiency, and positive purpose unlike any institution or corporation we have ever dealt with. They are committed to guiding their patients and families through the frightening ordeal of cancer treatment with as much compassion, helpfulness, and thoughtfulness as possible, and this attitude permeates through every pore of every worker in every building, from the janitors to the most illustrious doctors. Our first introduction to this marvelous philosophy was with the valets. They were stationed outside the entrance from the wee hours in the morning to well after midnight, in all kinds of weather. We noticed that regardless of the vehicle people arrived in,  the valets were constantly jumping to open the doors of taxis, buses, and private cars, offering helping hands, kind greetings, and directions to all passengers, whether they were self parking or taking advantage of the valet parking service. They ran to bring us a wheelchair from the inventory lining the drive, then neatly folded  and pushed it back to standby readiness when we were done at the  end of the day. They took great pride in their work, and it showed.

Once inside, my first impression of MD Anderson was that it was so huge and swarming with people that I would never find my way around. Miraculously and unfailingly, whenever I felt disoriented or frustrated, a person would invariably stop and ask how they could direct me. On a couple of occasions during peak hours when I had a tough time finding room in an elevator for both me and my mom’s wheelchair, a white coated doctor would step out and offer us their spot. One time, with nothing better to do while waiting for one of my mother’s infusions to run its course, I amused myself by walking the labyrinths of hallways, occasionally stopping on purpose with a puzzled look on my face, and sure enough, a kindly administrator, doctor or maintenance engineer would pop out of nowhere to offer assistance.

The halls of the massive complex were quite easy to navigate. Every bank of elevators was assigned a letter, and despite its clinical function, the building’s atmosphere was softened with many pleasant seating areas with distinctive architectural features that also served as landmarks: the sundial, the arbor, the tree sculpture, the art gallery celebrating colorful works by young patients from all over the globe. The buildings are conveniently  connected by a sky walk. For those not capable or not in the mood to make a brisk walk between buildings, a couple of electric carts are constantly ferrying patients back and forth.

My mother’s visits settled into a routine. She was  approved to receive infusions of Keytruda, a new immunotherapy drug that had just been approved by the FDA. The monthly infusions lasted about 30 minutes, and unlike the dreadful Yervoy she had been taking over the summer, did not appear to cause many side effects. Her appointments would magically appear  through the MD Anderson app which not only advised us of the time and procedure, but reminded us of the floor and elevator bank providing closest access to whatever office was on the schedule at that time. Every three weeks or so, McGator would load the three of us in his pickup and chauffeur us down through 40 miles of our congested freeway system, most of which was torn up with construction. We would spend most of the day pushing Mom back and forth between the labs and up to the Melanoma Center, where her kind and caring Dr. Hwu would evaluate Mom’s progress before approving and ordering her next infusion of treatment. We would return home quite exhausted, but thankful to have access and good fortune to be able to bring Mom to such an amazing place.