When I got my diagnosis, I asked my GP if I ought to be at Sloan-Kettering or MD Anderson — the big, famous cancer hospitals. He told me, considering the three-opinion diagnosis, the rarity of my disease, and unanimity of opinion regarding treatment options, that this would be like importing a Ferrari mechanic to change my tires. He liked the oncologists, and the equipment is state of the art. So off I went to the small cancer center down the street from Marin General hospital. You might or might not notice that I don’t mention names of specific doctors here. That’s not with this is about. But I do want to say that not only am I happy that I have been involved with the Marin Cancer Center, but I also actually love my caregivers - because they care about me, not just care for my disease.

The treatment center is not chaotic. It’s pleasant, in fact. All the oncologists and radiologists and nurses and others are in communication with each other about patients. A couple days ago, my radiation treatment team told me that the nutritionist wanted to speak to me about my weight loss. Every day, a nutritionist or social worker, masseuse or nurse or oncologist wants to talk with me briefly after my treatment.

I brought in postcards of my Balinese Garuda for the people I see the most regularly, the team who operate the particle accelerator that zaps me from carefully computed directions five days a week.

They put one of the postcards up on the door to their control room, along with pictures of their kids. Then they asked for the URL of my website, and today I saw that they had not only printed out my Cosmic Keyhole painting — decades old, originally painted on the decrepit door of the greenhouse that came with our property — but were using it as a screensaver in their control room! How cool is that? I love them!