UCLA Journal of Radiation Oncology APRIL 2023 - Flipbook - Page 36
UCLA RADIATION ONCOLOGY JOURNAL
to be waiting for him to deliver their counterpunch.
But then he lowered his head. He started crying into
his hands.
his kindness and humanity. ☐
Contributed by:
Matthew J. Parrell, MD, MFA
A minute passed, and then he sat upright, sniffed,
and nodded. In a clear, firm voice, he said, “That's it.
That's what I want for John. I want you to take him to
Maui.”
Dr. Farrell grew up in Sacramento. He studied film and creative writing at
Stanford University and earned a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at
the University of Oregon, writing a collection of short stories for his thesis
and teaching undergraduate courses for two years. Realizing that much of
his creative work explored illness and, more specifically, oncology, he began
pursuing a career in medicine. Dr. Farrell attended medical school at Oregon
Health & Science University, where he conducted small cell lung cancer
research and led classes in narrative medicine. He stayed in Portland for his
preliminary year in internal medicine at Providence St. Vincent Medical
Center. After, he moved to LA with his wife, a fellow physician, to join the
UCLA Radiation Oncology Residency Program.
In perhaps the only true miracle I have ever
personally witnessed, Kevin and his friends lifted
from their chairs in perfect unison, crossed the
small living room, and flooded the family with hugs.
Everybody cried, and the many-headed beast of our
congregation dissolved into a sea of affection.
Published with Permission from the Journal of Clinical
Oncology an American Society of Clinical Oncology Journal.
Kevin did go to Maui to scatter John's ashes.
Afterward, John's family celebrated his life with a
memorial service at their church in New York. My
father gave the eulogy and Kevin sat with the family.
Originally published online by the Journal of Clinical Oncology
on March 28, 2023.
All of this was a long time ago now. John would be
in his fifties. He would have mastered a Hollywood
accent. His big break would have come. He would
have taken me to the Oscars.
I moved away from California to go to graduate
school and medical school, but eventually, I found
my way back to Los Angeles. I still go to iconic
theaters. I finally bought season passes to Universal
Studios Hollywood. And like everyone else in this
town, I'm trying to write a screenplay.
But I'm not an actor. I'm not remotely famous. I'm a
radiation oncology resident.
I've learned a few things since the 1990s, and so
has the rest of the world. It still devastates me that
John just missed the major advances in care. I think
about him regularly during my training. In oncology,
life-prolonging breakthroughs are frequent, which
inevitably means that some people will be among
the last to miss out. Some people, and their families,
will look to me for hope when there is none. In their
entreaties, I see shades of my own loved ones—
my father's diplomacy, Grandpa Joe's doggedness,
Kevin's advocacy, Hank's compromise. Most of all, I
see glimmers—brief resurrections—of John, whose
disease stripped away so much, but left in clear relief
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