Mounce: Dying to Meet You: M. D. Anderson and Me

6 days ago 62

How many Rio Grande Valley residents are currently receiving treatment at the world famous M. D. Anderson Medical Center in Houston, Texas? How many have been there in the past?

Dozens? Hundreds? I know of a few notables. I trust many of them—and the international multitudes that arrive yearly—see and appreciate, as I do, the capable work by the doctors, and staff of all ethnicities: Latinos, Latin Americans, Asians (to include many from India), African, African Americans, and Anglos. M. D. Anderson (hereafter, MDA), in effect, mirrors Houston itself, comprised of one-forth Anglo, one-forth Latino, one-forth Asian, and one-forth Black.

I went because I am dying—as we all are—but in my case, hastened by cancer, of the bladder and kidney. I chose MDA (as per their slogan) because “it matters where you go first.” I may be dying, but am also living, and am very lucky. My generous family welcomes me to stay with them, near Houston. Even my sister came from Oklahoma to be with me. She and/or my daughter and/or my wife accompany me to MDA, helping to navigate the dizzying number of floors and elevators there.

My son-in-law shared with me his capable Uber driver, Mohammed, from north Africa. He regales us with stories of his native country and his successful family business in Houston, complete with an account of acquiring camel’s milk for his autistic son. After one exciting trip down infamous Interstate 45, into Houston, he laughed when I shouted “thank God for immigrants!”

I reiterate, I trust other patients see and appreciate this heady mix of multi-cultural citizens and others. One nurse paid for my coffee at the charming Waterfall Cafe. Another sweet lady from Women of Vision, New Hope Fellowship Church, gifted mea hand made quilt (colorful recreation of Moses, parting the sea); I appreciated so much, because with disease and medicine, I feel the cold much more.

But I am lucky. So many are so much worse off. My hair and beard don’t grow. I lost taste buds, I have little feeling in my fingers, making typing on a sensitive laptop quite laborious. But I cant complain. We can’t ignore recent flashes of racism and misogyny. But I have hope at this holy season, as Christmas and Hannakuh combine, as I continue my journey of health. May the reader share in that hope.

Editor’s Note: The above guest column was penned by longtime Rio Grande Guardian columnist Dr. Gary Joe Mounce. Dr. Mounce is a professor emeritus (political science) at The University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. He can be reached by email via: gjmounce@gmail.com.