The Gentle People

by Milford Nutter (my grandpa)

It all seemed so unreal. This simply could not be happening to me. Here I was in an examining room of the Tumor Institute of the Swedish Medical Center. I had cancer in the pharynx and in the left side of the neck. This had been confirmed by earlier biopsies. The purpose of this examination was to determine the type and scope of treatment. The determination would not be made by one doctor but by final agreement of the three doctors who were with me. After considerable light probing and feeling of the neck area the three men agreed on the size of the tumor and careful measurements were taken for future reference. They explained what they were doing and why. I was then told that, statistically, there was a twenty percent chance of a cure by radiation treatments. If the treatments failed to destroy the cancer there still remained surgery. I was told to be optimistic and to ask any questions that I might have at any time from any doctor on the staff. They would all be familiar with my problems. I felt almost relaxed after this examination. There was a difference in these men. It was subtle but evident in their manner and in their voices.

My next appointment came several days later and was for a bone scan. It sounded mysterious and frightening to me. When I arrived for the examination I was turned over to a young female Technician who explained in detail the mystery of the pill she would be giving to me. It contained a radio-active substance with an approximate six hour life, and was completely harmless. I swallowed the pill and was told to return after two hours to start the bone scan.

Again the Technician who would operate the complex looking machine took the time to explain, in layman’s language, just how the machine worked and what it did. I was then placed on a table on my back as though for x-rays. It would take about one and one half hours to complete the test during which time I must not move. Again I was urged to ask any questions that I might have at any time. I asked questions during that long hour and a half and every question was answered. I was reassured and almost relaxed during what could have been a real ordeal. Again the attendants showed more than mere sympathy or empathy. There was a definite aura of gentleness which showed in their faces and eyes. It was most comforting.

At last a schedule was set up for my treatments and I was given a final check to pinpoint the areas of treatment. The areas were outlined with an indelible ink and I was told not to remove it. It was decided to use the cobalt machine for the radiation treatments and computations were made to determine the dosage or strength of each treatment. Every question tat I could think to ask was answered by either the Doctor or the Technician who were with me. Again I had been re-assured to the point that I faced the first treatment with a minimum of terror and apprehension.

I lay one the table in the treatment room while a bearded male Senior Technician assisted the young female Technician in a final re-measuring and outlining of the area to be treated. A young Doctor also came in and made his check of the outlined area. The two men left and the young lady “Gabby”, moved the awesome looking machine into place and focused it’s light on the painted area on the side of my neck. With a quick little smile she said “Don’t move” and hurried from the room. Within seconds I heard a soft click from the machine and knew that at last my treatments were under way. I lay very still for the three minutes of radiation. The machine clicked off, the door opened quietly and “Gabby” was back with me. She told me that I was getting a second treatment, re-positioned the machine, shifted the position of my head slightly and again warned me not to move as she hurried from the room. Again the sound of the closing door, the soft click from the machine and my second treatment was under way. It lasted just under three minutes and I was through for the day.

I was first put on a schedule of four days a week, skipping Wednesdays but it was soon changed to a five-day weekly schedule. On or about the third day I was introduced to a young Technician, Sharon, who said she would be giving me my treatments from then on. Without wasting a moment she was able to tell me of her background, including her boy-friend who was attending school in California and of the ladies soft-ball team with which she played. Sharon greeted me warmly and cheerfully each morning as I arrived for my treatments. She learned of my un-interesting background and that I played golf. Afterward she kept telling me to get out on the golf course at every opportunity. It was good advice and good therapy for me.

Another morning Sharon asked about my wife and said she would like to meet her. The next morning I brought my wife, Ruth, into the treatment area to meet Sharon. They were instant friends. Sharon took Ruth into the treatment room and carefully explained the entire procedure and the operation of the most impressive looking equipment. After my treatment was started Ruth was allowed to watch me on the monitor of the closed-circuit television which monitored my every move or lack of movement during the treatment. My wife was much relieved to learn how I was being treated and especially to know that someone cared.

The first series of treatments lasted about three and a half weeks after which I was given a “vacation” of just over two weeks. I was examined briefly by one of the Staff Doctors who said I was responding nicely to the treatments and that they were doing exactly what they were suppose to do: destroying the tumors. I asked if it would be okay for me to drive to Palo Alto, California to visit my daughter. He said that would probably be good for me but he would not recommend Los Angeles. That was his style of humor.

After a most enjoyable visit with our daughter and her family and a leisurely drive up the Oregon coast I was back at the Institute for my final series of treatments. New areas were carefully measured and outlined and again the treatments were under way. The young bearded Technician had assisted Sharon in locating and outlining new areas as I watched his face, looking through and beyond the heavy beard, I could sense and see that same soft, gentle look that I had sensed in others.

I was given thirty-four more treatments at the rate of ten per week. Quite often as I waited to enter the treatment room one of the Staff Doctors would stop and ask how I was doing. They knew of the extreme discomfort and pain I was enduring as a side effect of the radiation. They were letting me know that they cared.

The last three days I was treated by yet another Technician, “Cindy”. Sharon had been transferred to another area. “Cindy” like Sharon was probably in her mid-twenties but very mature. She, too was friendly and re-assuring with that same gentle spirit. We too were friends as we finished the last treatment. The long ordeal was over. I had endured about seventy treatments and was again examined by a Staff Doctor. He told me that the tumors were apparently gone. I was given an appointment for about two months later and told to be optimistic.

As I walked from the building I glanced at the wall plaque, which I had read so many weeks earlier.

TO CURE SOMETIMES:

TO RELIEVE OFTEN:

TO COMFORT AND SUPPORT

ALWAYS.

I now seemed to understand its true meaning and to know that it was more than a stereotyped motto. It now seemed more like a statement of dedication. I am still a patient of the Tumor Institute of the Swedish Medical Center. I do not know what the future holds but I do know that I shall not forget the Staff of the Tumor Institute, those gentle people.

Milford Nutter wrote this tribute in 1975, when he was 68 years old. He lived on Queen Anne hill since early childhood, initially living at the base of the hill, near Seattle Pacific, which he attended. He eventually moved on top of the hill, where he continued to reside throughout his years. He was married to Ruth Nutter and had 3 children. His daughter Nancy still lives in Palo Alto, and his other two children, Don and Sandy live in the Seattle area. He had 6 grandchildren and today he would have had 10 great grandchildren, most of whom still reside in the Seattle area. Milford eventually succumbed to cancer in November of 1977 when he was 70 years old. His gravestone can be found next to his wife Ruth’s, in Mt. Pleasant Cemetery on Queen Anne hill.