From Two Tonys (Letter 13)

Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming." Diagnosed with liver cancer, and is fighting to prolong his life.

Hey English Cuz,

What can I say? “I’m sorry” has to be getting old to you, so I won’t even go there. I’ve been getting your mail, books, plus good moral-support letters.

First, allow me to write you with congratulations on your good turn of events in your literary career. This is great. No one can say that you don’t deserve this. I personally observed your hours and days working in your cage of a cell while many around you were busy whacking their puds or spreading drama with a mix of hate and envy. You were busy hunched over at your little metal slab of a desk in a heat-infested cell working your bald head off, with your eyes on the prize and the spoils that come with it. Cocktail parties. Limos. European baronesses, countesses. Dare we even dream of the ultimate? Tea with Her majesty! Yes, we do dare to. This is how railroads, tunnels, Great Walls of China are built, with one man’s dream. Yes, my friend, dream on. Don’t let it die. I’ll bet on you every time your name’s on the card. “You go, Limey boy, you go.” Please keep me posted, and I’ll start to keep up on my writing. I was just down, bro. But I’ve got some real good news at this end for me to share with you and our blog readers.

As you might be aware, I was told in December 08, I had terminal cancer and given an estimate of 3-6 months to live. This was done by a civilian oncologist who was 90 fuckin’ years old, and under an advisory position contract with the Department of Corrections. I was issued chemo, which I knew from my 9th grade education was a killer worse than cancer. Anyway, I quit the chemo, and I truly believe that’s why I’m still alive. This Dr. didn’t want me to quit, and told me if I did I had 90 days to live. Fuck it! I told him 90 days without that shit is better than a year on it. I quit, and I’m still standing. I went from 200 lbs to 140 lbs, but I’m feeling pretty good.

Now in over a year as his patient, I saw the guy once in person. That was at a hospital back in 08. The rest of my so-called exams were from a matchbox office on prison grounds staring into a 16” TV screen with a nurse next to me to poke where the good Dr. told her to. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for any help I get, and the truth is after my wicked past, any help is probably too much. But I’ll still take it. So now I’m on this morphine twice a day, and I stay pretty doped up. It’s a good pain fighter and seems to do the job (for now).

About 2 months ago, my Dr, the old man, along with St Mary’s Hospital had their contracts not renewed, and I got moved down here to Lewis Complex. You know the place we met, when I came out of the hole to a rock-star greeting, and you were mesmerized by my welcoming committee. Speaking of holes, I just got out of one. (But that’s another story. Later on I’ll write you about it.)

Getting back to the story I started. So now I have no oncologist, even though I didn’t really have one back then. The old Dr. was just pissing on my head, laddie, telling me it was drops from a soft summer rain. So I’m up here in Lewis, and early one morning they come and chain me up, put me in the back of a new Ford with two guards, and tell me I’m going to see a doctor. They drive me in style, radio playing, comfortable back seat, good scenery. I’m doing it. We pull up to a new building in Casa Grande about 100 miles from here. It’s a medical lab. 21st century, and it is modern. The 3 of us are shown a nice exam room, and after 10 minutes a real nice Asian Dr. comes and introduces himself to me, shakes my hand and examines me as best he could. Then he proceeds to explain to me that we’re all different. The old Dr. should never have told me that shit at any rate. He ordered all new blood work. Cat scans. Etc. He explained that they were now under contract with D.O.C, and he’s my oncologist. This is great. He explained that after my new tests are compete, him and the surgeons discuss the results, and they may do a treatment called T.A.C.E. It stands for Transcatheter Arterial Chemoembolization. They run a tube up through my thigh to my liver, pump chemo, then take the tube out. Bingo, lots of bad cancer cells die and perhaps I live a little longer. Time will tell. I’ll be sure to keep you posted. I’m so excited.

Love to you and your family and all good blokes and birds across the seas.

Two Tonys

Click here to read Letter 12.

Two Tonys is dying, and really appreciates your comments.

Post comments below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

If you would like to send Two Tonys a book or a magazine subscription, then please email me for instructions on mailing literature to the prison.

Shaun P. Attwood

9 comments:

Rosa said...

Chemo is a tough haul, but I'm sure Two Tonys is tough enough to handle it. I wish him good luck with it in the coming days.

AndrewM said...

2Ts,

It's good to hear from you again. Are you sure that doctor was in his 90's? Maybe he was just forty-something but on chemo. Keep writing, you cheer me up,

AndrewM

Anonymous said...

Wow! great Post and thank you for the update Shaun! good to see Double T still standing firm. Now who did he kick in the shin to go to the hole!!?! lol. til next time. -Jose in San Diego.

Anonymous said...

Jose couldn't have said it any better. Great to read that TT is still with us.

Ghost

Panopticon said...

This is very affecting and well-written. Keep up the fight, Tonys!

theundergroundrestaurant said...

Brave and probably a good decision to stop the chemo. But it's amazing how people want to live, even in prison, they've got the will. It's all about that ultimately.

Anonymous said...

Oh, I'm so glad I was able to leave a comment for you Tonys. I found this blog after hearing about the infamous Tent City. Reading the blog entries about you, I became 'attached' you could say. When I read that you had Liver cancer (almost a year before catching up in the blog), I was worried that by the time I had caught up, you'd of already been dead, if you weren't already.

I'm glad I can give you this message then; My Dad went through testicular cancer. He lived through it, with one less nut to show. Every day was a struggle, and there were points where he wanted to give up, and let it take him. His love for his family held him up...

Let our love hold you up. You're a tough bastard, and though you made some shitty choices, you've bettered yourself. Fight it out till the end, and kick its ass. Sell an arm and a leg if you have to. Don't let it win.

With regards,
T-Jacks

Stephen said...

Respect to Two Tonys, a beautiful mind. You are a sage.

Anonymous said...

If it's not inappropriate, throw Two Tonys a big L&R from Wilmington, North Carolina. He is quite a guy, and I'd love to hear his opinion on the Zombie Apocalypse.
Would World War Z by Max Brooks be considered contraband? I think Two Tonys would get a kick out of it. I, for some reason, see him responding a below


"If your Soviet neighbor is trying to set fire to your house, you can't be worrying about the Arab down the block. If suddenly it's the Arab in your backyard , you can't be worrying about the People's Republic of China and if one day the ChiComs show up at your front door with an eviction notice in one hand and a Molotov cocktail in the other, then the last thing you're going do is look over his shoulder for a walking corpse." — Max Brooks (World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War)