What does a sub have to do with cancer?

This book—Prayers and Po-Boys: A Cancer Survivor's Journey through Chemotherapy and Beyond by Larry Singleton—was yet another that my instinct “told” me to choose from a “lineup.” I went a step further and decided to include it in my Goodreads blog. This time, it wasn’t the cover that piqued my curiosity, even though I found myself trying to make out what looked like a photo of… was that a sandwich or a submarine? Whichever it was, I wondered: what did a sub have to do with cancer? The format I chose was an ebook, so with the cover on a thumbnail, I couldn’t know for sure.

It was the visual disconnect, or rather, the inappropriateness of the image vis-a-vis the topic of the book that prompted my selection. It didn’t help that the cover looked like a movie poster for a comedy. Ah, maybe it’s a satire.

As I perused the pages, it became apparent that the cover visual was apropos after all. My earlier misgivings about the image was influenced by what I assumed the term “po-boy” was. I thought it was a diminutive for “poor boys.” In a different context, I was correct. However, the po-boy Larry Singleton, the author, referred to was a specialty sandwich that originated from Louisiana during the Great Depression—1929, to be exact. The filling of the traditional kind was roast beef, but could also be ham or fried seafood. This was encased in French bread with its fluffy interior and crispy crust—a byproduct of New Orleans’ low humidity level. Apparently, there was a union strike that year and ex-streetcar conductors, who owned a local sandwich store, served the striking union workers subs. Those were the original po-boys.

A slice of history. Wow! Although that came from my own research and not from the book. So that’s one observation I had initially. It would have been better if the author defined the po-boy somewhere: possibly in the intro, chapter one, or a glossary. Not everyone is from New Orleans and would instantly know what it is, regardless of the screaming visual in front of the book. Either that, or it was a tactic by the author to reel in unsuspecting readers. Hook them until the reveal.

The latter may well be the truth—a testament to the charming personality of the author, who came across as a Miss Marple/Angela Lansbury-type. (Minus the sleuth background.)

A delightful aspect of this book is the author’s propensity for funny quips and comebacks. I think his sense of humor was the main reason (apart from faith and gastronomy) he was able to survive his ordeal so well. For instance, when the chaplain remarked that he didn’t see many people eat during a chemo session after seeing the author munch on a sandwich, Larry explained, “I’m trying to be the exception to that rule.”

And when the same guy asked one day why Larry wasn’t clutching a po-boy while receiving a chemo infusion, the author replied, “I go off the reservation sometimes, but I always come back.”

The author spoke of dark clouds too. I expected those. One harked back to Room 5, the venue of the dreaded chemotherapy session. It was the equivalent of my Room 101, a metaphor for my psychological torment, which I discussed in my techno-thriller, The Invisible Cyber Bully: What it's like to be watched 24/7. It was a reference to the torture chamber in George Orwell’s dystopian novel, 1984. Orwell’s version was a red zone where the antagonists subjected dissidents to their worst phobias and nightmares to break their resolve until they could no longer think for themselves, paving the way for the government to control their minds.

In a way, cancer patients going into Room 5 to receive their chemo infusion was like being sent to Room 101 to be tortured. There was a chapter where the chemo room held a different number, but for the most part, it remained the same throughout the book.

It was in chapter two that the reason for the cover image became apparent. (Or at least, during the first mention of the word “po-boy.”) I’ve decided to hold off on that reveal, so the next readers could discover it for themselves.

My second observation—and this is the peeve that knocked down a star from my rating: the author did not sufficiently portray his suffering as a cancer patient. Sure, he was a survivor and one of the fortunate folks who experienced the least amount of symptoms from the disease and its nasty treatment modality. He was also spared the agony of extreme nausea that typically prevented patients undergoing chemotherapy from eating. However, what (I assume) cancer patients would have expected from Larry’s book is the conveyance of the darkest hours of his suffering… sort of like a testament with which they could relate.

Also, there were a lot of unnecessary conversations. Like the hellos and good mornings exchanged with the staff. It was a waste of literary real estate. One instance would have been enough. What would have given this book more oomph was if Larry revealed the meatier parts of those heart-to-hearts.

He said that these people (and many others) had helped him a lot during his ordeal, yet he only conveyed the mundane pleasantries. I thought he would be detailing his in-depth, soul-wrenching conversations with them, but there was none of the sort—not even the ones he had with Chaplain Peavy, the hospital pastor.

Disappointing elements:
1. The author glossed over his experiences. The book seemed like it was generalized. A publication about cancer may denote that it’s a “doom-and-gloom” retelling, but readers who pick it up are interested to know what it's like to have the disease... not because they're being morbid but because they have a genuine, even urgent interest. It will also help to elicit empathy... not that all cancer patients are expecting such.

He could have gone into detail about what happens on a daily basis. He described the pain in one sentence, but that was it. The reader should be given a wider window as to what it's really like to suffer from a debilitating disease.

2. The chemo session visits were the same all throughout. Of course, there’s a routine. But it would have been more interesting if there was more detail in the events at the hospital.

3. He started explaining some medical stuff in the beginning of the book but didn't follow through. For instance, at the end of the book (page 63), he mentioned this scenario but did not explain further: “Ms. Theresa inserted the needle and checked my blood return. The return was good, and she hooked the first bag to the catheter.” In another scene, he mentioned an incident with a “port flush” but didn’t explain what it was. Authors should not leave it to their readers to research about what they’ve written if they could explain it right there and then.

People who don’t have cancer wouldn’t know about these procedures. If the author’s objective in writing this book is to make non-cancer patients understand what it's like to have cancer, he should explain in excruciating detail what having the disease entails. That said, he did remark that he got to write the book because a hospital staff member suggested he document his experiences.

Redemption
There were some light-hearted scenes in this book too. Defining moments, like the ringing of the bell, which signified the completion of a chemotherapy series. I assume that single sound was something all cancer patients looked forward to with every hospital visit. It was certainly a mark of victory for Larry.

Most of the stars from my rating came from the honest-to-goodness, no-frills delivery of the message of the author. It was engaging and forthright—qualities no doubt emanating from his personality.

I gained some valuable insights from this publication. I leave it to you, the next reader, to reap your own rewards.