The elevator at the Highlands Oncology Group building in Rogers slides open, and a walker is set out. Next comes Rowena Smith, 82, in a bright pink top. Smith just finished her weekly session of chemotherapy, and Richard Embry is there to drive her home to Holiday Island.
The burly man with a dark beard, camouflage cap and sunglasses might be the facilities manager, but he’s also a part-time driver. Driving — in fact, all patient services — takes first priority, says Gay Prescott, vice president of development for Hope Cancer Resources. Embry joined Hope as a driver about five years ago, when his wife worked for the nonprofit agency.
One of the many services offered by Hope is transportation to and from doctors’ appointments, treatment, procedures and more — daily, once a week, once a month. “It depends on the needs of the patient,” Prescott says. These services are available at no cost for anyone in Northwest Arkansas — or traveling here for treatment — with a diagnosis of cancer.
“You won’t get me to say anything bad about Hope,” Smith says. “The things they do just blows my mind — and for no charge. Personally, I only use it for transportation. I don’t need anything else.”
No easy ride
“You’re right on time,” Embry tells Smith. “I can usually estimate better than the nurses when you’ll be finished.”
Embry walks Smith outside to one of Hope’s four vehicles, gets her seated, stows her walker in the back. He waits to start the SUV until she gets her seat belt buckled comfortably.
Embry calls her husband, Frank, as they leave the parking lot but gets no answer. “He’s probably got the dog out. I’ll leave a message,” she tells Embry.
Smith received a diagnosis of colon cancer — stage 4 — 10 years ago. Except for one year in remission, she faithfully travels to Highlands for chemotherapy every week.
“They say you’re in remission, but I think they give you the medicine to keep you there,” Embry tells Smith.
The camaraderie between the two is easy, and the conversation is a chat rather than chatter. The silences aren’t awkward. That comes from a friendship built over five years.
“I can’t say he’s my favorite,” Smith says of Embry. “I don’t want the other drivers to know. (But) I love to hear Richard’s stories. He’s got good stories. They are fun to hear.”
This gregarious man has learned how to deal with even the toughest patients.
“Some just want to be left alone,” Embry says. “A few just want to look out the window. I’ve learned that.”
Some patients do offer him some attitude. “But that’s usually just after their diagnosis, and they need to blame somebody,” Embry says. “That’s OK. I understand that.
“Cancer doesn’t discriminate,” Embry says of the patients he’s known. “Rich, poor, black, white, young, old. It attacks everybody the same. But you can always find at least one thing you can talk about, something that takes their mind off their problems, and discuss it for an hour’s worth.”
He finds music to be a common denominator with some patients, and he has joined them in jam sessions.
“I’ve done so many things in life, I can talk to anybody,” Embry says. “You can always find something to talk about — kids, dogs.”
On the road
“That’s a bad place for a restaurant,” Smith remarks as Embry drives through Bentonville.
“Those Harleys are shiny and pretty,” Smith says a few minutes later, as the two pass the Pig Trail Harley-Davidson dealership in Rogers.
“How about I get one, so I can come pick you up on it,” Embry teases. He offers a comeback for every comment.
“I’ve only had one motorcycle ride, and that was around the block in Chicago,” Smith recalls.
The two chat about weather and fishing. “I used to go out with my husband once in a while. I used to do a lot of things,” Smith says without regret. “Fishing is something Frank says he missed the most.
“If I’d know I was going to live to be this old, I’d have taken care of myself. This getting old isn’t for sissies,” Smith says good-naturedly. Her positive attitude is apparent in all she does and says.
“That’s what keeps her alive,” Embry notes.
Long haul
Smith feels very fortunate to find the transportation provided by Hope. Her husband is blind in one eye and can no longer drive the 74 miles, round trip, to treatment.
“Without transportation, I’d probably be out of friends — although they offer regularly,” Smith remarks. “I do have friends I can count on, but that’s a lot to ask.”
A trip like Smith’s can take all day, Embry says. The trip to pick her up and the trip to take her home are round trips for Embry. Other days, a driver might carry 12 to 15 patients a day who live closer to either Highlands clinic or Landmark Cancer Center. Sometimes, the day begins at 5 a.m. and can end after 8 p.m., depending on the patients’ schedules, Embry says.
But he doesn’t seem to mind.
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Embry stops and waits for construction workers to clear the road on U.S. 62 near Pea Ridge. Several dump trucks back down the road. “I would have thought they’d all be at lunch now,” Embry says.
“You’re supposed to be watching the road,” Smith chides.
“You’re supposed to be watching the scenery,” Embry counters.
A few miles later, Smith points out a feed store that “moved” to the other side of the road as U.S. 62 has been widened. Previously, the store stood on the east side of U.S. 62; the new route moved the road — not the store — so the store now stands to the west.
“We’ll have to show her our shack,” Smith says. On 62, just outside of Gateway, stands an abandoned farmhouse, probably built in the late 1800s, Embry figures. They wonder each week when the building will topple.
“A new building, straight-line winds would bring down,” Embry says. “But that was probably built with hand-forged nails and hand-planed planks. Half of the wood rotted and fell in, but the rest won’t fall over.”
Smith enjoys the fact the two have so much in common. Embry’s growing up in Arkansas was similar to the time Smith grew up in Ohio.
“I was surprised Arkansas being behind the times,” Smith says. “But that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s beautiful here.
“I think I’m an Arkie, now that I’ve been here so long,” she continues, noting she lived many places before she and Frank settled in Holiday Island 26 years ago.
“I’ll always think of you as an honorary Arkie,” says Embry, a self-described redneck.
The conversation winds like the road through the Ozark Mountains, with topics ranging from Camp Pendleton in Calfornia to black walnuts to soil composition.
“We talk about our children and grandchildren a lot,” Smith says. “I’ve got him way beat: I’ve got six great-grandchildren.”
Smith begins to gather her things — a sack, a jacket, a Styrofoam drink cup — as Embry pulls into the “back entrance” of Holiday Island.
“She won’t let me take her to the front door,” Embry chides, admitting this route does cut four or five miles off the trip.
Frank greets his wife in the driveway, and their pet Schnauzer, Casey, offers his own form of greeting. Embry carries Smith’s bag and helps her up the porch step.
Fast Facts
Hope Cancer Resources
Services offered:
Patient navigation
Counseling
Education
Transportation
Prescription assistance
Emergency assistance
Cancer screening
Smoking Cessation
Spanish interpretation
Support groups
Information: 361-5847, hopecancerresources.org
“I think we’ve made it in the door,” he says.