Part 18

Part 18 The Life and Times of G.I. John


The next day I exercise upstairs with my wife –a relaxing yoga session ironically attained after much stress and sending the kids to timeout for their misbehavior. Savasana! After this I drive to my hair stylist and shock her by asking her for the first time ever to cut my hair radically short. When I return my family is surprised – Becah loves my haircut, while Bree is unsure. Personally, I feel that I look like I had just joined the military and got sheered with an introductory cut. While the Saints tromp the Cardinals 45-14 in a playoff game, I make many trips to the mirror, trying to convince myself that I still look good while realizing I had no choice in the matter since it was all going to fall out anyway.

Later in the evening, Brooke comes down with a fever. The following Sunday morning is sunny and I feel better despite my continued erratic sleep. Becah and Bree drive to church while I stay home with Brooke, painting as we watch Joel Osteen on television. My parents come over in the afternoon. Dad is tired and, as he has for months now, repeats himself endlessly as dementia takes residence in his brain. We talk and watch football playoffs. Minnesota wins big over Arizona but the Jets upset San Diego, fulfilling my prophecy that out of the four final NFL playoff games there is always one (and only one) upset. Back at sleep that night I resume my hourly wake ups. I’m certain that I will start hallucinating due to sleep deprivation.

The next day (Monday) is a sunny day. I return from the doctor’s office energized and positive, having just received a good medical report. U2 music is cranked up on my car system, “Beautiful Day”, “Mysterious Ways”, and “The Hands That Built America”. Returning to work the next morning I get compliments about my new haircut and I find that I am losing self consciousness about it. But by 9:00 I am experiencing pain from what I will learn is my first hemorrhoid, a side effect of the treatment. The weather is warming and I return home at noon for a sandwich and a rest. Before bed that night I run my fingers through my scalp and discover more hairs falling out.

Awaking in the morning my apprehension grows about my hair loss, even as the coffee that I sip tastes good and pleases me. At work, I am greeted by a sign on my door with the words “bald is beautiful” boldly written. I joke with the staff and develop a “suspect list” that includes most of the employees and even the president of the United States. I have a productive, energetic day and stay pumped for most of it. After work at home I do yoga exercises with Becah, trying to maintain my strength. We enjoy dinner out that night, with my taste buds firing on all cylinders. At night, my almost three successive hours of sleep sets a new record of late. I have another productive day at work, interrupted by an electrical fire that is discovered in the building (oddly just prior to a scheduled fire drill), necessitating our standing outside for some time on a clear but quite cold morning. Going home for lunch, I find it essential to soak in the tub to relieve my new pain which seems to be intensifying. Finally back at work I am greeted by many well wishers, some of whom have stories of relatives and friends who were healed of similar conditions to mine. One lady offers several articles containing treatment and recovery aids. Picking up my youngest daughter from daycare is becoming a poignant part of my day, no longer any slight inconvenience that I might have formerly felt. Again, I go to sleep quite early at night.

After a pretty good night’s sleep and positive work day, Becah and I join our friends Steve and Melynda for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant. They treat everyone to a bottle of wine, but sparkling water for me, giving me a new perspective on social drinking. I share in eating several appetizers, pasta, and a dessert sampler, discovering that what should have been a delicious dinner is merely good (my taste buds to blame, not the restaurant). We leave for home in Steve’s newly purchased birthday present, a sleek black Porsche. After a cautious start, Steve gooses the accelerator and we streak down Louetta road like a bolt of lightening, me with my heart in my mouth, as he casually remarks, with regret, “maybe I should have given the money to the church instead”. He adds that, at only seven miles per gallon, he rarely even takes it out of the garage.

I go to lunch the following afternoon with my friend Mike at Pappacitos Mexican restaurant, which is enjoyable if not right on taste-wise. After that, we go to see the new Sherlock Holmes movie, where I zero in on the theme about reasoning conquering fear. I notice in the restroom mirror that my attempted moustache leaves much to be desired…

The next day is my first day back to church in several months. The assistant pastor Anne-Marie remarks “you’re like a rock star, everyone is talking that you are back”, which makes me happy. Becah and I sit at the side section, watching the choir perform on risers with a guest artist who will perform later that day in concert. After the song, our choir director Kinley passes by me, stops, and gives me a big hug. My eyes swell up with tears. I stop by to talk to some of the choir members after the service. Mike, one of the tenors volunteers the entire section to shave their heads in my support (an act that would be more meaningful if his head weren’t already slick as a bowling ball). I ask Kinley if I look military, or more like Vanilla Ice (fearing the latter may be true). We go to Jason’s Deli for a surprisingly good sandwich, then it’s to Barnes and Noble with the kids while Becah works on taxes. On the way home we pass a beggar holding a sign that simply says “two daughters”. This strikes a little too close to home, so I stop and offer him one of the three bills in my wallet. Twenty dollars is more than I am ready to part with and represents a true test of commitment to giving. For once, I actually pass.

That afternoon I enjoy a delicious meal at my parents’ house, crabmeat imperial, broccoli, and rolls, plus rice, beans and chips from nearby favorite La Hacienda restaurant. Topping it off are baked apples with vanilla ice cream. Everything but the chips and sauce (which are a bit off) tastes delicious. On TV, Indianapolis tops the New York Jets in football playoffs. After watching a little of the following game, we return home to see the Saints defeating the Vikings 31-28 in overtime (proving that if you allow five turnovers in a game the other guys will beat you every time).

Rising the next morning, I notice much thinning of hair. Starting the next week off, I return to work the next morning for a few hours before heading to Kingwood for a “trial run” of radiation therapy (which will actually be a discussion of what I am to expect in the process). In the waiting room, I endure what will become only a preview of hours of time watching CNN as I anticipate treatment. The actual radiation session consists of my lying very still in position while listening to country music pumped in overhead. The technicians inform me at the last moment (thanks a lot) that I will be given an injection prior to each treatment that aids in preserving my salivary glands. It will be “bad”, is generally given in the stomach, and can produce whelps and possibly nausea. Welcome to the real world of radiation therapy.