Part 29 Redneck


The winter is officially fading. But the skies are raining and it’s too early for Spring; anything goes for weather as March arrives. And I still feel the chill of the previous month all through my body. The pain and discomfort and redness in my neck intensify, as does the fatigue. I respond by taking more pills. On top of that, Bree now has strep throat. Sorry, but one sick person at a time is all this family can accommodate. You must wait your turn. The next morning is brighter but still cold. I discuss with my doctor having another round of chemotherapy. The radiation machine is down and I must wait even longer for treatment. But after I finally get home and have lunch I lie back and relax, appreciating this healing place called home.

The next morning, clear and frosty again, finds everyone in the house sick; Becah and Brooke are throwing up while Bree endures the end of her bout with strep. I drive to treatment feeling somewhat lucky by comparison. The Rolling Stones are singing to me on my drive and as I listen to their lyrics for a change I am amazed at how many of their songs are downright disrespectful to women. Have I never noticed this before? Or am I just now more sensitive to these words now that the women in my life are suffering?

I soon return to Tomball for an intermittent round of chemo, back to the room filled with IV poles. Abe, the male nurse, assists me during chemotherapy. When another nurse asks for alcohol, he asks, “which kind? Jack? Or Patron?”. My eyes glaze over as I watch what truly appears to be “the great wasteland”(TV). Meryl vs. Sandra at the Oscars (who cares, since the awards are all politics anyway?). Then we get Jessica Simpson complaining to Oprah that singer John Mayer said she (Jessica) was great in bed. Tiger Woods is supposedly getting more respect because his approval rating is up to 22%, and compared to other womanizers like Charlie Sheen that is good.(?) Then I get yet another drug commercial for improving some malady with a rattled off list of side effects that would frighten anyone. But at least such nonsense distracts me from real tragedies going on in the world....

Back at the Kingwood center one shiny morning, I step out of my car, wrapping the scarf cautiously around my neck. The wind is bracing, and I briskly stride for the warmth of the inside. I stop in the bathroom before entering the doctor’s office. Unwrapping the scarf I bring myself to look closely at my neck, flinching as I do so. It is relentlessly red, with what appears to be burn marks with white streaks of pus seeping through. I dab them tentatively with wet paper towels. For the last week my neck has looked like this, not just sunburned but desert sunburned. I remember a young Clint Eastwood in “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”, where Eli Wallach dragged him mercilessly across arid sands – afterward, Clint’s face looked a lot like my neck looks now. Immediately after each treatment I have applied Aquafor to my neck, an ointment that must really be morphine in a tube, because it instantly takes away the stinging pain. (Let me stop now and do a brief commercial and give my testimonial to this wonder drug). But prior to radiation, I can have no lotions whatsoever on my neck – doctor’s command – as they may interfere with the radiation’s ability to penetrate my skin. So I must lightly dab away the burning sensation and try to make myself more presentable, then cautiously re-wrap my neck, before walking in the office.

Each time I come here and sign in, I look around the room. I see so many tortured looking souls, waiting to see a doctor, hoping for someone to give them some good news, to remove their afflictions, or at least make their lives more bearable. I wonder if I appear as pathetic to them as they do to me.