Part 82 Brett Westie


Friday October 22, 2010 marks a momentous event for some in our household. We drive to a co-worker’s house to bring home our newest family member, Brett West Lavender Butler. He is a West Highland white terrier. “Brett” was to be the name of our third daughter, if one were to be. Instead, we opted to use the name for the puppy. “Lavender” is my wife’s maiden name. “West” is from “West Highland”, and since he’s a boy, it sounds kind of cool and “western”. West Highland terriers are often called simply “westies”. It also is a great name, because if we call him “Brett Westie” and you switch the first letters of each name around, you get something real funny.

I try to inject levity into the situation because in all honesty the last thing I need in my life at this time is a pet. I cannot even take care of myself or my wife and children decently, and now there is a dog in the mix. But Bree is an animal lover who has been begging for a pet. We have skirted the issue for months. But suddenly a friend finds herself with a litter of registered puppies that generally can go for $800 apiece, and her friend who breeds them is ill, has other litters of puppies she must find homes for, and Brett it seems will be free. He is old enough to leave the litter right now. So how can I dodge this one? We had already gone over one evening to check the pups out. Bree sat down on a chair and one pup came right up to her and sat in her lap. He stayed there the entire time as Bree stroked him. The lady told us that he was one of the more affectionate and laid back of the litter. The attachment was made.

I am truly not ready for the gate we have now installed in our kitchen, or for this small dog leaping up at me. At least it’s not a Yorkshire terrier, a microscopic dog like our neighbor’s of which the kids are enamored and want one just like. Brett is small and only a few months old, but he has a little meat on him and doesn’t look like he would break if you step on him. To his credit, he sleeps through the first night and doesn’t cry!



Part 83 Rob


In the ensuing days my condition changes little. I try to stay active, working some and attending events like a high school football game where my oldest daughter gets to guest star with her little friends in the halftime marching show. I occasionally experience a lightness and calm sensation that the pain meds can produce, but generally am just content that they keep the bulk of the pain at bay. At mid week I carve pumpkins at the table with the family in anticipation of Halloween. In the evening I take a bite from a slice of toast, gag, and throw up. I notice an abundance of mucous, thinner and more foamy in consistency since the stent has been installed.

Friday one of my best friends comes into town from his home in Colorado. His wife has treated him to a trip to see me, for his birthday (on Halloween, the same day as my father’s). Rob goes back to junior high in Shreveport, farther back than any friend I have. We used to ride around together in his Chevy, coasting through barely amber lights on bald tires that we prayed had enough tread to stop us when needed. By high school Rob’s sister had gone to college, so we had the entire second floor of his house to hang out in. His parents fortunately left us alone to listen to rock and roll as we clandestinely sipped rum and cokes. We sometimes double dated but were more likely to be found cruising around town with buddies trying to find someone to buy us sloe gin to mix up “cherry cokes”. Occasionally Rob and I indulged in pranks, like the time we uprooted several stop and yield signs, wrote words on them, and left them in his ex-girlfriend’s front yard (less funny since we weren’t smart enough to leave well enough alone, and when we went back outside to walk around later that night, the police picked us up and drove us downtown). We got a rock group together, he on vocals and me on drums, that lasted long enough for a few practices until his parents moved prior to his senior year to Houston. My parents moved there too after my first year at Louisiana Tech, and on my second night in Houston, Rob arranged a date for me with a girl that I wound up dating steady all summer. When I transferred colleges to Stephen F. Austin and Rob attended Baylor, we got together periodically. For a short time after college we both lived in Houston. When Rob was bartending at a club called Jason’s I would drop by after working my three to eleven shift at Hermann Hospital and hang out, while he would slide me over his “mistake” drinks to sample. After he suffered a broken heart at the hands of his then wife, he packed his bags and moved to Colorado, where he lives today with his wife of many years in a “log cabin” home on acres of land east of Denver.

I have mixed feelings about his being here now, though. Due to my discomfort, I am ambivalent about being around anyone at this time. Rob, despite the fact that I haven’t seen him now in years, is quickly getting on my nerves along with anyone and anything else, and I long to simply lie in my bed and groan undisturbed.

On Saturday I manage to get enough energy to go with Rob and my family to my parents’ house for a party to celebrate dad’s birthday. My dad has been around many years now and I don’t know how many times we have left to celebrate his birthday, so I will pop a few pills, put a smile on my face, and just do it. Becah meanwhile is frantically emailing Dr.Ra-’s office to get a refill of pills, as my jar is quickly being depleted.

The next day I am so miserable that I agree to return to the hospital. Nothing is working, I am rolling over and over in bed, still unable to get comfortable, and after I apologize to Rob, who still has one more day before going back home, Becah drives me back downtown. Of course, there is the customary endless wait in the ER, with me begging for strong IV drugs, strange doctors asking me again to tell my story, and other people as sick as I am groaning in the hallway competing with me for a room. Becah sits at the end of the bed and tries to be tolerant. I am admitted several hours later, and find brief solace just in having my own room.