On Presidents’ Day. Under blue sky. And sun. As the Apple trees leaf out. And blossom. ‘Tis good to sit. And reflect.
The Final Time
Sat, 6 Feb 2016, 05:54 PM (-06:00)
I walked into that room with the piped in music and the big gun hanging over the gurney where they put my personal form-fitted cage over my face and clamped me down one last time.
The staff calibrated the big gun from behind the thick walls and a bank-vault door, taking some X-rays first to make sure that I was properly aligned. It rotated into its starting position, adjusting and whining and clicking and blocking out the light from the ceiling as it came briefly to a stop above my face at which point the usual alarm rang while the radiation poured down onto my throat.
It was wild music Friday, so I tapped my fingers to the beat of some Pandora stream that I never will recognize (although it was a great beat). The gun came to a stop and then started its second pass as the alarm rang out again and another stream of radiation poured down on me. The buzzing stopped. And then the gun came a stop again.
It was the 30th and final time. Six weeks come to an end.
The machine retracted and locked into a safe position. Laney and Tutu and Sarah and Sonya came into the room, cheering for me before I could cheer, because I was still strapped to the gurney with the cage holding me down and a stent in my mouth holding my jaw open. For the final time.
And by way of celebration, they let my local companions and caretakers come into the room, and we posed for a photo with that big gun.
And then we went out into the waiting area, where a brass bell hangs in wait on the wall for everyone’s last day of treatment.
“Pull it three times,” Tutu said.
I pulled on the rope. Gave it a good yank three times, celebrating that this was indeed my final time and I shouldn’t be returning.
“That’s the loudest I’ve ever heard!” Tutu said. The staff and I gathered together for a group hug. And we posed for one last picture beside the bell.
And it was good.
Gnarly Apple Trees
Sat, 6 Feb 2016, 03:23 PM (-06:00)
Do you remember those apple trees? Those gnarly apple trees?
There was the easy one. Just around the corner from the clubhouse. The room we called the clubhouse that was attached to the back corner of the barn. The room with the dirt floor and the door that you had to push hard to open. The room with shelves of boxes of treasures that didn’t seem to have been touched in centuries. The clubhouse with a window looking out into the Jone’s yard until Bunka and his cousin built that stone fireplace just outside. The easy tree was just around the corner from there.
And then there was the row of the others. Were there two or three in that row? I remember three just outside the shed on the backside of the barn where we got wood for making swords. Just uphill from the Sycamore that Nani and Bunka planted somewhere near the tetherball pole hole that we were never able to find again. Those were the trees that Ben and Burt climbed.
But oh, the easy one… Its low branches bent out so gracefully over the lawn, and it was a breeze to climb. With only a slight pang of (unregretted) inferiority and not a moment of hesitation, I remember preferring it to the harder ones every time, because you didn’t have to jump so far to get down. And because that tree whispered to me every time I walked by.
You remember them, I know you do. You just mentioned them as something that is woven into the you who you are. Me, too. Let’s go climb them, shall we?
Looking Back up the Mountain
Sat, 6 Feb 2016, 12:48 PM (-06:00)
We came to a stopping point on our descent from Sardonahütte, where the old path to the hut joined the new path.
And we stopped for a moment to look back,
tracing our steps back to where we had spent the night.
Except that it was a little more distant than that photo suggests:
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Having taken in that view, we turned to find that we were making a spectacle of ourselves.
And so it was time to keep moving on. Jerry opened the gate from the field into the woods.
And we began the second half of our descent.
Falling Behind
Sun, 31 Jan 2016, 08:01 PM (-06:00)
So yes, I was the pokey little puppy on that hike down the mountain. And yes, Jerry and Gabrielle and Trudy had to repeatedly wait for me,
which admittedly they did with sincere smiles on their faces.
Yet every time they waited, I would fall behind again, because, well… because.
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One More Week
Sat, 30 Jan 2016, 07:26 PM (-06:00)
Five-sixths of the way thru radiation therapy.
I don’t have the vocabulary to describe what’s going on in my mouth and down my throat. It hurts… kind of. But it’s not ouchy. It’s sore… kind of. But it doesn’t ache. Mainly I don’t want to talk much.
And I don’t have the vocabulary to describe what food tastes like, mainly because my taste buds have ceased all functioning and food is now just a necessary evil to keep the hunger pangs at bay. There is really no joy in it, which is rather disconcerting for my Houston and Austin family who are working overtime to prepare meals.
Mind you, this isn’t complaining, regardless of what the artwork might suggest. The doctors are impressed that I haven’t started the narcotic pain meds, seeing as how Advil and Tylenol work fine. And the nurses are happy to see a little hop in my step, although truth be told that was just once, otherwise I walk very slowly.
Five-sixths of the way, then. One week to go. Even though they say that the side effects will continue to build for two or three weeks after the treatment, I look forward to week nights in my own bed. I look forward to taking out the garbage. To burying the compost. To both dogs barking at the front door. I even look forward to rush hour traffic!
Yes, one more week and all these things will be mine.
Starting the Descent
Sun, 24 Jan 2016, 03:43 PM (-06:00)
Epic, you say? There should have been bread pudding, you say? I agree. There should’ve been. For all we know, there probably was bread pudding the next night. They know comfort food at Sardonahütte. But there was no bread pudding the night we were there, which was no real loss, because we made prompt bee lines to our beds very soon after dinner.
Although the room was mighty cold when we laid ourselves down, sometime in the night by virtue of the eight people in that room we jettisoned most of our covers, and by morning it was mighty toasty.
After a hearty breakfast of coffee and … (on second thought, I won’t list specifics lest my memory lapse again), we packed and made ready for our descent.
We were greeted by the morning.
And the clouds. Yes, the clouds blew over the crags just above us.
Some of the hardy hiking men from the night before booted up, threw their packs onto their backs and continued trekking deeper into the mountains to another hut somewhere far away.
And with that, we began our descent.
I’m telling you, I told Jerry and Gabrielle and Trudy. I’m going to be slow. This is a good day for pictures.They smiled and nodded, and I promptly stopped and looked back at Sardonahütte which was already hidden behind the rise.
And as I turned back, they had already begun to leave me in the dust.
So this is how it’s going to be, I thought to myself and took hold of my trekking poles and set off to catch up (which in the event I never did).
Bread Pudding?
Sun, 24 Jan 2016, 12:10 PM (-06:00)
That was a good one, she said, but bread pudding?
I thought you reminded me we had bread pudding.
I don’t remember that. I don’t think we had bread pudding.
Oh.
I think you better say something about that.
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So I say it here. There was no bread pudding. I suppose I should say this in confession, but I won’t, because with views like this the next morning,
perhaps we can consider the bread pudding to be a metaphor for what a wonderful hike Gabrielle conjured up for us.
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