F-Cancer: A Sober Post

         I’m a little nostalgic right now.  Today is a very exciting day for me.  Not only is it the second anniversary of something for a friend of mine, but it’s also the second anniversary of my original doctor’s appointment where I started the process of finding out I had cancer.  Or, to put it more honestly and in my friend’s words, it’s the second anniversary when I started to f#@* cancer.  Rock on!

         For everyone who doesn’t know the story, here it is!

         First, the only reason I remember the day is because it was the official day that my husband and I moved into our current apartment.  We were doing a quick preliminary walk through with the rental manager and then our plan was to run over to urgent care afterward.  It was the only evening that my husband and I had off together.  We weren’t too happy about spending an hour or two at the hospital and we almost just skipped it, but our church had given us the money to get in to see a doctor (we didn’t have insurance at the time), so we decided to get it over with.  

You see, by that time I’d had a really bad ache in my chest for months.  There were nights where it would hurt so bad I couldn’t sleep and had a hard time breathing.  I thought it was probably a strained muscle, so I would get up in the middle of the night and go take a bath in scalding hot water hoping that would help.  Sometimes I’d have to sleep holding a pillow tight to my chest to kind of dull the pain.  It wasn’t my favorite thing ever.

A bump or raised area started to build up to the left of my sternum that would sometimes turn red or even a purple-ish color.  I still thought it was a strained muscle that probably just kept getting aggravated.  We didn’t have insurance and we were in a really bad financial spot we were trying to dig ourselves out of, so I just put off going and seeing a doctor.  What could they do for a muscle strain anyway?

My pastor and his wife insisted that I go and see a doctor when they heard what was up.  They gave us the money to go in.  I felt so bad about taking the money, I prayed the entire time I was in the waiting room of urgent care that there was something legitimately wrong with me so the money wouldn’t have been spent in vein.

I had to tell a couple people why I was there when I was being checked in.  Just telling them that I thought I had a strained muscle in my chest and there was a colored bump there, I got a few eye rolls.  I had no fever and the bump was barely noticeable that day.  A couple times I almost got up and walked out.

When I finally got to go back to a room, a young doctor poked his head in.  He looked about my age, possibly a little younger, and he was a little skinny guy.  I was already changed into one of those flimsy paper gowns by then.  As I talked to him, explaining what was going on, he started to frown and it quickly deepened. 

The doctor tentatively asked if he could feel the bump that I had.  I couldn’t help but laugh because he was a doctor!  Of course he could feel it.  I also found myself apologizing because it was a lot smaller that day than it had been recently.  I didn’t want him to think I was a hypochondriac.

After checking out the lump, he told me he wanted to do some blood tests and he’d be sending in a nurse to take care of that.  He’d be back after he checked out the results.  So I had my blood drawn and texted my friend while I waited for the results.  My husband sat in the corner of the room playing games on his phone.

About twenty minutes later the nurse came back in and took some more blood.  I wasn’t sure why until the doctor came back after another twenty minutes.  He leaned himself back against the counter of the sink in the room and looked a little too serious.

The doctor came right out and said that according to the blood tests they had run twice, I had a high white cell count.  That information along with the bump on my chest made it looked like I either had leukemia or lymphoma. 

Everyone that I’ve talked to who has had cancer said that this was the freak out moment.  Some people’s lives flash before their eyes, others felt like they were going to throw up or that the world had dropped out from underneath them.  This didn’t happen to me.  There were two things that I thought simultaneously; thank God it wasn’t just a strained muscle, and how the hell were we going to pay for all of this?  I think I’m a robot or something.

The doctor told me that he saw I didn’t have insurance.  Because of this, he was going to run as many tests as he could while I was there because he was afraid I was going to let this go.  He also said that he was going to send all of my information to my doctor as well as the Willamette Valley Cancer Institute so that they could be in charge of making sure I got things taken care of.

That night, I got my first IV ever for my first MRI ever.  I’ve always been afraid of needles, but this was pretty painless.  The lady who did it was very sweet and talked to me about the Bridge Program that the hospital had to help people financially.  She explained that MRI’s are pretty expensive, so I really needed to take advantage of it.

My First IV!

Hand IV!

I've lost count of what number this one was.

The MRI was actually pretty fun.  We were able to catch the people right before they went home (it was pretty late by that time…there went the idea of being at the hospital for only an hour or two).  The lady that worked the machine was extremely sweet.  We had a fun conversation and as I was leaving to go back to my corner of urgent care she got very serious and told me that I was too young and too sweet to be sick. 

That statement kind of threw me.  I wasn’t sick.  Even if I had cancer I wasn’t sick.  This was also the first time out many that I heard this statement.  Each time I heard it I wanted to scream, “I’M NOT SICK!”  But I knew that they meant well and didn’t realize that my kind of cancer was just a nuisance, it wasn’t a disease.

It was very late by the time that we left to go home.  During the time we were there my husband just sat and played his phone games.  He didn’t even seem like he heard what was going on.  I finally talked to him about it about a week ago, wondering what his deal was.  He said that he figured it didn’t help to get upset about any of the stuff we were hearing, that we would get through it one way or another.  He also knew that if he didn’t occupy his mind, he would start freak out.  I absolutely understand.

What got me through that night was texting with my friend.  We joked and shared some fun stories that night.  I’d rather crack jokes than get too serious about things and my friend is the same way.  It was perfect.

My other friend, who worked at the hospital, started her shift around the time that we were leaving.  I let her know that we were there and she was sweet enough to pick up some food for us.  That helped more than I can express.

The next day was a bear of a day; fighting with my regular doctor’s office who refused to do anything for me because I didn’t have insurance anymore.  Even trying to get all the information sent over to the WVCI from the hospital took forever because of my regular doctor’s refusal to help.  With the help of my Mom and my boss, things finally got sent through.

Two months later after two different biopsies (that have very fun stories to go along with them which I may tell at some other time); I was finally diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma.  I had my first PET scan on my 25^th birthday (happy birthday to me) where I found out that I was in stage two. 

My Sweet Biopsy Scar (People kept asking me why I'd put tape on my neck)

The PET scan also showed why I’d been having pain and swelling in my chest.  A lymph node under my sternum was backed up with fluid and swelling to about three times the size of what it was supposed to be.  This shoved any excess fluid back into my chest where it culminated and swelled, hence the bump.  As for the pain, that was because the swollen lymph node was pressing up against my sternum and bending it, giving it what they called “sternal sclerosis.”  Ow.

My oncologist (whom I call my “Wilson” after the oncologist on “House”), is absolutely great.  He let me finish spring term for school before we started chemo.  I opted to have a catheter put in during this time because it was so hard to find my veins.  For my first treatment we put in the catheter, did a bone marrow biopsy, and then went ahead with the chemo.  Afterward I went to Target with my husband and shopped around for a bit.  It was a pretty good day.

Later that day...yes, those are tubes coming out of my chest.  (That catheter didn't last long).

The only time I cried about the whole cancer situation was that first night after urgent care.  I found myself lying in bed trying to figure out how we were going to pay for everything.  I’ve still never gone though a mourning period about having cancer.  God took care of that and finally gave me peace over the financial situation as well.  We had a lot of help including a program through WVCI and the Bridge Program through Peach Health.  There were also some anonymous donations to us and a fund raiser both through my work and through my family.  God used the people and programs around me to get us through everything.

Many things strange happened during the every other week for four months chemo treatments.  They are really good stories, but it would take too long to write about them right now.   All in all, it was an adventure that I am extremely thankful for.  I couldn’t have gotten through it without my Savior, my husband, my family, my friends, my co-workers, and my doctors and nurses.  I am so blessed.  That’s why this anniversary makes me excited rather than depressed.  Janna, you’re right; it was two years ago that I started to f#@* cancer.  Like a boss.  Hodgkins Lymphoma is my bitch.  BAM!

The Mams and I for my last procedure.

BONUS PIC!  Bald Me.

Numbers: A Child's Story

            I’ve always thought that each number had its own personality.  Some are villains, some are heroes, and some are perfectly normal.  This story is exactly how I’ve seen them in my head since I was little, which is why it’s written as a children's story.

            It was a bright summer day when 4 woke up to see sun streaming in through her bedroom window.  She smiled as she hopped out of bed and thought about all the possibilities the day held for her.  It was an exciting mystery.

            As 4 opened her bedroom door to make her way down to breakfast, her little brother 3 crashed into the room.  He had his toy airplane out and was making buzzing noises as he flew it around her room.

            “Oh 3, you’re so silly!”  She laughed.  “Come down to breakfast with me before Momma 2 thinks we’ve slept in too late.”

            “Okay!”  Piped 3 as he ran past her to fly his plane down the stairs or their little cottage.

            When 3 and 4 reached the bottom of the stairs they saw their elderly Grandpa 1 sitting at the table, twisting his long white mustache around his finger as he loomed over a newspaper.  “Good morning Grandpa 1!”  They called in unison as they came over and kissed Grandpa 1’s slim and withered cheeks.

            “Good morning 3, good morning 4.”  He said cheerily as he gave them each hugs.

            “Good morning Momma 2.”  4 said as she hugged her mother who was finishing cooking breakfast.

            “Why hello there 4.  What are your plans today?”  Momma 2 turned around and started setting the table.

            “I’m not sure.”  4 replied as she sat in her usual spot.  “I think I’m going to go for a walk and see what happens from there.”

            “You be careful,” Grandpa 1 told her.  “Snidely 9 and his sidekick 7 are on the loose and doing terrible things in the town.”

            “Don’t worry Grandpa 1, I’ll be careful.”  4 promised.

            When she was done with her meal, 4 said goodbye to her family and started her walk. 

4 didn’t get very far before she ran into her neighbor 6 playing in the woods near their houses.  4 and 6 went to school together, but 6 was a little older.  He was a very shy boy, but very nice.  His best friend was 8, the most popular kid in school.  8 was nice and was the star of the school track and football teams.

“Hello 6!” 4 called.

6 looked surprised, but when he saw that it was 4, he smiled and waved.  “Hi 4.  What are you doing today?”

4 stopped to talk to 6.  “Going for a walk and seeing where the day takes me.  How about you?”

6 shrugged. “I’m just messing around with these new action figures my mom got me.”  He blushed.

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”  4 said cheerily.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees near them.  4 and 6 looked up to see two interesting characters.  One was very tall and thin with a worn top hat and a black handlebar mustache.  The other was also thin, but a bit shorter.  His back was hunched and he smiled like a wolf.

“Hello there, children.”  The one with the top hat said in a British accent.  “What are you doing out here alone?”

6 was frozen with fear, but 4 answered politely.  “Good morning, sir.  We’re just playing.”

The one with the top hat tisked and shook his head.  “That is very alarming.  I’ve heard there’s a very dangerous character roaming these woods.  You wouldn’t want to run into him, now would you?”

“No sir.” 4 responded.

“No, no.  I didn’t think so.  You children should run along before…Hmm.”  The man trailed off.  “I don’t’ remember the villain’s name.”  He turned to the hunched over man next to him.  “Do you remember his name, good fellow?”

A shrill laugh came from the man.  “Yes!”  He wheezed.

“Oh that’s right!”  Said top-hat man.  “Snidely 9…at your service.”  He took off his top hat and put it over his heart, holding out his hand to shake with 4. 

Not thinking, 4 took his hand.  Snidely 9 pulled her toward him, grabbing her.  “Take her 7!”  He called as they rushed back into the woods with 4.

6 jumped up and ran down the path toward town.  He wasn’t sure where he was going; he just knew he needed to tell someone what had happened.  6 was almost home when he literally ran into his best friend 8 who was waiting in line at an ice cream stand.

“What’s wrong?”  8 asked as he steadied his friend who was shaking and panting.

“4!  7!  Snidely 9!  Woods!”  6 was puffing so hard he couldn’t talk in complete sentences.  Luckily 8 and 6 were such good friends that 8 understood.

“Snidely 9 and 7 grabbed 4 and took her into the woods?”  He asked, concerned.

“Yes!  You have to go help her!”  6 finally got out.

8 didn’t say anything more and started running.  He ran through the woods, looking for clues of where Snidely 9 and 7 could have take 4.  8 was about to give up when he heard some faint screaming.

“4.”  He said to himself quietly, and started running toward her screams

As 8 was about to burst out of the woods, he heard a whistle.  When he cleared the trees he saw train tracks.  There was 4, tied up and lying on the tracks.  The whistle he’d heard was a train heading right for her.

“8!  Help me!” She called when she saw him.

8 moved as fast as he could, running toward 4.  Just as the train was about to run her over, 8 swooped down and pulled 4 off of the tracks, quickly untying the ropes around her.  4 clung to him, giving him a hug.  “Thank you so much 8!  You saved me!  My hero!”

8 smiled down at her and hugged her back.  “I’m glad you’re safe.”  He said.  “Now, where are Snidely 9 and 7?”

“They’re back at their hideout.”  4 said.  “I’ll show you.”

4 took 8 to Snidely 9 and 7’s hideout where they found them sitting in front of a fireplace, sipping tea.  8 and 4 worked together and were able to apprehend them, 4 using her sweet karate skills and 8 using brute force.  They called the police and waved Snidely 9 and 7 goodbye as they were taken away.

Later that night there was a big party.  Momma 2 made a cake for 8 to thank him for saving her daughter.  Grandpa 1 spent the evening telling old heroic tales from when he was younger.  3 sat patiently next to 8, his new hero, as they politely listened to Grandpa 1’s stories.  6 even stopped by and shyly accepted a huge hug from 4 for helping in her rescue. 

They lived happily ever after.

Fear and My White Whale

            One of my greatest fears besides spiders and crowds of people is going to a store or shop that I’ve never been to before.  What’s even worse is if I have to buy something there.  It’s like a new and scary world where anything can happen.  ANYTHING.

            What even worse and freaks me out even more is going to a coffee shop or coffee stand and having to place an order.  I’m not much of a coffee drinker to being with.  To me, coffee is like a dessert that not only gives you a sugar high, but also causes a caffeinated hyperactivity rush.  I love them blended because it gives me an excuse to have something like a milkshake any time of the day without being judged.

            Coffee shops and stands are scary for their own separate reasons.  At a coffee shop, you usually find Indie hipster type people behind the counter.  They’re so hip they don’t care about anything anymore except if other people are as hip as them.  Why wash you’re hair?  That’s way too mainstream.  And forget about customer service.  They’d rather tell you to get the hell out of there than wait for you to make a decision on what to order.  And blended drinks?  Forget it, noob.

            My husband has recently decided that he loves to get coffee, so whenever we go out somewhere, he wants us to make a stop.  He’s easy; all he asks for is a mocha.  On a really daring day he may add a little flavor.  I, on the other hand, have no idea what all the coffee lingo means and will never ever get it down no matter how many times my husband explains it to me.

            Our church has had coffee outings before where they make a pilgramige through our little town to try various types of coffee to decide who has the best.  My husband believes this will be fun and has tried talking me into going quite a few times.  He doesn’t understand the vastness of my pent-up dread and loathing of going places to buy coffee (I try to keep the allusion of sanity, for our marriage’s sake).

            What usually happens is as we wait in line my eyes dart from one picture of foamy coffee on the wall to another, trying to figure out what actually tastes good and what tastes like mud coffee sludge (which I’ve come to realize, most do).  Can I get something blended?  Why can’t there just be something called “liquid candy?”  That would make things a lot easier for me.

            I can never decide!  I freak even worse when I see that we’re getting closer and closer to the front of the line.  That’s when I go to my husband for emergency support.

Me: “What is a mocha again?”

Husband: “Milk and chocolate.”

Me: “Then what’s a latte?”

Husband: “Milk and flavoring.”

Me: “Why isn’t a mocha just called a chocolate latte then?”

Husband: “Because then it wouldn’t be a mocha.”

Me: “Can you add flavoring to a mocha?”

Husband: “Yes.”

            Trying to figure out the philosophy of coffee names takes me into a downward spiral of confusion and anger.  I get mad when I don’t understand things that everyone seems to find simple.  Then I’m even more angry because it’s our turn and I have no idea what to say to the cool, nonchalant and somewhat hostile person behind the counter.

            Of course I have to have the bad luck of marrying one of the few gentleman left on the planet.  The first thing he says when we get up there is, “Do you know what you want?”

            This turns the attention of the barista to me.  I’ve learned over the years that if I say no, my husband won’t order his drink because he has a “ladies first” mentality.  When that happens I see the barista’s eyes narrow and I can feel the angry force of the patrons behind us as they realize that I am the easily destroyable thing that stands between them and their precious coffee. 

            What to do?!  One of two things always happens.  Either I point to a sign that’s close by and say, “Um, can I have…” and squint to see the name of it.  I usually pronounce it wrong and get a cool warning look from the barista.  Otherwise, I blurt out the first thing on the menu hanging from the ceiling behind the counter.  Depending on how well this goes with the barista, I may or may not ask if I can have it blended.

            When this series of events has occurred, I usually end up with some sort of liquid-ish frosty thing that tastes a lot like chalk or mud (or better yet, a mix of the two!).  There have only been a few instances when I’ve actually liked and finished what I order.  As nice as that is while I’m drinking it, my downfall is the fact that, if we ever come back, I’ll never be able to remember what it is I blurted out for my order.

            As difficult and scary as going to a coffee shop is, I dread going to a coffee stand even more.  The people who are hired there are the complete opposite of the ridiculously cool hipsters in coffee shops.  At coffee stands you will find people who look like they belong to a sorority or fraternity modeled after Delta Nu from Legally Blonde (I had to look that up; don’t judge me!). 

They are so chatty I can’t help but hope to God it’s because they’ve been pumping whatever 12-shot coffee they favor directly into their veins since they arrived at their shift.  If that is genuine energy, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave my house again.

            I’m alright with nice people.  I’m alright with super bubbly happy people.  I’m alright with ridiculously attractive people (these are all attributes of coffee stand employees).  What I’m not alright with is when people cross the line from being happy, to flirting just for the sake of selling coffee; coffee that I’m already there to buy.  I don’t need to be patronized and flirted into placing my order (this makes me freeze up even worse than a hot hipster barista does).

            I am still nervous when I drive or walk up to these places, but the great thing is that they’re more like candy stores than the hard core coffee shops.  Everything they have is hopped up with major syrup and sweets.  It’s my kind of coffee. Even if I don’t pay attention to what I order, there’s a good 87% chance that I’ll get something tasty.

            I could get past this nervousness if the people working there weren’t so in-your-face nice/flirty.  I always leave wanting to tell the guys there, “no.  I do not desire you to flirt with me or to comment on something about me to the point of being creepy.  I am not your type, nor are you mine.  We can be friends if you insist, but I will never ever trust you.  Keep your manic smiles to yourself and I’ll just drive right on through, nothing to see here.  Trust me, its better this way.”

            But it’s the girls at these places who are actually the worst.  I always get the sorority girl who is way too cute and bubbly to be real (Malibu Skipper always comes to mind).  Again I must make it clear that I have no problem with cute/bubbly people as long as they don’t do the following:

Coffee Chick: “Hi there!  How are you today?!”

Me: “Great.  How about you?”

Coffee Chick: “I’m absolutely fantastic!  Today is wonderful and I love being up in the morning selling people coffee!”

Me: “It’s definitely nice to love your job.” 

Coffee Chick: “Are you doing anything fun or exciting today?!”

Me: “Not really, just going to work.”

I start to get tense.  This is where things can either continue smoothly or take a turn for the worst.  My hope is that I can order my coffee, thank her, leave a tip and be on my way.  A little more conversation is ok, but a line has to be drawn.

This is when she looks me up and down through my car window.  Apparently something catches her eye.

Coffee Chick: “Oh, I see you’ve got some sparkle on your shirt under that jacket!  It looks like you’ve got some hidden sparkle in your personality going on there!  I’m sure you’re going to have a very exciting day!”

Me: “…Um…thanks…you have a good day too.”

The time this happened, I felt violated and dirty.  I just wanted to take my drink and run away.  The rest of the day I had to wonder if she had intentionally given me a smarmy backhanded compliment or if she had no idea how that had come out.  Either way, I was never going back.

I’m sure there are some very nice people who work at coffee shops and coffee stands.  If there are, where are you?!  I would be more than happy to even fly to another state, heck a different country, to order something from you.  If you’re on a late-night shift, I’d start drinking coffee at 1:30 in the morning, just for you.  It would be a privilege and an honor.  You’ll recognize me as the shaking person afraid to make eye contact while ordering who bursts into tears of relief and delight when I discover that you, the perfect barista, are real.  Until then, I will think of you as my Moby Dick and I your Captain Ahab.  Searching coffee shops and stands in the seas of my own fear and hesitation.

**Note: I realize that I probably got most of the coffee definitions wrong.  That is because I do not understand. This is partially due to the fact that it is so confusing.  Also, I’m a tad passive aggressive and if I think something is stupid, I’ll usually refuse to learn it.  Flaws?  What flaws?  I have no flaws!

Also, this was written to be funny.  Please laugh.  If you don’t, I will cry.  And for the record, I have a few friends that were baristas and they were AMAZING (you know who you are).  This entire story is an irrational fear of mine that has been written in a satirical and hyperbolic fashion.  I do not mean to insult anyone. **

True Stories: Death Medley

Disclaimer:  I usually hate writing anything besides fiction, but some memories started popping up while reading one of my favorite blogs and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to write them down and share them.  Thank you Allie Brosh, author of Hyperbole and A Half!

Why I Hate to Paint My Nails

            I grew up in Oregon.  Actually, I’ve never lived anywhere else.  I haven’t even ever moved to a different city.  My Dad was born in Oregon too, but he’s gotten to live in a few different states throughout his life. 

My Mom is from Idaho.  Half of her family still lives there.  Her old hometown was the only place besides the coast that we ever went on vacations when I was growing up.  We’d go once every couple years, and it was always a big deal. 

            My Mom would get so excited; she’d count down the months, weeks and days leading up to our trips.  She’d say things like, “This time next month, we’ll be eating lunch at your Grandpa’s house.”  As kids, this kind of daily reminder slowly wound my sister and I into a tizzy of anticipation until we were on the verge of imploding by the time traveling day arrived.

            There was always a lot of thought and planning that went into packing and preparing for the trip.  The packing would begin several days before we left.  We were going to see family for the first time in years, so the clothing we took and how we presented ourselves was very important.

            My sister had always been the smart and pretty one, so I decided early on that I’d be the sweet, quirky one (something I strive for to this day).  This meant even more preparation on my part to get the right effect.  I had found the clothes that fit the best on me, but showed my fun/weird side, but not too far that my long lost relatives didn’t want to talk to me.  It was a delicate balance for a kid.

The accessories I took with me in the car needed to match too.  I always brought paper and pencils so I could write on the 10 hour car ride.  On this particular occasion, I also brought drawing paper and charcoal pencils that I’d gotten for my birthday.  It figured I’d have enough time using them in the car to see if I was the next Picasso.

            The morning of the trip finally came!  I was having the hardest time keeping myself from tearing out my own hair in anticipation, I was so excited.  I had finished packing the night before, but my parents still had to run to the store to get food for the trip and my sister had some things to finish with her suitcase.  This meant I was left to my own devices while the authority figures were at the store and my 13-year-old sister was holed away in her room.

            Just watching TV wasn’t going to keep my busy, I needed to do something with my hands.  Then I had a brilliant idea!  I’d paint my nails!  This would kill two birds with one stone! I’d have to concentrate to do it right which would help me settle down, and my grandparents would think I looked very grown up.  Perfect!

            I grabbed some pretty pink polish, a paper towel to use as a mat, and set to work slathering the goop on my nails.  I’ve never been good at painting.  Plus, at 11, I didn’t live up to having the dexterity of an 8-year-old.  On top of the excitement of our trip and the fact that even as an adult I still never remember that you can’t touch things when you’ve got paint drying on your nails, it wasn’t surprising that about ten minutes later, my fingers looked like they’d been covered with the ectoplasm-jelly-grossness from the movie “Poltergeist.”

            This would not do.  My grandparents would hate it!  I had to get the paint off, and pronto.  Good thing I knew where the nail polish remover was.  It took me longer to get the polish off my fingers than it did to paint them in the first place.  But eventually, I was finally clean.

            While I was cleaning up, for some crazy reason I can’t explain I stuck one of my fingers in my mouth and sucked on it.  It took me less than a second to connect the disgusting taste with the fact that I had just slathered nail polish remover all over my hands.

            I froze, my heart sinking.  I knew what this meant.  I had just ingested chemicals.  I was going to die.  And even worse, I was going to ruin my family’s vacation. How was I supposed to handle this?

            I made a decision right then.  I wasn’t going to tell my parents about it.  They weren’t going to put off their vacation to call poison control when, by the time they came home from the store, it would already be too late.  I’d just ride it out.

            I wasn’t sure how long it took to die from poisoning, but I figured we could get out on the road and be far enough on our way that, when I did die, my parents could just toss me into the gorge and keep going on their trip.  It would be a bit inconvenient, but the best option compared to just staying home by myself and leaving a bloated, stinking body half eaten by our dog and cats for them to discover when they got home.

            When we finally left, I wasn’t quite as excited for the trip as I had been the past few months.  I’d become obsessed with the time, counting how many hours had gone by since I’d sucked the deadly nail polish remover off of my fingernail.  Wondering when it would start to hurt, steeling myself to be silent through the pain.

            A few hours into the trip, my sister borrowed the art paper and charcoal pencils that I’d brought and drew the most amazing landscape.  I was hurt and angry.  I’d figured I’d leave my family with one final masterpiece of artistic genius to remember me by.  I’d worked for over an hour on drawing something brilliant, but everything I drew ended up looking like a pathetic excuse of a tumbleweed (to be generous).  Why couldn’t I have died before the humiliation of my sister, yet again, being better than me?  Instead of just waiting to die, I actually started plotting a way to make sure I died in as gruesome a way that would scar my sister for life for being stuck in the back seat with me while it happened.

As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I didn’t die, I didn’t even get a stomach ache.  After I’d finished writing a will that didn’t allot anything but my chores to my sister, we went on to have a great vacation.  The whole experience taught me to tone down my dramatic reactions, stop being so morbidly obsessed with death, and that I needed to step up the weird if my sister was going to keep stepping up her perfection.

Chocolaty Assassin

One of my favorite candies of all time is Junior Mints.  I loved the creamy, gooey, chocolate and mint nubs.  My favorite thing to do with them was crushing them against the roof of my mouth with my tongue and then suck on them.  Chewing them would take the texture for granted, and I’d never want to do that.

            When I was seventeen I worked at the CD store in the local mall.  It was my first real job, and it was a pretty good gig for a while (I was actually just happy to have a cooler job than anyone else I was going to school with). 

            There was a certain time when I was working in the middle of the day, just the assistant manager and I.  She was up front talking on the phone to her boyfriend and I was in the back of the store shelving the CD’s, sucking on some Junior Mints. 

            That was when I had an epiphany.  For the life of me, I can’t remember what it was about, but it must have been the most amazing thing in the world because what did I do?  I inhaled very quickly in excitement and turned to run up to the front of the store to tell my manager about it.

When I inhaled, I’d sucked the oozing Junior Mint I’d been working on into my throat.  Its chocolaty goodness spread across the opening of my throat, blocking any breathing.  My initial reaction as I scurried to the front of the store was to just swallow it down and get a drink of water to stop the inevitable coughing that would follow.  Apparently, that was easier said than done.

I couldn’t swallow.  After trying a second time with the same result, I finally stopped moving so I could concentrate.  I had made it to the middle of the store, and I stood there holding on to a rack of CD’s, trying to force saliva down my throat.

I have no idea how long I stood there, but at a certain point my body decided I was a failure and the autopilot took over.  It forced me to wheeze for breath, making involuntary part screeching, part wheezing sounds, trying to force in air.  The oozey, gooey mass of Junior Mint covering the entrance of my throat and lungs wasn’t budging.  It was like a little mint-chocolaty assassin.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do.  I could keep running up to the assistant manager and ask her for help, but it didn’t seem like that would really help.  The Heimlich wouldn’t work in this kind of situation either.  Maybe I should just run into the back room.  There was a sink back there, I could drink some water.  But then I might end up drowning if I accidentally inhaled while drinking too much in desperation.

As I was trying to figure this out, I started pacing back and forth in the middle of the store, making those involuntary noises.  I sounded like a creature from Silent Hill, and apparently looked like a freak; if the offended looks the old guy standing nearby watching the music videos was any indication.

All of a sudden, my panic completely disappeared and I made a decision.  I wasn’t going to subject my manager or the old man eyeing me to witnessing my death.  I’d calmly go into the back room, crawl up onto the heavy duty shipping table, lie down and simply die.  It would be much less shocking to find me that way than for everyone to watch me while I writhed for one last saving breath before I finally died.  Yep, that was the best choice.

Still making the whooping noises, I started walking to the back room, congratulating myself for how thoughtful and smart my decision was.  They’d say I was selfless and thoughtful until the end.  It would be a part of my eulogy. 

After only a few steps, something popped in my throat and I felt gooey ooze sliding down my raw and burning throat.  The Junior Mint had unclogged itself!

My body still didn’t trust me to figure out how to breathe, so I couldn’t stop the big walloping, painful breaths I sucked in causing me to hack and cough, hurting me even more.  I thought that it would have been much more peaceful to die than to stand there and hack up the lung that I’d been trying to get air to.  But, it wasn’t my decision.  I was going to live, I was going to spend the rest of the day feeling like someone had tried to strangle me, and I was going to have a near-death experience story involving a CD store, a forgotten idea that could have cured cancer (there’s no proof that it wouldn’t), and a Junior Mint.

**After writing out these stories, I’ve realized something.  Every time I have a great idea, whether I remember it later or not, I end up almost dying in a freak accident (or thinking I’m going to).  Hmm…interesting…

Life Revolving

Life Revolving

            As I walked into the hospital room, I took in a deep breath at the sight of my dear old friend lying in the bed that looked huge compared to her now withered body.  Her usual slight frame was reduced to skin stretched over bone.  The IV they had given her looked the size of her arm itself.

            The click of the door closing behind me made her look my way, and she smiled.  Although everything about her seemed to be deteriorating, her eyes and smile looked just the same.  It was a relief to see.

            “Hey there, kiddo.”  I talked delicately to her, almost in a whisper, not really knowing why.  There was a chair placed very close to her bed. I sat in it.  I could smell the medicine coursing through her veins.

            “Landon!  I’m so glad you came!”  Her once melodic voice sounded tired and grainy.

            I wasn’t sure what to say next.  All I could do was try not to stare at her emaciated body, the IV, and the monitors around her.  Trying to be nonchalant in a hospital room with a dying friend didn’t really work.

            “Um, how…how ya feelin?”

            She smiled again and rested a bony hand on my arm.  “I don’t really think you want to know.  And I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

            When she paused to take a breath, I jumped in. “No!  No, I’m not uncomfortable at all!”

            Her assessing eyes told me she knew I was lying.  “Landon, I haven’t seen you in a long time, and then I had my son call you and ask you to come see me.  Don’t try and tell me that this isn’t even a little uncomfortable for you.”  She smiled wide and her eyes danced.  “I didn’t bring you here to see your old friend before she dies.  I wanted you to come because there’s something I really need to tell you.”

            I had no idea what she could be talking about.  We had been very close, but that was over ten years ago.  Back then, we knew everything about each other.  What else could there be that she needed to tell me that would make her call before she died?  “Alright.  Shoot.”

            She breathed in as deep as she could, which wasn’t deep at all, and then started speaking.  “I’m a Christian.”    

            I rolled my eyes.  “Yeah, I know.”

            She weakly swatted me in the chest with her hand.  “That’s not it!  The dying need respect and people’s complete attention when they speak, so hush!”  Her scow was comical.

            “Sorry, go on.”  I conceded graciously.  It was nice to see she still had her dry sense of humor.  “I won’t interrupt again.”

            “Good.  See that you don’t.”  She stopped pretending to scowl and her features smoothed out to the withered yet bloated medicinal face that had greeted me when I had come in.

She began.  “Ok, so again, I’m a Christian.  This means that I believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior.  He died for our sins, so that we could be set free from our bondage of sin and evil by His forgiveness.  Believing this, I know that when I die shortly, I will be welcomed into heaven.”

            “Amanda, I really don’t want to hear this right now.  I’m sorry, but you’re delusional.”

            “No, actually I’m not.  There is a Creator.  He made the world and everything in it.  He loves us so much that He sent a part of Himself, His son, down to earth to die for all of us.  The final blood sacrifice for everyone eternally.  There is no doubt in my mind that this is true.  It’s the only reason that I’m not afraid right now.  Actually,” she winked at me, “I’m getting really excited!  I’m tired of being sick and not feeling well.  It’s going to be great up in heaven and having no aches or pains anymore!  Anyway, I really felt lately that I needed to tell you that.  I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.  I was really selfish not telling you about this a long time ago.”  She fell silent as she squeezed my hand.  Her eyes started to droop closed.  The light that had filled her while she had told me her story was slowly leaking from her.  Her breathing turned ragged.

            I sat and watched her for a long time.  What she had said, I had heard a million times before.  But the honesty on her face and in every part of her being locked what she said in my mind.  Sure, she had always been the happiest person I’d ever known.  I wondered if there was a connection to her happiness and her faith.

            It was hours before I left that day.  As I leaned over to kiss her cheek to say goodbye, she opened her eyes a slit and said, “Landon, all you have to do is believe.  Give your life up to Him."

            I received a message from her son the next day.  Amanda had died a short while after I had left.  I was invited to the funeral the following weekend.  Just before I hung up the phone, he asked, “Um, Mr. Anderson?”

            “Yeah, Luke?”

            “This may sound weird, and I’ve never done this before, but I just wanted to ask you…um…do you want to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”  His voice was pretty timid and hushed.

            Without knowing I was going to say it, I croaked out, “Yes!”

            The following weekend I went to Amanda’s funeral where I met Luke in person for the first time.  After the service, Luke found me and instead of talking to me about his mother, he told me that he and his family went to the church every Sunday and asked if I wanted to join them.  I couldn’t help but think how odd, yet appropriate it was that at the end of Amanda’s life, she had opened the door to show me what life really was.

The Knight and the Harlet

As they entered the gates that encompassed the gothic, looming castle, Avery couldn’t help but agree with her father, it had been far too long since they had visited their neighbors to the south.  The hum of peasants readying their shops and the streets around them was welcome to her ears.  The winter had forced quiet in their land three months ago and was still stifling the busy patter of outside markets and venues.  Yet here in Courney, people were lively and insistent in hawking their wares.

            Being reminded of the drastic weather change, Avery shifted uncomfortably under her thick fur and leather cape.  She would have liked to take it off, but they had gone too deep into the kingdom for her to take the chance of being seen by a noble.  There was no dress fit for a lady under her cape, but a fine pair of riding leggings and thick tunic that allowed her to keep up with her older brothers on the journey.  Of course, this outlandish attire was only allowed because of how close she was with her three brothers and how each of them had one thing in common, the love for irritating their grandmother.  The fine woman who had helped raise the four Deschain children had taught them everything that they knew about mischief and practical jokes, but had one subject that she put her foot down.  A noble child should conduct themselves properly when involved in social occasions…and this was definitely a social occasion.

            Avery’s older brother slowed the powerful chestnut he rode so that he was next to her.  A smug smile was on his handsome face, which made Avery want to reach over and kick him.  “Oh darling sister, you look so warm in that cape.  Would you like some assistance in its removal?”

            He hadn’t looked at her, but his smile had deepened.  She voiced her apprehension in his demeanor.  “That is very   chivalrous of you Luke, but I am actually still feeling a trifle chilled.  Me thinks I shall keep my cape where it is.”

            Luke was the oldest of the four children and saw it as his place to take the lead when a new prank was to be implemented, but he was the worst out of the lot of them when it came to keeping a straight face.  It wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t able to get through his next speech without laughter escaping his lips.

            “No no, I must protest.  You are a damsel in distress, and my brothers and I wouldn’t be able to think of ourselves as gentlemen unless we were able to help you.”

            As he finished, he let off a high pitched whistle and thin kneed his horse into a canter.  As she watched him ride off, the hair on the back of her neck prickling in readiness for whatever was about to come.  Just then, each of her younger brothers came to her sides, both grabbing the ends of her cloak, and jolted off ahead of her, leaving her with her cloak wrapped around her head.  She couldn’t see.  To make matters worse, Duncan, the brother closest to her age, had gotten too close with his horse and jostled her in her seat.  Before she knew it, Avery was falling from her horse, and in a moment, found herself fighting with a wet cape that was plastered to her face.

            It took her a moment to find her way out of the swath of material, but when she did, she looked up to see that she had fallen right into a watering trough in front of a bookstore. She was outraged enough to want to scream at her brothers, but as she looked in the direction that her caravan was headed, they were nowhere to be seen.  The little cowards. 

            She fumed as she sat in the trough, trying to figure out what her best move would be from here.  Her father would be furious with her if she showed up at the castle looking the way that she did.  It was impossible to salvage her cape as a covering either because the water had now made it too heavy to move around in.  Moving the material aside, Avery prayed that she would find the rest of her clothing wasn’t as wet as the cloak. 

            “Those sneaky, no good, trouble making bastards.”  She grumbled to herself as she saw that indeed, the tunic she was wearing had gotten wet enough to be even more revealing than her thinnest nightdresses.  This was definitely a problem.  And her party had long since left her, so there was no help to be found.

            A light chuckle came from in front of her, and Avery looked up to see a young man smiling down at her with complete amusement.  Her first action was to pull her cloak closed in front of her.  How could she have not noticed that someone had taken notice of her in her revealed state?  Bright red color flooded her cheeks and she thanked God that she was at least wearing a hat so that no one would be able to recognize her later.

            She looked up again to see if the young man was still standing in front of her, and sure enough, he was.  Now that she wasn’t shying away to make sure nothing too revealing was being shown, Avery let out a mental groan.  The man was dressed in fine materials and had Courney’s coat of arms embroidered onto his white tunic.  His eyes were still alight on her and she could see with the help of the blasted sun that they were light green in color.  He seemed more amused the longer she looked at him rather than getting up and exiting herself from the trough.

            With a tone of wonder and pleasure, he held out his hand to her.  “I don’t believe you’ll become any less conspicuous the longer you stay in there, lad.”

            Avery took his hand, and stood up. The water still had a mighty hold on her cloak, so as she stood, it pulled the material down and provided the nobleman a full view of her tragically soaked tunic.  Unfortunately, Avery’s luck didn’t hold out, and the young man’s eyes fell to her clearly outlined chest.

            “Oh my.” His look was only puzzled for a moment before he moved his gaze up to her face, searching what he found there.  His smile widened as he reached around and grabbed her drenched cloak with his free hand and pulled it out of the trough along with her.  Before doing anything else, he removed the lightweight golden cape he was wearing, and held it out to her. 

            It was a quick exchange, and luckily the man was standing in the way of any onlookers so that no one else could get a glimpse of what he had discovered.  As soon as the switch was made, Avery grabbed the edges of his cloak and held them tight to cover herself.

            “Many thanks, good sir.”  She nodded a thank you and looked back up, about to search for her horse.  He was nowhere in sight.  Of course that lousy good for nothing horse had to follow the rest of the group to the castle rather than staying around and waiting for it’s master as it should have.  She felt her jaw locking in irritation.

            The young man, who hadn’t stopped watching her, noticed her anger.  “It seems as though you’re in need of gallantry today, miss.  It would be my pleasure to be of more assistance if you require it.”

            She was beyond embarrassed, but had no choice.  “I apologize, sir, but it looks as though I have been abandoned by my party.”

            “And where are you and your party headed?”

            Avery didn’t want to walk directly into the castle, looking as she did, especially with the cloak of this fine nobleman around her shoulders, but she needed to get close.  “The castle.”

            This caused the man’s golden eyebrows to raise in surprise, so she corrected, “The castle’s stable, really.”

            “Ah, I see.  Then there is no other thing to do but for me to give you a ride to your destination.”

            “Sir, I would hate to pull you away from your chores to take me there.  I’m sure I would be fine to walk, but your offer is very much appreciated.”

            He held his hand out again and didn’t wait for her to offer her own, but reached for it and started to lead her to a tethered black stallion.  It was even larger than Luke’s chestnut; Avery couldn’t help but stare in wonder. 

            “I insist, miss.  The castle’s stable is quite near and in the direction that my next chore would have taken me.”  He walked her over to the left side of his horse and placed his hands on her hips, ready to lift her into the saddle.  She wanted to protest and tell him that she was more than capable of saddling a horse on her own, but she had a feeling it would fall on deaf ears.  Before he lifted her, the young man stepped very close to whisper into her ear, “I believe that I’m going to resent the lord of the castle for allowing his stable to be so near.  It would be a pleasure to be granted more time with you.”

            What was she supposed to say to that?  Before she knew it, she was on the horse and the young man was looking up at her with a confident smile.  His golden curls, the same color as his eyebrows, were being jostled by the slight breeze.  Was he handsome?  She couldn’t tell, and she had a good look at him.  How could he say something in the vein that he had by only seeing her in these boys clothes with her face and hair covered by a hat? 

            As he saddled up behind her and grabbed the reins, his arms coming close to touching her chest, he chuckled again. “No need to be so stiff, my dear.  No matter how clumsy a rider you are, I will make sure that you don’t take another tumble.”

            He reined the horse in and set it on the path her party had been riding before she was separated.  Aghast that he thought she didn’t know how to ride; Avery held her tongue so that she didn’t blast him with the first words that came to her mouth.  It took her a moment to settle herself.  When she did, she turned her head to state calmly, “I apologize for the impression that I gave, but I do not, nor have I ever, had difficulty controlling anything that I have a mind to ride.”

            There was silence for a moment, and then the nobleman had the odd reaction as to not just laugh, but bellow a guffaw.  It took a moment for this to die down, but when it did, he was met with a raised eyebrow and a curious look from the strumpet sitting in front of him.  Her hat was still shading her eyes, so he couldn’t tell what color they were.  He was a bit taken aback by the noble way her jaw was set.  “Might I share in on the joke?”

            This almost sent him over the edge again, but he composed himself enough to smile and also recall something.  “It’s really nothing.  But may I make the assumption that the, oh what did you call them, ‘sneaky, no good, trouble making bastards’ are to blame for your trip into the trough?”

            Her face became red again. She had hoped that no one had heard that.  But, as long as he had heard, she really couldn’t deny it. With a bit of a laugh of her own, she agreed.  “Yes, those are precisely the ones who are to blame.  My brothers, you see, enjoy playing tricks on me.  I should have known what they were up to, but I had other things on my mind.  I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.” 

            The fact that she said all of this with a smile, even though he could tell she was angry at the same time, convinced him that she was telling the truth.  Only people you loved could make you feel anger and affection at the same time. 

            “Do they play tricks on you often?”  He was amused and didn’t mind the conversation.

            The woman let out a noise of irritation. “They most certainly do, but I must admit that it’s not all their faults.  My grandmother was the one who instilled mischief in us, so our lives have been filled with one trick after another.”

            “Your grandmother?  She sounds like an enchanting and impish woman if ever I’ve heard of one.  I’m used to most elders seeming as though they’ve lost whatever sense of humor they might once have had through the years.”

            This got a laugh out of the woman and another glance back at him, “I’m sure the dear would appreciate being called an imp.  Indeed she would.”  This time he was able to see her face more clearly.  Her skin was white as ivory, but a light dust of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and on to her cheeks.  Her eyes were deepest brown and they seemed to sparkle with her laughter.  The freckles proved that she had been outdoors enough for the sun to kiss each spot in to place, but the paleness of her skin indicated that she wasn’t out often enough for tans that the village women in Courney wore.  Her destination was the castle’s stable, so she must be wife or daughter to her party’s head stable master.  He hoped that she was just a daughter.   

            “Well, I do hope that you are able to get them back for what they’ve done to you.  As much as it has caused some excitement in my otherwise dreary day, I’m sure it must have been a bit less welcome to you.”

            She turned to him yet again with a half smile.  “You may depend upon it.”

            They trotted down the street a little farther until they came to where the castle and its inner walls distinguished itself from the marketplace.  To the left, there was a light trail that led to an area that was like a meadow where the royal stables were kept and the horseflesh exercised.  Just beyond, there was a break in the wall where a gate sat.  This led to the forest beyond where the King and his subjects hunted. 

            “So, what is your plan?”

            This made the woman jump and stiffen.  “Plan?  For what?”

            “Why, your revenge for your brothers.  You’ve had ample time to think of something.”

            She hesitated.  “I hadn’t been thinking of that, really.”  And she hadn’t.  She was trying to figure out how she could graciously thank this young man for his help and then escape into the castle without him or the servants gawking or wondering what she was up to.  It would be better for her to sneak upstairs and find one of her servants or brothers and make them help her to a room where she could freshen up and become presentable again.

            He sighed behind her and said resignedly.  “Then I suppose it’s good that I’ve come up with something that we can execute right away.”

            “We?  Right away?”  As she started to wrap her mind around what the young man was talking about, he dug his heels into his horse and sent it running the rest of the way down the path, but when they were in sight of the stables, he veered off to run around them. 

            “Sir!  What are you doing?  The stable is right there.  Please stop and let me off.  I appreciate the haste you’ve made in going out of your way to help me, but I really must return as soon as possible.”  As she spoke, brush and small trees filled the area between them and the stable and the wall to the castle was getting closer and closer.

            “Nonsense, miss.  This is a prime opportunity to get back at your hell raising kin.  They won’t expect that it will happen so soon.  It’s perfect really.” 

            They had come to the gate and the young man bounded out of the saddle and led the horse and its captive through the rod iron monstrosity.  “But they will be worried about me.” She called down, having a feeling that her protests would be useless.

            “That is the point, my dear.  And it will make them think twice about pulling such a stunt with you.  This time, you’re safe with me, a knight of Courney, but they must understand that this might not always be the case.”  He continued to lead them into the forest that lay beyond the castle. 

            The young man’s words had awakened a new sense of alarm in Avery.  He was obviously a knight with the finery he wore as well as the splendid steed he rode, but not all knights were trustworthy, especially when they were dealing with what they thought were servants or peasants, as she had given them the idea she was.  He was fairly handsome, seemed kind, and was young enough to seem anything but threatening, but that could all be a charade. 

            Taking inventory of herself under her cloak, Avery thanked God that He had seen fit for her to keep the dagger hidden in her boot and the short sword at her side after her fall.  Neither had been dislodged.  As the young man continued to lead them on and talk about things of nary any importance, she scooted back on the saddle and tentatively felt in the small saddle bags.  She felt food, a skin of water, and nothing else besides some hard object wrapped in leather.  Good, she felt confident in contending with the young man and his sword as well as anything else he might have concealed on his person.