The Dog Next Door
Five months ago I determined that this would not become a cancer blog. There was nothing interesting to say about the diagnosis, the treatments or my feelings about it. Now, in my second round of chemo, I feel better and can step back a bit. The neuropathy has withdrawn to be a minor tingling in my right foot. My hands are okay; I can write with a ballpoint and my typing is much less dislexic. For what it's worth, this is what I thought about today:
The Dog Next Door
The dog next door has learned a new word. Prone on the ground he goes, “Wortle, wortle, wortle.” I think it means, “Here I am, here I am, here I am.” Other dog words mean, “There you are, there you are, there you are.”
As I sit on my back deck reading, the neighbor dog is my dog, separated only by a fence. I sit on my back deck, the upper level, the south-east corner, out of the sun. The chemicals in my body would make me burn. I mow the lawn in a long sleeved shirt.
I am generally quite confined now. The chemicals in my body would make someone else’s cold my pneumonia. I wear a white mask when I go out; a molded B cup of some kind of pressed paper. A face bra, strung around my ears with elastic. The first days I wore it I felt foolish and self conscious and pitiable. I think that people think that I have some illness that I might give them rather than the other way around. They stare at my nose bra. Lately I care less. Let them look. Wortle, wortle wortle.
posted by Jon @ 11:12 AM
7 comments
7 Comments:
"I think that people think that I have some illness that I might give them rather than the other way around."
You know this is a great observation. Recently, the Florida (and some say Georgia) fires filled the streets of Clearwater with smoke and ash. You know that campfire smoke you get when it rains on your coals. My brother in law joked with every person we talked to that day saying, "Clearwater was seeing more ash than a toilet seat."
Anyway, going into stores there were men and woman all over wearing those same masks. Though I didn't stare I did notice each and everyone of them walking through the parking lots trying to keep smoke and ash from invading their bodies. And I was thinking to myself that this is what the world would look like if the bird flu did actually become a pandemic.
I did not wear a mask and wondered if I would have strapped one one if it had been the bird flu. Would I care enough about my life to not care what others thought.
Hey Jon, just sew a tassel to the bra and twirl it around - it works for dancers, and you are a dancer of sorts. Keep dancing. I love your footwork!
PS Your comment made me get off my hands and write. Thanks!
I actually find the nose bra rather erotic.
Jon, what disturbs me is that we have yet to sit there on a Saturday afternoon and enjoy a televised Tigers' game together. Let me know when you are well enough. I'll supply the ballpark franks and chips.
I'll bring the oxygen!
(No, I really don't need it any more.) Yes, we'll do it...soon.
I've come here hoping that the creativity and some skillz will rub off on me. I'm hoping you're contagious, my friend.
Sharing your experience is nice, I think. Some of the best writing I have read comes from people saying, "This is what it's f*cking like. You've never been in my shoes. Well, hell, sit a spell and let me tell ya' what it's like to walk my walk."
And then a reader or two says, "Man, thank you. I was so scared of that. I was walking around in fear of even going to a doctor. In fact, I realized through reading what you wrote that fear is just a word, something I've been taught and I need to face it."
Cool, man. Thank you, Jon.
There you are.
And we're glad of it.
Hey Jon,
Glad you're out and about, bra or no. I loved this post probably more than any other for its honesty and simplicity. As for writing or not writing about cancer, I think this post did it in a really beautiful way. I admire your resolve -- whenever I say I'm not going to write about something, it turns out to be the only thing I want to write about!
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