Nothing Fits

I really needed a java jolt right about now, and this Grande Americano (extra shot) is strong enough to put hair on anyone’s chest. It’s been a rough day.

I’ve only been back at work five days and I’m exhausted already. All the guys are telling me how great I look, rubbing the fuzz on my head “for good luck,” but I see their eyes fall to the left side of my face -- the side I can’t move and don’t feel.

This side effect (no pun intended) of the chemo was not at all what I expected, and waaaay out of my comfort zone. I could deal with the hair loss, even the jaundice, (everyone said I looked tan) but the paralysis is killer. I can’t blink or even close my left eye and, today, on the job, I kept getting grit in it. That can’t be good.

I was on the pile for many brutal days. Even with a mask on, I could feel the smoke and debris filling my nose, and throat as I worked my way through rubble piled so high, it could have bee a skyscraper unto itself. Years later, I could still feel the tightness in my lungs.

Patty has been a rock. And the kids are amazing. But I know this is so hard on them. Molly just got fired for mouthing off to her boss. Emily throws herself into basketball and avoids coming home until late every night. And Sam. Well, Patty and I are so happy he and Katie got married, but I can’t help thinking they rushed it because of me. So I wouldn’t miss it.

Shit! They are not routing calls to me! I told the guys I was fine and could take calls anytime. I’m the friggin’ foreman for chrissake! I’m gonna call. No. Wait. I’m gonna wait. Funny. I’m so used to coming home tired and filthy from the job, but this week I’ve barely broken a sweat. The guys have to stop coddling me! If I can’t work, I can’t support my family, can’t keep my health insurance, can’t do anything. Might as well shoot me now! These new pants (size 36, down from my usual 40) will never get broken in at this rate.

Tomorrow Patty is driving me into the city to Sloan-Kettering for test results. This kind of anticipation is killer. I’ve gotta beat this. Gotta beat it. Say it over and over. My new mantra. The girls need me, even Sam needs me, I think. Mom and Pop look so frail. They don’t say, but I see it in their eyes. They don’t want to outlive their son. And Patty. Well, I think she will be lost without me, just like I would be without her.

Last weekend I looked in my closet and noticed my one good suit came back from the cleaners after Sam’s wedding. It still has the plastic on it. I wonder about the next time I’m gonna put it on. Or have it put on me. Good thing they took it in some.