| Author: |
Hugh MacDonald |
| Dated: |
Tuesday, February 01 2005 @ 06:50 PM EST |
| Viewed: |
4743 times |
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Kirk felt the sudden cough and helped it along to clear his chest. Phlegm fell from his mouth and he caught it in his hand. Kirk looked up and into the face of his daughter, Krystal with a K, and saw a mixture of heartbreak and disgust. Phlegm speckled with blood is never a pretty sight.
Everyday Kirk felt the disease steal its way into new unchartered territory in its quest for the ultimate goal, much like Franklin’s search for the Northwest Passage, plodding slowly but with purpose. Soon they would have to hire a nurse to provide his care, as his strength was ebbing from his body, and his legs had great difficulty supporting his skeletal frame. He had been a big man, six two, two fifty, and even the frame of a man that size, with skin stretched to cover, was too much for Krystal to lift. Besides he didn’t want her dealing with toilet and bath issues. It just wasn’t right. A nurse would have to be hired and money allocated from their rapidly depleting funds. The insurance company had found a loop hole to limit his plan. They would only pay a portion of the nursing care and there was a limit on the amount of medication that could be covered in a calendar year.
“Krystal, don’t worry, I’m fine,” Kirk called out, trying to reassure his daughter.
“I don’t have to go, Daddy. I can call Mary and cancel,” Krystal said.
“Listen, Princess, I really am fine. I plan to putter around the house all day and maybe watch a movie. And, if your mother hasn’t hid it all, I might have a beer or two,” Kirk said, trying to sound conspiratorial. “Besides, I got your cell phone number, so if I get lonely I’ll call. Be prepared for several phone calls.”
Krystal laughed and hugged her father. She didn’t know that he had called Mary to get her out for the day with her friends.
Closing the door behind Krystal, Kirk felt what little energy he had quickly drain from him. He held on to the doorknob, watching as his knuckles turned chalk white. The wave of nausea swept over him. Thank God for the downstairs bathroom, he thought.
Kirk dreaded the act of vomiting. The vigorous straining even caused severe pain in his prostate, which was no longer there. He readied himself before the toilet bowl, hoping he wouldn’t still be there when Arlene or Krystal got home – better Arlene than Krystal, Kirk thought. To his amazement, after belching, he felt better than he had for quite a while -- time, of course, being relative.
He stared at the toilet bowl and celebrated his victory. Not having to assume a kneeling position in front of the porcelain throne was definitely a triumph. Dr. Onca had advised him there was a chance the nausea would subside now that the chemo treatments had run their course. She had made it clear that the opposite was just as likely.
“Don’t be surprised if the nausea remains a daily occurrence,” she had added.
Kirk had picked up on her name the first day he’d gone to see her. A deep, primitive hope stirred in him, taking her name, Onca, as a good omen--Dr. Onca, head of the Oncology Unit. He wanted to believe that she would be his guardian angel and somehow deliver him from this dreaded disease. He marveled at the new found spirituality he’d embraced since becoming ill. He had to admit the prayers had brought a sense of peace; there are no atheists in the fox holes.
The ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. A wry grin spread across his face and he hurried to answer it. “Hello Krystal with a K,” Kirk said, noting the unknown name, unknown number in the display window of the phone, assuming she’d called on her cell. He expected her to call, but she’d only been gone for under an hour.
“Mr. Plena? Kirk Plena?” the voice asked.
“Yes, this is Mr. Plena. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Roger. I’m with Better Health, and I have excellent news for you. After reviewing your claim, it appears we were in error when we discontinued your medication benefits. We will again be able to offer you full coverage of your pain medication – unlimited, I might add.”
Kirk stared at the phone. Four months ago he had been in excruciating pain and had been informed that he had reached his limit for pain medication for the year. He hadn’t been aware of such a limit when he’d enroled in the plan. He’d had to drop the miracle drug from his regimen. Kirk no longer remembered its name, but the relief it had given him was a blissful memory. He had been forced to go to the over the counter and inexpensive pain prescriptions, pretending for Krystal's and Arlene's sakes that his pain was managed.
“Have you ever had cancer, Roger?” Kirk asked.
“Well, no I ...”
Not caring for the rest of the response after no, Kirk said, “I have just suffered through four months of unbearable pain. The prescription medication had been managing my pain quite adequately when suddenly, Better Health informed me I was no longer covered. I could not go on my wife’s plan because of my preexisting condition. I pleaded my case to a supervisor and was told I could appeal, but that the policy clearly stated I’d reached my limit. You know what Roger? I didn’t appeal, because I believed that someone suffering from this dreaded disease would not be refused their medication unless the claim had been gone over with a fine tooth comb. You’ll pardon my less than exuberant response to the news. Has my medication card been reactivated?”
“Yes,” Roger answered.
Kirk hung up the phone. He knew it was petty and quite possibly not Roger’s fault, but he felt good ending the conversation on his terms.
A sudden rain shower flowed from the heavens. He was glad Krystal was on her way to a Mall and not an outdoor event. The pounding on the roof from the rain was followed by the anticipated claps of thunder. Kirk walked to the window. A darkened sky greeted him as sheets of rain fell like archers’ arrows. He drew in a deep breath moments before the first chain of lightning split the clouds.
Against better judgement, Kirk pulled open the door and walked out into the onslaught. For a full five minutes the rain came in torrents, soaking him. He raised his arms and let the rain wash over him, freeing his mind; he felt totally alive as he pushed his sparse hair back on his forehead. The rain ended as abruptly as it had started. The late summer rain was welcomed, but Kirk knew more was needed. Kirk took another deep breath, tasting and smelling the ozone simultaneously. He laughed out loud.
“God that was awesome! Totally awesome,” Kirk said, as if in a thanksgiving prayer.
His clothes were drenched, but Kirk made no effort to go inside. The warm sun prevented a chill. He watched steam rise from the parched soil. Kirk walked to the picnic table and sat down. His eyes followed the winding road that led to town and a world he no longer felt part of. It had been months since he’d set out down the road except for trips to the hospital which bypassed the town. Kirk looked about his surroundings. He had spent his life here. The land purchased by his parents before he’d been born; he’d come along just as the finishing touches were being done to the house. Kirk’s mother joked that his father had gone home to put a second coat of paint on the nursery walls and had missed being at the hospital for his birth.
The house was fifty-five years old, as was he. He loved the old home, a Cape Cod, but the five acres, overlooking four hundred feet of Atlantic coastline, was priceless. Had been priceless, but reality is brutal. He had recently had it appraised at just under a half million dollars and had been told he could get almost double on the Internet. Kirk knew Arlene might have to sell once...if anything happened to him.
Krystal had told him he had to speak in positive terms if he was ever to get better. Her eyes pleaded with him to get better, willing him to do so. God! How he loved her spirit. She had come along at a time when most men were anticipating becoming a grandfather.
His son, Brent, was thirty-two with a ten year old son and a newborn baby girl. Brent and he were close, and talked daily on the phone. Brent lived in Vermont, which was several hours and a country away from Cape Breton. Nova Scotia had become a tourist province, and the island of Cape Breton rivaled any scenery in the country with its rugged shorelines and meandering mountains. Brent had met and married Marlie while attending the University of Vermont, and Kirk knew he would never return to the island for anything more than a visit.
Krystal was the intended recipient of the land and house, but that was supposed to happen in another ten years or so. He didn’t know if Arlene could manage the place once...if he was gone.
He walked to the swing under the old maple tree. The branches would soon lose their leaves;they would first change colour, then fall to the ground with the help of a late October gale. For now, they provided shade as he took a seat in the swing. Only a light creaking sound was made as the swing accepted his weight. He felt the wood seat press painfully against his thin buttocks and adjusted his weight in search of comfort. Kirk had built the swing just after Krystal’s birth. It doubled as a rocking chair, and it allowed the three of them to sit together and let the cares of the world drift away.
A warm breeze swept across the ocean, bringing the salt air with it. It struck Kirk chest high and he breathed it deeply into his lungs. He wished he’d brought the cordless phone with him, as he planned to stay outdoors for awhile. His newfound strength, he feared, might elude him if he walked back to the house. He straightened his watch that had slipped to the other side of his wrist. He had been meaning to take a few links from it, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Time had less importance when the time you were living on seemed borrowed. Kirk pushed the thought away. He must have positive thoughts or old Krystal with a K would be disappointed. He wished he’d been the one to have come up with the moniker. It had happened quite by accident, but it had stuck....
Five year old Krystal had been excited her first day of school. Her school bag was filled with everything she would need for a week and she had insisted on making her own lunch. She had brushed Arlene and Kirk’s faces with her lips as she hurried to her seat. She didn’t turn to her parents for support, but kept her eyes ahead and listened intently to her teacher, as she asked the children’s names. There were five rows of desks and the teacher went from the front to the back of each row, writing the names of the children on the blackboard as they stood and announced who they were. When Krystal’s turn came, the teacher wrote Crystal on the blackboard. Krystal turned to her parents and shook her head. She stood up from her desk and walked with resolve to the front of the class.
“Excuse me Miss,” Krystal said. She had taken a piece of chalk from her school bag and now proceeded to write her name on the blackboard. When she was finished, she announced, “That’s my name, Krystal.
“Oh, I see. Krystal with a K,” the teacher said, smiling.
“Yes, that’s right Miss. Krystal with a K.” She turned and walked back to her desk.
Kirk smiled at the recollection. Krystal had filled the void he felt when Brent went to Vermont the following year. She had been a welcomed, unexpected arrival. Although he and Arlene were lonely for Brent, they were busy caring for a toddler. Kirk remembered she had only taken a few steps before Brent had left. He was more an uncle to Krystal than a brother.
The warm breeze enveloped Kirk and the rhythmic rocking of the swing caused him to drop off to sleep. He awoke a short time later, his chin resting on his chest. He lifted his head slowly, hearing each vertebrae pop as his head came to mid-line. The rain clouds had blown to the north. Blue sky was everywhere. Kirk felt a smile stretch his mouth. He was having a great day. First the rain, followed by the warm breeze.
The swing’s pace increased as he pumped his legs. His joints groaned and screeched in protest, indicating a thorough oiling was needed. He stopped pumping his legs and felt the swing slow and settle back to the easy rhythmic motion. Kirk inhaled deeply. A prayer escaped his lips, seemingly without thought. Today had brought about a peace he didn’t know was missing. He rose from the swing and, with renewed purpose, walked toward the house. Whatever time he had left, he would, whenever possible, spend it outdoors.
Kirk watched as Arlene’s car came into view. He rose to greet her as she hurried from the car. “Supper’s on,” he said, taking her briefcase from her hand. She smiled as she saw the single lighted candle in the centre of the table. He walked her to her chair and, in that short distance, resolved that he would live whatever time he had left.
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Loved the story, especially the scenery descriptions. I would write "I'm your number one fan", but that is just kinda creepy. Melissa MacLeod
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Melissa MacLeod