Chivalrous S**t: Or—The Bad Example *Some* of Us Set in Weaverville Today

Because some of my friends have been so kind as to chauffer me around on some of my longer trips, I saw fit today to return the favor. JC and Dave needed some help in shuttling for today’s Trinity raft trip, so I gladly obliged. My job was to go swap out a 2-seater sports car for my car, and pick them all up back in Weaverville when they returned in the van.

I loaded my phone, laptop, etc., and got on the road, with yet another friend, Amy. The whole trip was going swimmingly well as we made all the appointed stops.  I was able to blow through some work on my laptop, and stay abreast of email, etc. When I was a kid in Shingletown, much of my time growing up was spent without a telephone of any kind. It’s hard for me to put myself back in that time and understand how we got along. My cell phone is a permanent appendage now.

When everyone met back up in Weaverville, I ran a few errands, including a stop in the courthouse. Bonus there—I FINALLY made it through the metal detector without setting it off, having rid myself of wig, underwires, jewelry, and shoes. Go me.

After exiting the building, I walked down the main drag and met up with my friends for lunch. I enjoy dining in Weaverville just because of the close knit feel of every place in town. It’s like a good friend’s mom is in every kitchen fixing up a meal just for us.

Upon filling all our bellies, we walked out to the parking lot to begin our trek back to Redding. Just as we were rearranging gear in the car to accommodate the extra people, my cell phone rang.

“I have the doctor on the line. Is this a good time to speak with you?” Some faceless soul asked me. She told me her name, but given everything else that transpired in the conversation, her moniker is a buried memory. Her voice though, the echo of it is burned into my brain.

I motioned to my companions and wandered under the shade of a large oak-like tree, dropping myself to the base of the tree’s broad trunk. One of the things I like about my doctor is that he’s direct and to the point. With tactical and technical precision, it took him less than three minutes to make my body physically deflate and fill with that brand of fear and dread that makes one think that their innards have just emulsified to pure liquid. It wasn’t until I finished with the call that I realized I was crying, or that my friends were all gathered near me.

Someone said, “OMG, what’s wrong??”

Someone else, who shall remain N*amy*less (oops!) said, “Dude, can’t you tell? She just found out that her s**t’s all f**ked up!”

What made that comment so hilarious is that I’ve never in all the years I’ve known the woman heard her say so much as ‘darn’ or ‘shucks’, let alone s**t or f**k. I laughed.

While I was laughing, Dave said, “So, you still have cancer?”

I laughed again, not because of what Dave said, but because I was still thinking about what Amy said, and trying to decide if I should classify it as a cute-yet-inappropriate euphemism, or considering the exact nature of my current circumstances, a deeply sardonic metaphor. My mind is a strange place, I know.

Before I could even fully finish that thought, I heard a big smack as JC threw a punch at Dave, saying, “She doesn’t HAVE cancer, you moron. She’s kickin’ it’s ASS!”

As Dave swung back, both men fell to the ground and began that peculiar wrestling between males that seems so odd to me. I began to laugh again, tears still streaming down my face. Everyone turned and looked at me.

Points to JC for so fully investing in my vision. Demerits to both boys for hitting a friend. Violence solves nothing, so said Ghandi, MLK, and ME.

At that point, it seemed as if we’d all been sucked into a vacuum. I didn’t hear the traffic from the highway, the breeze in the trees, or anything at all. For just a moment, I felt like JC had swung and landed that punch by proxy, for the damnable way I felt as the words of the doctor filtered through my brain.

“Am I supposed to be honored that the two of you are fist-to-cuffs over my ‘shit’? How chivalrous!”

Somehow, as the sarcasm oozed, I felt the life begin to creep back into me, as if now there was more adequate room for it.

Slowly, as the shock wore off, I stood up, dusted myself off and said, “The mission hasn’t changed. Just the length of time required to accomplish it.”

As we drove back to Redding, I began dealing with tactical details—scheduling additional doctor appointments, extending medical coverage, strategizing over how to traverse another month of treatment.

Honestly, the fear only lasted but a split second. What I think I initially succumbed to, was just disappointment. I had been so hopeful that I would be done on Monday. I had put my faith to work and made plans—sky diving weekend, house hunting, etc.

This is far from the first time in life I’ve suffered a large-scale disappointment, and it’s sure not to be my last. I refuse to stay mired in that setback, though. The things I’d planned will keep until I’m done with this phase of life.

I’m choosing instead to embrace the opportunities before me. I have the chance now to discover how much greater a degree of endurance I possess within me. I have the option of prevailing through the unexpected. I have the privilege of continuing to learn to live life in ways I’d never considered.

Since my locks will be ‘vacationing elsewhere’ longer than I’d anticipated, I think I’m gonna go ahead and find one of those shirts that says, “I’m too sexy for my hair.”

I think I’m gonna continue taking advantage of the opportunity to write.

I think I'm gonna continue enjoying the scope and focus of the work I'm doing, because for whatever reason, its is a huge component of sustaining my good outlook through all this.

I think (KNOW) I’m gonna drink some really great wine tonight.

And all the rest of my ‘shit’ can take a holiday while I continue to kick ass like a ninja, because that’s what I’m gonna do. For another 30 days. Or however long it takes.