While Rudy and I were in Florida visiting Chris and his family we decided to visit Daytona Beach, about 150 miles away, across the state.
Chris offered his car and we set out early on a crisp morning, MapQuest in hand.
“Just use the GPS,” Chris said.
“That’s okay son. We can find our way without it.”
“Well if you need it, use it.”
Rudy and I were feeling pretty secure about finding Daytona Beach, no problem. After all, we are of the generation that didn’t have a GPS to depend on. We used maps and always got where we were going. Besides, how difficult could it be? It looked like a straight shot on I-4, past the dog track and International Speedway. Piece of cake.
The first mistake we made was just 2 blocks away from their house. We went left instead of right and nothing made sense after that. We ended up by the beach and knew we were going the wrong way. We were laughing when we stopped at the first minimart to ask directions. After all, we are of the generation that asks directions if we lose our way.
We bought a couple of snacks and took off again… left instead of right. The next minimart was only a couple of miles away, thank goodness. The lady who gave us directions was very thorough. “Go right on County Road 99 which is also Pinehurst and go south toward Main Street, then turn left on Main Street which is also FL-580.”
This time we turned right. “Why is every street also called something else?” I asked Rudy. “There honey,” I said pointing. “Take County Road 99 and turn left on Pinehurst.” Seems we should have turned right on Pinehurst.
We got gas at the next minimart where we learned we had been driving for 45 minutes and were still in Tampa. I looked at the GPS. “We don’t need to use this thing, do we?”
“No, no,” Rudy said, “we got off to a false start but we’re okay. We just have to find I-4.”
“I-4? I thought that last guy said ‘I-75.”
“Yes. I-75 to I-95 North and then straight on to Daytona Beach.”
“Then in that case according to MapQuest, we turn left here.”
You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find I-4. I eyed the GPS and wondered but by now we had become determined and very stubborn. A couple more minimarts, a few more gallons of gas and we found I-4. It was a straight shot from there and we were very proud of ourselves. We rolled into Daytona Beach 5 1/2 hours later without using the GPS. It’s a 3 hour drive.
The way back seemed easy enough. All we had to do was reverse the order in which we came. How hard could that be? We were doing fine on I-4 when Rudy spotted a Cracker Barrel off the freeway, to the right. He knew I wanted to eat there so he whisked us off I-4 quicker than you could blink an eye. The problem is things seen from the freeway are not necessarily where they appear to be and we now appeared to be in Universal Studios. Restaurants to the right of us, restaurants to the left of us but no Cracker Barrel. We went back around to the freeway and yep! There it was! Back through Universal Studios we went but there was no Cracker Barrel to be seen. We stopped at a gas station (yes, I looked at the GPS but I didn’t say anything.) “Go down to the twin towers and it’s right behind them,” said our friendly clerk. To tell the absolute truth we were getting ready to give up 30 minutes later when we found it quite by accident.
We ate dinner, relaxed, shopped a little then hit the road, full of mac and cheese and proud of ourselves. We didn’t need that GPS. “We’ll be home in an hour or so,” Rudy said.
Once again we turned left when we should have turned right, or maybe it was right when we should have turned left and found ourselves on a toll road we had never seen before. It was late, we were tired and Rudy was hoarse. He was coming down with a cold. I cast a jaundiced eye at the GPS. I had no faith in it but we had been gone all day and we needed to get home. I considered it for just a moment but quickly changed my mind.
The lady in the minimart was very patient as I wrote down her directions. “Turn left at McDonald’s, go three red lights, turn left on Hillsborough Avenue and straight into Pinellas County.” I relayed the information to Rudy but not in quite the way it was told to me. At least that’s what we think happened.
About 11:30 I called Chris’ wife, Jill.
“We are at the corner of “This and That,’” I said. “Where do we go now?”
“Oh Mamazita, I don’t know where that intersection is. Here, talk to your son”
“Mother?” He was hoarse and sounded as if he didn’t feel very well; kind of like he was coming down with a cold. .
“Yes Boy?”
“Turn ON the GPS and punch in HOME!”
At that point I gave up being stubborn and turned on the GPS. I hit home and two minutes later we pulled into the driveway, tired and no longer so determined and proud. Yes, we are proud members of the generation that got around without a GPS and we are now of the generation that uses a GPS. Ours goes with us everywhere we go. .
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Rudy
March 9, 2010
Everything in the universe has a measurement. Stars are closer to, farther from earth, people are taller than, shorter than, rain is harder than, softer than, houses are larger than, smaller than. The cancer cells that have invaded Rudy’s body have a scale all their own. His score is six and that’s “mildly aggressive;” better than moderately or highly aggressive but cancer, nonetheless.
“You’ve got the good kind of cancer “Dr. Reisinger said.
I had no idea there is a good kind of cancer and besides, this is my husband we’re talking about. Let her use the term “good cancer” on her husband. Suddenly I experience a curious dreamlike silence and a white hot stone lodges itself in the center of my chest. I do not look at Rudy but stare at Dr. Reisinger as if listening intently. My mind is traveling randomly at warp speed. “What do we do now?” “How could this happen?” “We have only been married 4 months!” “This is too soon!” “We have not had enough time together to have to deal with this!” “Can we work as a team?” “Is he scared?” “Does he know I’m scared?”
“…think since we see the same results with surgery and radiation, radiation is probably your best choice but the decision is yours.” I realize I have tuned back in to Dr. Resinger.
“What do you think?” Rudy asks.
Me? I surprise myself by speaking. “I think we should go with the radiation.” What? Where did that come from? Who am I to have an opinion?
“I agree,” he says. That’s what we’ll do. Set it up doctor. I’m ready.”
I leave Dr Reisinger’s office feeling as if I have just watched a movie entitled, “Rudy and Kate Discuss Cancer with Dr. Reisinger.” I do not feel as if what had just happened is real but I feel more profoundly Rudy’s wife than I have in the four months we have been married.
March 30, 2010
The people in the waiting room of the oncologist’s office are a group. They speak words not yet in my vocabulary. They talk about losing their hair, fatigue, nausea. The man in the black watch cap seems restless; he walks from one end of the room to the other and changes his seat only to get up and do it again. The woman with the short black hair says she cannot have radiation today because she still has staples in her head. The man next to her says he feels cold but at least he’s not nauseous today. To my left there is a wig catalogue. I move closer to Rudy, put my arm through his. I don’t want us to be part of this group. I don’t want us to be in this room. I want us to be outside in the sunshine. The door opens and a nurse calls his name. He walks through the door alone. I am not allowed near the equipment. The cancer cells have separated us for the first time and I miss my husband.
March 31, 2010
Albert, from the oncologist’s office calls. He says Dr. Reisinger is not pleased with yesterday’s CT scan and Rudy must have another. I call Rudy at work and ask when he is available. “Not in the morning,” he says. “I have to be at work in the morning.” He sounds irritable, short. I have never heard my husband like this. I call Albert and tell him to schedule Rudy for tomorrow afternoon.
Rudy is home for lunch at one. “I want to ask you something,” he says.
“Sure.”
“Is it normal for me to be angry about having cancer?”
Oh, my gentle husband. I feel angry too.
Everything in the universe has a measurement. Stars are closer to, farther from earth, people are taller than, shorter than, rain is harder than, softer than, houses are larger than, smaller than. The cancer cells that have invaded Rudy’s body have a scale all their own. His score is six and that’s “mildly aggressive;” better than moderately or highly aggressive but cancer, nonetheless.
“You’ve got the good kind of cancer “Dr. Reisinger said.
I had no idea there is a good kind of cancer and besides, this is my husband we’re talking about. Let her use the term “good cancer” on her husband. Suddenly I experience a curious dreamlike silence and a white hot stone lodges itself in the center of my chest. I do not look at Rudy but stare at Dr. Reisinger as if listening intently. My mind is traveling randomly at warp speed. “What do we do now?” “How could this happen?” “We have only been married 4 months!” “This is too soon!” “We have not had enough time together to have to deal with this!” “Can we work as a team?” “Is he scared?” “Does he know I’m scared?”
“…think since we see the same results with surgery and radiation, radiation is probably your best choice but the decision is yours.” I realize I have tuned back in to Dr. Resinger.
“What do you think?” Rudy asks.
Me? I surprise myself by speaking. “I think we should go with the radiation.” What? Where did that come from? Who am I to have an opinion?
“I agree,” he says. That’s what we’ll do. Set it up doctor. I’m ready.”
I leave Dr Reisinger’s office feeling as if I have just watched a movie entitled, “Rudy and Kate Discuss Cancer with Dr. Reisinger.” I do not feel as if what had just happened is real but I feel more profoundly Rudy’s wife than I have in the four months we have been married.
March 30, 2010
The people in the waiting room of the oncologist’s office are a group. They speak words not yet in my vocabulary. They talk about losing their hair, fatigue, nausea. The man in the black watch cap seems restless; he walks from one end of the room to the other and changes his seat only to get up and do it again. The woman with the short black hair says she cannot have radiation today because she still has staples in her head. The man next to her says he feels cold but at least he’s not nauseous today. To my left there is a wig catalogue. I move closer to Rudy, put my arm through his. I don’t want us to be part of this group. I don’t want us to be in this room. I want us to be outside in the sunshine. The door opens and a nurse calls his name. He walks through the door alone. I am not allowed near the equipment. The cancer cells have separated us for the first time and I miss my husband.
March 31, 2010
Albert, from the oncologist’s office calls. He says Dr. Reisinger is not pleased with yesterday’s CT scan and Rudy must have another. I call Rudy at work and ask when he is available. “Not in the morning,” he says. “I have to be at work in the morning.” He sounds irritable, short. I have never heard my husband like this. I call Albert and tell him to schedule Rudy for tomorrow afternoon.
Rudy is home for lunch at one. “I want to ask you something,” he says.
“Sure.”
“Is it normal for me to be angry about having cancer?”
Oh, my gentle husband. I feel angry too.
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