Horseman, Pass By!
[Editor’s Note: I know that y’all figured out the meaning behind that last little story (being such highly intelligent not to mention attractive readers), but just for the heck of it here is the C.O.’s explanation. Now git, cawse I’m fixin’ to go dreckly to supper!]
Once upon a time there was a woman who delivered her first child as a teenager. Fortunately this was not a hindrance to her entering a life blessed by marriage, family and work. The woman was well liked by her co-workers and customers, but based on the frequent visits she made to doctors, life seemed to be only tolerable for her - no more. She complained frequently of various ailments and by the time middle age appeared her medicine cabinet was brimming with attempted solutions. Somewhere between the ages of 55 and 65, when millions of Americans are most vulnerable to finding themselves without health insurance, her luck ran out. Just as her coverage lapsed she was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. Her physicians ignored her uninsured status and gave her the best treatment available for her malignancy anyway. They also reflected a little on her past, as physicians are wont to do, and perhaps cast a cold eye on life, on death as they chronicled her lifestyle choices over time. The listing was a dour one, not likely to bring accolades to the individual who boasted of it to their doctor, to wit:
She smoked cigarettes for 40 years.
She was morbidly overweight, and sans-souci about it.
She developed diabetes, but didn’t put much faith into controlling her blood sugar level.
Her cholesterol and triglyceride levels went through the roof, but no repairs were made in case of rain.
One by one her major joints eroded into unrecognizable junctions reminding the doctors of rock formations jutting out against the sky of the old West.
No eyebrows were raised when her list of medications showed that narcotics and benzodiazepines were frequent companions on her journey toward old age.
Despite this her doctors mapped out a plan to improve her breathing, to put her tumor into remission, to protect her from high blood sugars - to help her live her life. They were determined to make something good happen.
The cancer was determined, too, and it had the advantage over the doctors - not just guile, not just sedulousness, not just cruelty.
It held illimitable dominion over all.
When the tumor finally began to break her body down, she revolted against her caregivers. No one knew for sure how much of her behavior was due to the side-effects of morphine versus her personality, but in the end she accused them all of neglecting her. Her last few weeks were galling, a discordant symphony of antagonism that boiled away pity and, having fired all of her previous physicians, left her in the hands of strangers.
One Saturday a hand turned the pages of the local newspaper while the other held a quiet mug of coffee. A name was read out loud and a sudden wave of memories spilled over the table, bringing the morning to a halt. Only the silent ticking of the clock inside the mind was heard, until the pages rustled and once more the earth resumed its ancient voyage.
