My “I’m Gettin’ Cured” Song, Plus the Tale of Sam and Someone Else's Car (Namely, Mine)
Today I got up and realized this is my first day of getting cured! I got up and starting singing my “I’m Gettin’ Cured!” Song.
Here’s a link. https://www.dropbox.com/s/eov42jthl5zzt39/20211025-083123.m4a?dl=0
Which I just made up. I sent it to some of you earlier I have to re-record it, though.
I walked into the kitchen singing it and the look of horror on Sam’s face (my cousin’s husband) made me realize he is not quite ready to be a supporting actor in “Kate Gets Cured, The Musical.”
He also not ready for me to put my tips for dealing with radiation side effects on the refrigerator, my cousin told me.
It’s stuff like:
Hydrate, Hydrate, Hydrate!
Keep Your Weight Up!
“Even if I put flowers and butterflies around it?” I said.
“Especially not,” she said. “Maybe your bathroom mirror?” She said.
There is also the way we Rices load the dishwasher. Let’s just say, it’s the wrong way. A whole slew of Rices has already been through here, so Sam knows it's a family trait.
Now Sam works at home a lot. I am having my car delivered from Salt Lake. And fate would have it, the only person who can take delivery of the car is, you got it, Sam. That's because I am at the clinic all day,and Sarah had to go to the office, and another brother is about to arrive who could help is still on a plane flying to Houston.
I really thought it all be fine.
"I'll leave the cash on your desk," I said.
“How much am I paying your drug dealer again?” he kept asking.
Now accepting delivery of a car is a much bigger deal than you'd think. Because it involves convincing a guy (Gryan, rhymes with Bryan but spelled with a G) driving an 80-foot truck to drop off a car that is not related to you (if you're Sam) on a narrow tree-lined street. Gryan does not want to drive an 80-foot truck filled with other people's car down a treelined street because the branches will scratch the other cars.
So Sam offers the guy the option of parking in a nearby church.
I am watching all of this through the text exchanges between Gryan and Sam, while I sit in between appointments at MD Anderson. Sarah is texting me and saying I may have to Lyft home to pick up the car. I watch the texts.
Text exchanges always make conversations look terse.
I pack up stuff to get ready to call a cab.
And then, a text from Sam.
"It is done," he says. It sounds a bit ominous. But the car is now parked in front of Sarah and Sam's house.
Later, I hear how the truck driver just parked his 80-foot truck in the middle of a major artery that is far too narrow to be a major artery. It basically blocks traffic. Sam is the only guy other drivers can see. So, to a driver stuck by a big truck, he is the person responsible.
I miss the final conversation because they are face to face.
But it goes something like this.
"What are those scratches?" says Sam.
"Your brother-in-law okayed them."
Sam's brother-in-law had nothing to do with this car. But Gryan thinks I am Sam's sister. What the driver does not know is that this car is Sam's wife's cousin's car. That is a very, very tenuous relationship. The fact that Sam has walked way to handle the delivery of a car that is not related to him shows that he is a really nice guy and also very beleaguered.
Sam calls me.
"If Rob (my brother in Salt Lake) okayed it, it's fine," I say quickly.
Even if Rob didn't actually okay the scratches, I would have said that.
As an entertaining aside, Rob, brother who managed the pick up of the car in Salt Lake is also a very organized guy. He is probably the only Rice would loads dishwashers in a way that makes sense to Sam. In a word, there is a certain synchronicity of victims in this car story.
And let’s not even get into how I cut butter off a butter stick. Fortunately , his late mother-in-law, my Aunt Liz, did the same, so he is used to Rice chaos. Well, used to is probably the wrong word. But he has seen it before.
Some people may think the next six weeks of radiation and chemo might look long. But having Kate Rice and all of my friends, relatives and the occasional puppy descend upon you for six weeks might look even longer to Sam!
Fortunately, he has a large wine cellar.
Meanwhile, I almost fell asleep in the radiation machine. They played nature sounds for me. And it was only 20 minutes. Tomorrow it’ll only be 15.
I love you all!