Joshua Wilner

A Writer Writes

Me

What’s Up Doc

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“We’re going to have to take your blood pressure again because technically I can’t pass you. Are you under any stress now? Put your ear buds in and take a few deep breaths.”

I nod my head, put on some tunes and a few moments later my BP has dropped significantly.

“Mr. Wilner, that is much better. I am not supposed to say anything, but your doctor may still think that is too high. You should make an appointment soon.”

Eight months later I haven’t been to see the doc yet but I have been told that I have traumatic arthritis in my right index finger.

For some reason every time I say that I want to make like Bill Murray and say I got that going for me, which is nice.

So gunga galunga to me.

One Hell Of a Piece

Sir Paul is singing and I am thinking my body Walt didn’t intend for me to apply the quote above to me.

That is ok, he is dead and I am not so he can’t complain.

Or maybe he can, maybe the ghost of Walt Whitman will come haunt me. That ought to be interesting and good for my attempts at writing poetry.

So if I hear a knocking at the door I’ll Let ‘Em In.

In the interim I am wondering when Major Tom stopped being able to hear me and what that felt like.

If I believe the man with the white hair the good major was/is fearless and responsible for making sure his job was safe.

Got no reason not to believe it so I shall and I do but it doesn’t change certain things.

The hole and deafening silence are ever present and I find myself repeatedly testing them to confirm nothing has changed.

I suppose what is funny is knowing the last line of defense is gone and never coming back. Funny in the sense that I imagine things in very physical terms so that last line of defense has been me for years except I always felt like if I stumbled there was one more person.

Didn’t need perfection, just had to live the as good as I once was…once philosophy.

*****

Certain pieces I have listened to a million times before make more sense than ever before and yet nothing does.

Castles in The Air reach out to me and I see myself walking through the old neighborhood, another seventies kid facing backwards in the family station wagon on another family road trip.

I feel words rustling under the surface of my mind knowing if I dear to set them free I’ll either come up with some awful mess of a post or something that brings tears to your eyes.

The question isn’t can I, but will I and the answer is I don’t know.

Don’t know what to say or do or if I care.

What’s Up Doc

I don’t have a doctor here yet but I have the name of one that I think I might try.

Don’t really want to want to walk in and hear the list of things they suggest I ought to stop doing or the list of things I ought to do.

Don’t want to do more than rely upon a belief in good genetics and an iron will to get me through whatever comes.

That is not a smart way of handling things nor what I advocate others do but when I wake up at 3 AM and walk around the house it feels like I have enough to be concerned about now.

Feels like I can tell life we’re taking a time out regarding my crap so I can focus on helping others.

Someone asked me if I feel like I got a knife in the back and I said yeah.

“They kicked me in the balls so hard they might be in my throat and then for good measure they punched me in the throat.

Under normal circumstances it would make me angry and as soon as I caught my breath I would do my best to return the favor ten fold.

But now, not so much.

Now I kind of feel like sitting in my recliner or lying down on the floor to stare at the ceiling.

The blur doesn’t feel so blurry and the weight is rolling out upon me.

Eventually I’ll shrug my shoulders and make Atlas wonder how I do it, but I am not quite there yet which is why I don’t really feel like seeing the doc.

Doesn’t mean I won’t or that I can’t now, but it does mean I’d like to wait before some white coat decides to shove a camera near my nether regions.

For now I’d prefer that camera see a sign that says never region but that probably won’t happen.

Screw This Club

A few have welcomed me to this club I never wanted to join and whose membership I don’t need.

Some have said I ought to just suck it up and not complain or cry because it is not what men do and I ignore them.

The man who is most responsible for teaching me what men do isn’t here to consult with so all they have is my interpretation of his words.

They go something like “go fuck yourself off or they can go fuck themselves” or a million other versions of such a line.

Hell, the other men on both sides of my line would say the same thing and cheer me on for doing so.

Or so my interpretation of their words go.

But the reality is when it comes to the elders of my line I am it. I am the eldest.

I know I keep saying and writing about it but it feels so strange to me.

I am like Ralph in The Greatest American Hero. I got the suit but no instructions on how to use it so I am trying not to fly into any walls.

Those crashes always hurt, but now the hurt takes longer to fade.

What Does Cancer Do To Your Life…

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I have been struck by lightning more than once and if I were a better story teller I’d start with one of three songs…maybe.

Maybe being the operative word because I might pick from a bunch of others.

Except I can’t tell you I would choose anyone of those over any other or that I wouldn’t take an entirely different tack than what you see in those.

That is what happens when you are walking across an ice floe where you are not certain of your footing on the big or the small pieces.

Add the contradiction of my nature to charge ahead and adjust on the fly with the more cautious side that holds back.

Cuz the root of the issue is tied into knowing for damn certain that my gut is spot on and knowing that there is a mine field ahead and I haven’t a clue where the mines lay.

What Does Cancer Do To Your Life…

The docs told us a series of similar but slightly different tales about my dad’s diagnosis. I listened carefully and did my best to ask smart questions but wondered if my overall ignorance prevented me from asking the right question.

It reminded me of staring a chalkboard filled with equations knowing that I hadn’t studied enough to know what I was looking at cold but that I was smart enough to figure it out.

Except the consequences of not knowing and just winging it here are more severe.

I can’t rely upon being a super spy who always finds a way.

I want to listen to M and say I understand doing battle in the shadows and quote poetry that inspires because it is applicable and sound.

If I can’t rely upon my wits and educated guess to help dad get the best treatment I can do other things to help him.

I can remind him that at a hair short of 75 he may not be the same physical presence he once was but that doesn’t remove that hardass, refuse to yield mentality.

Once More Into The Breach

The docs, friends and family tell me chemo can and probably will do a bunch of things.

If it works it will stop the cancer from spreading and growing. Hell, it might even cause a tumor to shrink.

It will also do things to dad’s immune system and make him a little woolly headed at time.

“Josh, you know the cancer might not be the thing that kills him. There are other things that can happen.”

“I am grateful for that happy note. Are we talking about falling down the stairs, getting hit by a bus or taking a foul ball to the head at a Dodger game.”

My attitude doesn’t generate as big a smile as one might hope, hell it doesn’t manufacture any sort of smile.

If this were a movie about relationships she would tell me that I just talked myself out of makeup sex and I would say good,  “I refuse to have it with you.”

Or something like that, hard to say how it would go because I don’t know what I am going to say until I say it or do I.

Some people disagree with that and claim I always know and that I am a troll. I would say master baiter but some of you have filthy minds and would blame me.

You might be the same people who think it is ok for the president to talk about people with sleepy eyes and shit hole countries but refuse to give a comic the same license for lunacy.

****

Dad takes my hand and pulls himself up to a standing position.

“Dad, if you want me to carry you to the car I can do it.”

A few months earlier that would have earned a hard look and maybe a cheap shot. Let’s not forget the words, no let’s not forget the words that would accompany it.

When he lets me get away with it I know he really is tired. I understand but was hoping to get some fire from him.

Still the strength in his arms makes me feel a little bit better. Cancer may be waging a war but he hasn’t given in yet.

Later on I listen to his breathing while I drive and think how familiar the sound of his sleeping is.

It reminds me of conversations with my kids.

Sometimes they claim to have caught me sleeping on the couch or a chair.

“I am not sleeping.”

“Dad! You are snoring. The whole world can hear you!”

“I was faking it.”

“No way, we know what you sound like.”

They are right, they do just as I know exactly what my dad sounds like when he sleeps.

One Million Words

If the story from well above this paragraph was to be told it might also include this song as the narrator described how the typewriter was used for a one million word love story.

“Our heroes began as pen pals who didn’t exchange pictures until they had written 250,000 words about who they were, what they thought and what they hoped their lives would become.

Little did they know they would fall more in love than they had ever thought possible, especially when they had no idea what the other looked like.”

It would go on and paint a many layered painting that would provide depth and understanding while setting the stage for significant challenges because nothing that comes easy is valued.

Or something like that.

Maybe the story would include a series of covers of the same songs because it might provide a way to advance the story while the music conveyed different emotions.

Could be fun to go through the music and try to figure out what songs would be appropriate and it could be crazy making.

****

The telephone rings and I don’t need Caller ID to know who is on the other side.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and say hello.

I make a few promises and listen to some others and talk about hard decisions and focus upon what has to be done.

Doesn’t matter what we do the hourglass never stops running and it wouldn’t matter if there was no cancer.

It would still run.

More time has passed and now I wonder if maybe one or both of these should be included too.

I  don’t know when the gun went off for this part of the race but I know the runners are ahead of me and I am driven to try to catch them.

Might not matter if I catch them but it matters that I try.

That is what cancer does.

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Streetlife

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“There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.”Ansel Adams

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