“Getting cleaned up”
The other afternoon (Thursday, January 25, 2007) I visited Hairman for the first time this year; the whole shot: permanent, beard-trim, haircut, 60 smackaroos; what I call “getting cleaned up.”
—“Getting cleaned up” because I look like the Wild-Man-of-Borneo before. If it were just a haircut it would be $15.
I’m sure part of the added cost is the beard-trim. I grew a beard so I could discontinue shaving, which was horribly abusive at the time.
I shave about every 10 days — just my neck — and shaving is much less abusive than it was. Without a beard it would be every day or two.
I abstained from blue-rinse or hair-dyeing. Despite the noisy blustering from West Bridgewater, I don’t even know what blue-rinse is. I also don’t slather my hair with Grecian Formula.
Thursday’s visit was a bit challenging, since it was my first since Hairman’s wife Linda was diagnosed with cancer.
“Boy-oh-boy, I sure am glad to see you,” I said, seeing Linda as I walked in.
She looked rather haggard and hollow-eyed, but perhaps the same as last visit when I wasn’t looking.
It’s serious, but at least her doctors consider her a candidate for surgery — i.e. they haven’t thrown up their hands and said “we can’t do anything.”
But Hairman and Linda are scared. My visit was filled with nervous chatter.
Apparently they’d flown to Boston, referred there by her doctors.
But at least it was actually a hospital; unlike the abandoned mini mall where my brother had his vastly superior colonoscopy.
Of course the visit was perfunctory. “I don’t know why we flew out there, at great expense, just to be interviewed?” Hairman said.
“I don’t think I could face that surgery without you at my side, Joseph,” Linda said.
This is not the Linda I’m used to hearing: snide-remarks and back-bites and pot-shots about what a reprehensible person Hairman is.
There was complaining about the cost of the taxi from Logan to the hospital. “You never said anything about the cost of my dentures, the stent, or the reconstructive surgery on my hands,” Hairman said (all thousands of dollars); “yet complain about $40 for a taxi.” I guess it was a city-taxi, which costs more. A speed-bomb would cost less, although still a lot. (Cue Bluster-King; the self-proclaimed Boston taxi-authority I’m sure.)
“We could have ridden the T,” Linda exclaimed.
The surgery would be performed in Boston, but rehab/etc in Rochester.
Involved would be staying in Boston for the surgery: “—I don’t know why they don’t have a Ronald McDonald House. We can’t afford an apartment” (even at $60 per visit).
I was their only customer at the time. Usually Linda sets my hair, but Hairman (who has trouble with his hands) did instead while Linda sat in a chair.
More tests are scheduled — another trip to Boston. “Just driving there is two tanks of gas: that’s $80.”
The testing is to see if it’s spread to her lymph-nodes. If it hasn’t, the chemo would just be a chemical washout during the surgery. If it’s spread to her lymph-nodes, she’ll need chemo.
“So what do I do in five weeks?” I asked.
“Call us up,” Linda said.
—“Getting cleaned up” because I look like the Wild-Man-of-Borneo before. If it were just a haircut it would be $15.
I’m sure part of the added cost is the beard-trim. I grew a beard so I could discontinue shaving, which was horribly abusive at the time.
I shave about every 10 days — just my neck — and shaving is much less abusive than it was. Without a beard it would be every day or two.
I abstained from blue-rinse or hair-dyeing. Despite the noisy blustering from West Bridgewater, I don’t even know what blue-rinse is. I also don’t slather my hair with Grecian Formula.
Thursday’s visit was a bit challenging, since it was my first since Hairman’s wife Linda was diagnosed with cancer.
“Boy-oh-boy, I sure am glad to see you,” I said, seeing Linda as I walked in.
She looked rather haggard and hollow-eyed, but perhaps the same as last visit when I wasn’t looking.
It’s serious, but at least her doctors consider her a candidate for surgery — i.e. they haven’t thrown up their hands and said “we can’t do anything.”
But Hairman and Linda are scared. My visit was filled with nervous chatter.
Apparently they’d flown to Boston, referred there by her doctors.
But at least it was actually a hospital; unlike the abandoned mini mall where my brother had his vastly superior colonoscopy.
Of course the visit was perfunctory. “I don’t know why we flew out there, at great expense, just to be interviewed?” Hairman said.
“I don’t think I could face that surgery without you at my side, Joseph,” Linda said.
This is not the Linda I’m used to hearing: snide-remarks and back-bites and pot-shots about what a reprehensible person Hairman is.
There was complaining about the cost of the taxi from Logan to the hospital. “You never said anything about the cost of my dentures, the stent, or the reconstructive surgery on my hands,” Hairman said (all thousands of dollars); “yet complain about $40 for a taxi.” I guess it was a city-taxi, which costs more. A speed-bomb would cost less, although still a lot. (Cue Bluster-King; the self-proclaimed Boston taxi-authority I’m sure.)
“We could have ridden the T,” Linda exclaimed.
The surgery would be performed in Boston, but rehab/etc in Rochester.
Involved would be staying in Boston for the surgery: “—I don’t know why they don’t have a Ronald McDonald House. We can’t afford an apartment” (even at $60 per visit).
I was their only customer at the time. Usually Linda sets my hair, but Hairman (who has trouble with his hands) did instead while Linda sat in a chair.
More tests are scheduled — another trip to Boston. “Just driving there is two tanks of gas: that’s $80.”
The testing is to see if it’s spread to her lymph-nodes. If it hasn’t, the chemo would just be a chemical washout during the surgery. If it’s spread to her lymph-nodes, she’ll need chemo.
“So what do I do in five weeks?” I asked.
“Call us up,” Linda said.
(My brother in Boston is a self-proclaimed knower of all things.)
posted by BobbaLew at 9:46 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home