Around 5:00 p.m. the soft, fluffy white stuff slowly begins falling and a ballet can be heard in the background as the whiteness waves and winds itself to the earth joining other like-minded whitenesses – all done against an early evening’s dark gray.
She told the doctor that she found a small lump and he told the doctor that he feels great but his tests show otherwise. Both admit that something can happen with this fragile life – at any age.
He calls his wife to the window and says, “Honey, isn’t this beautiful? What a great way to begin the Christmas season.” She smiles back and says, “Yes, it’s that special time of the year.” (Ballet music continues in the background.)
“We can run tests to see what’s going on,” the doctor says to her while the doctor in the next room tells him that “This is common for men your age, you feel fine but it’s more enlarged than I’d like it to be.” (The doctor has an opinion about the inside of his butt!)
Around 10:00 p.m. he calls his wife to the window again and this time he uses the Son of God’s full name although we don’t know what the “H” stands for. “This is just getting crazy,” he says as the imaginary ballet music suddenly becomes Pink Floyd. She returns to watch the TV weather to find out the predicted accumulation of these “whitenesses.”
With Pink Floyd still being heard, he hears the doctor tell him about “options,” each with risks along with a percentage as though he’s in Las Vegas with chips in hand pondering his wager. The doctor tells her that, “It’s not as bad as we thought but it is serious.” (Read that sentence again and then tell me what that means!)
At 6:00 a.m., he’s outside shoveling and wearing all the clothes he could rustle on himself but now he doesn’t call on the Son of God but instead goes to the top guy demanding a curse upon the once beautiful 5:00 p.m. version. His wife is safely inside still watching TV and waiting for the heap’s final number. (As though a final number means anything, except proudly announced at her next cocktail party.)
The music of Pink Floyd drifts away and Metallica takes over at full volume as he shovels for over an hour and even begins to sweat with sub-zero temperatures. The third person of the Christian Trinity, the Holy Spirit, is never summoned during this experience. Some would say the Holy Spirit is that whiteness.
She decides on chemotherapy and he decides on radiation with both musical sounds playing: lots of ballet (“Hope”) with an undercurrent of Metallica (“Oh, well”).
The sun comes out the next day and the whiteness becomes whiter although “slush” will be its name in a few days.
He brags about his early morning shoveling at work and she gets the final snow total that no one will remember.
The doctor told her that, “You’re lucky, we caught it in time and you’re fine.” The doctor in the next room told him that, “We got this under control but we found some other issues.”
The ballet music is lowered and Metallica takes over at full volume along with the “H” added to the Son of God’s name.