Habits Die Hard
The radiologist's fingers glow against the back-lit film, red rivers tracing blackened craters of the paranasal sinus. Pulse jack-hammering at his jaw-line, my father leans toward the x-ray. I reach for his hand, bird bones in mine; although radiation and chemo rendered him a wraith, his fingertips quaver from adrenalin.
"The tumor has shrunk," the doctor says.
In an etherized daze, we stumble up, thank our caretaker and falter through halls stinking of sanitized despair. In the morning's cold blaze, my father tents his hand around the trembling flame, inhales. I pull my coat closer, prepare for the next battle.
"The tumor has shrunk," the doctor says.
In an etherized daze, we stumble up, thank our caretaker and falter through halls stinking of sanitized despair. In the morning's cold blaze, my father tents his hand around the trembling flame, inhales. I pull my coat closer, prepare for the next battle.
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Author's Note
A drabble published in Boston Literary Magazine (summer 2009). Based, unfortunately, on life...
Other stories by Linda Simoni-Wastila
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'prepare for the next battle' indeed. That's life with cancer, isn't it? There's always a 'next battle'.
Nice piece, concise but emotional.
'stinking of sanitized despair' and 'tents his hand around the trembling flame' are frightening counterpoints.
Linda, this is well written. Excellent display of word economy/conciseness.
A strong piece, Linda. Its compact form adds an emotional punch. Good work.
very strong and determined writing.
A brave, unflinching sketch. Very powerful
This is fine, fine stuff. The second graph feels like it should be the last somehow. Just my thoughts.
Straight shooting, moving, and the compression is particularly effective.
Thanks all for reading and comments. Love the constrained form of drabbles and dribbles and hints... they force economy.
And yes, always a next battle with cancer. But this war is over -- next week will find me at the Outer Banks disbursing the ashes of the man figured here, my father. Peace, Linda
wonderful use of language in this excellent piece. a Bartókian microcosm of family relationships.
so much packed into this tight, heart-wrenching piece. halls of sanitized despair -- thank you for posting it, here.