James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “Good, I want to see if you can keep up the pace that J Dub had,” Justin admitted.

  “Not today!” Curt blared. “But if I work up to it, then I can keep up with him.” Curt parked by the pampas grass. “Okay you guys get a move on it.” Justin and Keith took off to get their exercise. Curt jogged some behind them. It felt good for him to get a small workout in. “You guys run hard and don’t wait on me!”

  Curt felt great. It felt so nice to take a deep breath and get the heart pumping blood through his body again. It had been so long since he had taken an enjoyable run and not labored through it. Maybe they did get all of the cancer out of my body. At least I can breathe deep and I don’t have to stop right away.

  He took his time and appreciated the small things that he had missed. Away from the lake, the sprinklers systematically sprayed water on the fairways. Canada geese flew in for a watery landing and nibbled on plants near the shore while some slept on the bank. Once in a while a deer would dart out from the underbrush and bound its way across the course. Curt had even seen three wild turkeys one day. Happy memories of jogging around the lake were running through his head. Ah yes, it was nice to appreciate the little things in life once again, he thought as a cluster of cattail stalks and pussy willow branches came into view. The reflection of the rising sun across the water, the dew on the grass; the wispy layers of fog, and the chirping robins all made for the most delicate and precious thoughts.

  As the trio finished and huddled by the pampas grass, Curt reached into the utility vehicle and grabbed the paint can. “What are we going to do with that?” Justin asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

  “Every time I’ve come down here there has always been an imaginary finish line,” Curt started, “except for that one time that I stretched that piece of twine out for you boys to run through.” He pried the top of the paint can off with a screwdriver. “Today we’re going to paint our own finish line. Right here from the pampas grass across the cart path toward the cypress tree.”

  Justin took the paint stirrer and vigorously worked it through the paint. Keith and Curt got a yardstick and put down a chalk line on each side of the finish line. Then, each of the boys grabbed a paint brush. “It’s pretty easy to stay between these lines,” Justin said.

  “You boys will be done in a couple of minutes. Then you can put your initials on the path and date it,” Curt added. He grabbed several pylons out of the utility vehicle. “I’ll put these down on the path to keep golfers from taking their carts through the wet paint.” He set the cones in place.

  “How far do you think that it is around this lake?” Justin asked as he applied paint to the cart path.

  “Well, let’s see.” Curt peered out to the fairway. “That hole is about four hundred yards long and the lake runs from the tee box to the hundred yard marker. So, I guess it is three hundred yards long on that side and probably three hundred yards long on this side. Then we probably oughta add fifty yards on each end. How far would that make it?”

  Keith was counting on his fingers. Justin yelled, “Seven hundred yards!”

  “I’d say that is close enough,” Curt agreed.

  “How far is that really?” Justin asked.

  “There’s eight hundred and eighty yards in a half mile. It looks like it is a little less than a half mile to run around this lake,” Curt informed them.

  “We must be getting in pretty good shape then,” Justin said. “Keith and I can normally make it four to five times around.”

  “You can do it easier than me,” Keith relented as he put the last dab of paint on the line.

  Justin painted a “J” and “V” onto the cart path. “What’s the date today, Curt? We have to date this. Somebody might think this is a Van Gogh or something someday.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But today’s date is June twenty-eighth, two thousand and seven,” Curt replied.

  Keith painted a “K” and “P” by Justin’s initials. “What’s the number for June?” he asked.

  “Make it six dash twenty-eight dash zero seven,” Curt said.

  With the initials and the dates, the boys completed their work. Justin turned to Curt. “Now we’ve got something to run to.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  First Day of Chemotherapy . . .

  The day finally arrived for Curt to report to the cancer center at Holy Trinity Hospital for the first of a dozen chemotherapy treatments. He drove over to J Dub’s house so that his brother could take him to the facility. It was suggested that on the first day he had better have someone drop him off at the campus and also pick him up. It was anybody’s guess as to what sort of reaction he would have to the treatment.

  The start of the hot July day was typical of the weather in the Midwest. The sun rose off of the horizon and looked like a hazy orange ball as it tried to peek through a stagnant layer of smog. The air was still and stale. The temperature and humidity were running constant.

  Curt parked his car in front of J Dub’s home and broke into a sweat from just walking from his car to join J Dub in the driveway. “Are you that nervous?” J Dub said trying to make light of the seriousness of the situation.

  “No!” Curt shot back not wanting his brother to feel an inkling of his apprehension and trepidation. “It’s this muggy weather. You can cut the air with a butcher knife this morning.”

  “It feels like it’s on your shoulders as if you didn’t have enough placed there already,” J Dub replied.

  “Heck, this is the best thing for me. The only thing that makes me really concerned is the uncertainty,” Curt said. “But you know, I’m not the first and I won’t be the last to make this journey.”

  “If I know you, then I’m certain that you’ll attack this with as much effort as you’ve attacked everything else in life.”

  “Right now, I want to attack some air conditioning,” Curt shot back. The sweat had beaded on his forehead and was rolling down his cheeks. “Let’s get into the car.”

  It was hard to believe that J Dub had to put the blower on high just to cool the interior of the car down to a comfortable level. Even the early morning hours were stifling. “At least this weather will make the zoysia grow,” J Dub chuckled.

  “You can almost see it spread every day right now,” Curt answered. “Let’s hope the cancer cells don’t like heat,” he laughed nervously trying to fend off the demons. “We don’t need that to be spreading.”

  They weaved through the interstate system and broke the tension in the front seat with an occasional joke or two. “How would you have liked to have been the guy that got the contract to sell all of the orange and white barrels to the highway department?” Curt sniggered. “They’re everywhere!”

  “It sure as heck makes you appreciate the golf course,” J Dub responded.

  “We don’t know how lucky we have it,” Curt said, “not having to fight this bumper-to-bumper crap every day.”

  “After a decade of what we went through, I know how lucky we are to be at the course.” J Dub made reference to the lengthy battle the two men had to fight to regain possession of the golf course property.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if that was a contributing factor to the mess I’m in,” Curt rationalized.

  “Stress plays a big part in declining health,” J Dub replied.

  “Well the Good Lord knows that we took on our share of that,” Curt went on. “It seems like I have been frustrated, full of hatred, and tied up in knots for a decade.”

  “Let’s put all that behind us.” J Dub was excited about being able to relax since they had gotten the land back. “We’ll work on getting you back up to par right now.”

  “Which reminds me,” Curt laughed. “You tell all the guys that I’ll be out there tomorrow morning. These stitches are healed and I’m not letting this chemo treatment get the best of me. I’ll be ready to tee it up, fanny pack and all. “I’m not going to stop living just because of this. The heck with what the doctor says.”


  “Are pars going to satisfy you?” J Dub asked.

  Curt grinned, “Why, of course not! You let the boys know that I’ll be back and pars aren’t good enough. I’ll be shooting for birdies. I fixed my putting stroke!”

  “Something tells me that they shouldn’t count you out,” J Dub said as the car pulled onto the lot of the cancer center campus.

  Curt’s eyes were glistening as the car rolled to a stop in the circular driveway. The front door to his next journey was only a few feet away. “I’ve got to take an IV drip in here for two to three hours. Then I’ll have a mobile drip for two days. You tell the guys to be ready for me. I’m not ready to pack it in just yet.” Determination was etched all over his face.

  “Go get ’em Curt. Give it the best shot you can,” J Dub said as he leaned over to give his brother a hug.

  “You know I will,” Curt replied. His eyes held the fear of the unknown. The next door he was to walk through contained all of the uncertainty that life could ever offer. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I’m not ready to reach the end yet. It’s not going to put me under.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The cancer center at Holy Trinity Hospital was an architecturally and technologically impressive, state-of-the-art facility. The exterior of the new four-story building was predominantly clad with glass in an attempt to let the light shine in on a normally dismal environment.

  The surrounding campus looked like something out of a back-to-nature photograph. An outside patio was equipped with park benches to encourage fresh air therapy. An asphalt walkway provided a circuitous path through the flowering trees and shrubs. The civil engineer made smart use of the water retention area and the landscape architect designed it beautifully.

  Even though he was filled with apprehension, Curt steadfastly and positively entered the building through the electronic doors. “Could you tell me where the lab is to have blood work done?” he inquired at the information desk.

  “Go up one floor and it will be on your right as you exit the elevator. Room number 236,” the volunteer at the front desk instructed.

  He pressed the up arrow to wait for the elevator and felt his anxiety increase. It seemed like every next door opened to another set of unanswered questions and uncertainties. “I’m here for a blood test before my doctor’s visit,” Curt announced to the nurse.

  “Just fill out and sign this paper work and we’ll be right with you,” the nurse said as she highlighted all of the areas that needed his attention.

  After a short wait his name was called and Curt proceeded through another door that made his heart pound. “Now you have to know something about me,” he said to nurse that led him to the chair. “Don’t let me see the needle go in and don’t let me see you walk away with it. You’ll be picking me up off the floor.” He smiled at her. “I’ve had to say those instructions a lot lately. You’d think I’d be getting used to these needles.”

  “It’s good to know that, Sweetie. This blood work hits everyone differently,” she said as she wrapped a tourniquet around his bicep. “Now make a fist so I can find a nice vein.” She tapped on his forearm. “Okay, you can relax. It’ll just be a slight pinch.”

  Curt turned his head and stared at the opposite wall. There was nothing to having blood drawn. “I’ll finish my story,” he began. “You know, a few years ago I had to have my blood drawn. Everything went fine. Then I saw the nurse walking away from me carrying the vile. The next thing I knew there were nurses all around me placing wet towels on my forehead as I laid on the tile floor.”

  The nurse smiled. She had finished her work. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it? You’re free to go, Sweetie.” She carefully concealed the vile of blood from view.

  “Is that it?” Curt asked. The nurse nodded. After thanking her, he strolled down the hallway to the elevator. He needed to go up a couple of floors to the doctor’s office in the cancer center. As he exited the elevator he noticed that the reception area was full of patients in various degrees of treatment. An elderly woman sat in a wheelchair almost starved down to nothing. What must have been her husband, her daughter, and granddaughter were close by. A middle-aged man whose head was wrapped in a red bandana, most likely from some series of treatments, waited patiently.

  Even though it was barely after eight in the morning Curt noticed that over thirty chairs were filled with patients waiting for chemotherapy treatment. They, along with their relatives, gave the appearance that an epidemic was taking place. As he reached the front desk the receptionist said, “Please sign in and we’ll call your name when we’re ready.”

  Curt did as he was instructed, grabbed a golf magazine, and retreated to a far corner of the reception area. As he looked around the room it was obvious that cancer had no boundaries. Young and old; male and female; black and white were all equally affected.

  The minutes ticked away as Curt immersed himself in articles about golf. Then he noticed that some of the people that had arrived after him were being called into the doctor’s office. After waiting for nearly an hour and a half he approached the front desk. “Do you have any idea when my name will be called?”

  “Your last name please.”

  “Schroeder.”

  The receptionist typed his name on the keyboard and studied her monitor. “I’ve got no record of you this morning.”

  “I signed in ninety minutes ago,” Curt said frustrated.

  “Did you have an appointment?”

  “Yes, I scheduled it with Barbara, Dr. Lincke’s nurse.”

  “Let me find you in the system.” After several futile attempts to obtain Curt’s information she said, “I’ll have to call her. Dr. Lincke was on vacation and today he is double-booked all day,” the receptionist said.

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Curt mumbled under his breath.

  “Hold on and I’ll get to the bottom of it,” the receptionist said as she picked up the phone and called Barbara’s extension. After listening to the voice at the other end of the line the receptionist turned to Curt and asked, “When did you make the appointment?”

  “Three days ago. Barbara set it up. She told me to have surgery yesterday to have a port put in and to come directly here this morning to start chemo treatments.”

  “She doesn’t remember that conversation,” the receptionist continued.

  “How can that be?” Curt asked perturbed. “I didn’t make it up. Look at this port.” He opened his shirt and showed the receptionist a port placed underneath his right collarbone. “I did what she told me to do.”

  “Hold on. We’ll get you in,” the receptionist said, trying to diffuse a delicate situation.

  “I have been holding on,” Curt blared. “Very patiently for over an hour and a half I might add. But it doesn’t look like the left hand knows what the right hand is doing.”

  The receptionist bristled. She, too, was clearly aggravated that the morning had not been going smoothly. Several others had voiced their displeasure with the double-bookings long before Curt. Between the constant ringing of the phone, putting people on hold, and not having enough space available for those waiting, the morning was a mounting disaster for her.

  “Schroeder!” boomed a voice from the door.

  Curt winked at the receptionist. “I guess the squeaky wheel does get the grease around here.”

  “We’re usually more organized than this. It’s one of those days,” the receptionist replied.

  Curt walked to the door and followed a nurse to a waiting area to complete preliminary admittance requirements. He was measured and weighed. The nurse took his blood pressure and stuck a thermometer under his tongue. “You’ve got a runner’s heart,” she commented after the readings were noted.

  “I try to stay in shape and keep my weight down,” Curt stated. “With what I’m going to start I want to give myself the best chance.”

  “You stopped and had your blood drawn, right?” she asked. Curt nodded. “You’ll be fine. I expect you to rebound well,”
the nurse responded. “You’re in the prime of your life. You’ll breeze through this.” He knew she was trying to calm his anxieties. “Follow me.”

  Curt followed the nurse down the corridor and to a private room. He had been down this road several days earlier and now waited anxiously again for Dr. Lincke. After Curt heard papers shuffle outside the door, Dr. Lincke entered the room. “You’re back,” the doctor started.

  “Yeah, I made some phone calls and talked to a few people. Just about everyone that I talked to suggested that I go ahead with it. If nothing else, then it might be a good insurance policy against something bad that might happen,” Curt said repeating some of the doctors own words back to him.

  “You had the port put in?” Dr. Lincke asked.

  “We did that yesterday. Dr. Mason took care of me. Now that we’re doing this, what are my odds again for a healthy outcome?”

  “They’re probably seventy-five to eighty percent without the chemotherapy. After we administer it, those odds should increase into the ninety percentile range,” Dr. Lincke said. “Maybe more.”

  That’s not bad. If I can reach those numbers while I’m getting excellent care and have the insurance company pay for it, then why not go for it? The thoughts raced through Curt’s head. What have I got to lose? “What the heck, let’s go for it. I’m mentally ready to go after this stuff,” Curt announced confidently. “I’m not going to change my mind right now.”

  “You keep the positive attitude. The treatment has as much to do with a positive attitude as anything,” Dr. Lincke agreed. “We’ve already got a slight problem though.”

  “I wouldn’t think that it could be any worse than the mess you’ve got in the waiting room,” Curt mentioned to the doctor.

  “Your insurance won’t allow me to treat you.” Dr. Lincke said. “Insurance carriers dictate what we can and cannot do anymore.”

  “What’s the plan then?” Curt inquired.