Writing is not EZ

This post is a re-work of an earlier post. I have been working with a writers group in my neighborhood. I've made an attempt to apply what I have learned there and from recent readings to improve the readability of this story. I hope you enjoy it.


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Monday, December 8, 2008, a small but busy airport somewhere in the rust belt of the U.S. Outside heavy wet snow is falling steadily from a cold gray sky.

Having extracted myself from a cramped coach window seat after the two-hour ride from Atlanta, I was anxious to get to the baggage claim and was feeling good stretching my legs as I left the concourse. Approaching the "once you pass this point you must reenter through security" line, I heard the following announcement over the airport's public address system (Note, names are changed to protect the guilty...and, also, because my old man's memory can't remember the real names):

"John Williamson, John Williamson, please return to security with your companion's passport and boarding pass so that she may pass through security. John Williamson...(repeat)."

"Wow." I thought. "What an error. To get through security with his companion's documents and leave someone stranded. Good thing there is a paging system."

As I passed beyond the security line, I noted an attractive early-thirties woman, tall, slender, blonde, dressed stylishly in black slacks and a black-and-white sweater, arms crossed, looking up the concourse passenger exit expectantly, tapping her foot. "Hmmm," thought I, "this must be Mr. Williamson's 'Companion'." I moved past her, never making eye contact, and proceeded to the near-by baggage claim. About then, I heard the earlier announcement for Mr. Williamson repeated.

At baggage claim, the flat-screen monitor over carousel 'A' announced the arrival of the luggage from the arriving Atlanta flight. The carousel was not moving and with about 120 other passengers, I waited. During a wait of 5 or 10 minutes, the announcement for Mr. Williamson to please return to security was repeated again.

About the time I began to get impatient for my luggage, a different announcement, this time aimed at passengers of my arriving flight from Atlanta, announced that bags were delayed and that the arriving passengers from Cincinnati could get THEIR bags on carousel 'A' and the bags from Atlanta would come soon. This announcement was followed almost immediately by a repeat of the plea for Mr. Williamson. I don't know if it was my imagination, or what, but it seemed that the plea for Mr. Williamson's return to security was getting more strident and forceful each time I heard it.

Since I had nothing else to do, I strolled back toward the security checkpoint. Ms. Companion was still there, arms still crossed, foot still tapping, now more slowly and with more deliberate force. The look on her face had changed from expectant to concerned. As I stood unobtrusively observing, her look morphed from concern to anger. I slowly shook my head, wondering just how dense Mr. Williamson could be as I headed for the Starbucks franchise for a bracing beverage. Meh, who knows? Perhaps he was detained in the men's room.

While I was in Starbucks, the airport PA system informed me that baggage carousel 'A' was malfunctioning and the Cincinnati luggage could now be claimed on 'C.' No mention was made of the Atlanta luggage. The paged plea for Mr. Williamson's return was repeated, twice, while I waited for the baristas to do their job. After I got my coffee, I headed back to the baggage claim area where I observed 120 other arriving Atlanta passengers doing what airline passengers do: Wait. Since I had nothing else to do...well you get the picture. I went back to check on Ms. Companion. Still there. Then, finally, after what seemed like forever waiting, an announcement for the Atlanta bags up on carousel 'C.'

Poor Ms. Companion. I last saw her on my way to the rental car kiosk, after I finally got my bag, the last one in on the carousel. She was still standing near the (only) passenger exit from the concourse. By now the look of expectancy, concern, and anger had melted to a look of distraught shame and despair. She was openly sobbing with huge tears streaking makeup down her face. Her arms were no longer crossed but hung to her sides, hands clenched into fists. About 50 minutes and at least a dozen repetitions of the announcement had passed since my first sighting. Can you even begin to imagine how she felt? I was impatient and I was only waiting for a piece of luggage. It reminds me of an anonymous quote that I once heard, that, to the world, you may only be one person but to one person you may be the world. Was Mr. Williamson, at that moment, her world crashing around her? Can you imagine Mr. Williamson, when approached by the airline's gate agent as the flight for Bermuda boarded, saying, "I'm not going back, she can take care of herself." The audacity is breathtaking; the agony heartrending. I don't think this method of dumping another was even mentioned in Paul Simon's 50 Ways. Did Mr. Williamson plan this? Or did he find himself separated and spontaneously decide to make the split permanent?

This story has no real ending. In fact, most of it is my impressions and my interpretation of what was happening at a small airport on a winter afternoon as snow fell outside. Perhaps the dreary weather made things seem more grim. Of this I am sure: The tears on her face looked very real, and hot enough to melt the falling snow.

Empathy is not always EZ.

I participate in a Facebook-based support group for prostate cancer sufferers, patients, survivors, and their supporting family, friends, and lovers. There have been many discussions of the symptoms and impact on the body of the cancer and the effectiveness and side effects of the various treatments. Side effects that often include urinary incontinence and erectile dysfunction (ED) formerly known as impotence. Everyone's journey through this often fatal landscape is wildly unique and different. Today one of the partners of a cancer sufferer posted a note that ED just didn't matter and implied that forum members should just be glad to be still alive and shut up about that issue. A couple of men (both suffering extreme cancer-related life-threatening problems) posted that, in their dire situation, sex simply no longer mattered to them. The original poster (OP in today's language) then congratulated those two for "being comfortable in your own skin and for having good self esteem and for knowing what a REAL MAN is." I found her words to be insensitive and hurtful, and did not immediately have the words to respond. 

A couple of other cancer-suffering men did chime in and post to the effect that she simply did not understand. One man went so far as to call her patronizing. I'm not sure I'd have used that word. Anyway, after some time pondering, below is what I posted in reply to her REAL MAN comment:

Thank you, Robert and Henry. I wanted to respond to Patsy but needed some time to think so that I could, hopefully, respond in a way that does neither diminish those with greater problems and suffering nor hurt Patsy for her lack of understanding and empathy while making it plain that her words were hurtful.

My dear wife and I have remained committed and faithful for over 48 years. We have raised a great family who are doing well and enjoying life. I am thankful for her and our children and grandchildren, for my life, remaining health, and capabilities, and I have great sadness for those, like [name withheld here] and many others, whose situation is really much more dire and difficult. My PC was originally diagnosed as stage 2 with a Gleason of 4+3 with “excursions to 5.” Twelve of fourteen biopsy cores were positive for cancer although my PSA had never been over 4 and all of my DREs had been unremarkable. The biopsy was recommended because my PSA went from 2 to 4 in a three-month period (followed because I did have BPH, and the PSA increase was verified with a follow up and a second lab). The RP surgery proved the cancer had spread outside the prostate capsule so my diagnosis was changed to stage 3. I have, and continue, to receive what, to the best of my ability to judge, is excellent medical care and I have excellent insurance. My oncologist, supported by post-surgery pathology, believes that all the cancer was removed. At six-months post-surgery, my PSA is ND. I do recognize that in many, many ways, I’ve been exceedingly blessed.

I have no idea how to communicate the loss that my wife and I both feel, other than to say that it hurts. Our hurt in no way diminishes anyone else’s pain. But it is real. We have benefited from joint counselling post-surgery. Depression meds (for both of us) have helped.

I am as “comfortable in my own skin” as I know how to be, take responsibility for my health where I can, and continue to work full-time now that I’m past my initial recuperative period. I provide for my family and provide emotional, intellectual, loving support for my family. I ride my motorcycle regularly. My youngest daughter and I rode our bicycles in a 20-mile fund-raising event for the American Diabetes Association. I’m training for my first 5K running event in support of funding for PrCa research. I try to be supportive to others through this forum and our local chapter of Us Too. I meditate daily and do yoga on non-running days. I share the housework and read to my vision-impaired wife. She and I do enjoy intimacy and I’ve tried to be a sensitive and giving lover within my current capabilities. But our loss still hurts. It hurts her and that hurts me. And, deep down, there are the fears voiced by Henry (Explanatory note here -- Henry voiced fears on Facebook that his wife would leave him for a more capable lover) —and I do not mean to slight my wife nor disrespect her in any way when I voice this. I believe that if you have not suffered the loss of something that, for your adult life, has been part of your being and part of what you could offer in a loving relationship you probably don’t really understand. And for that, you must be forgiven.

So, Patsy, what is a real man?  And how can anyone define that for any other person?

I await her reply.