11 Mar The Time Has Come…

…For the Return of Your Humble Narrator to these Hallowed Pages after a year and a half of blogular silence. Wherefore and Whence? you might inquire, and well you might. It has been a strange and terrible saga, Gentle Reader(s), but all not-so-good things must come to an end (just in time for other not-so-good things to arise in their place, so it would seem).

 

Where to begin? At the beginning, I should think, and so think I shall. I give you:

 

The Story of a Lump

 

There once was a Lump. Not much of anything really, this Lump, but as with all things lumpy or otherwise the Lump longed for a place to call home. Now, this Lump was a nasty little piece of work—full of malice and ill intent towards all and sundry with the sole exception of itself. Because of their misanthropy and evil nature the Lump and its ilk were held as pariahs and were banished from polite society, left to wander amongst low things and other outcasts. Come 2018, however, the Lump began to sense that its time was nigh. It had become determined to land a job with its compatriots in the Drumpf administration. A natural fit, one might think, what with the Lump In Chief and his similar brand of malice and ill will. But even the Drumpf administration—that unparalleled collection of charlatans, mental defectives and moral cripples—deemed the Lump unworthy of their rank. They turned the Lump away.

 

Crestfallen, the Lump wandered the land aimlessly, longing for shelter and a way in which to improve its lot in the world. Eventually, through a circuitous and convoluted series of twists and turns, the Lump finally found a place to settle down, take hold and proceed with its perfidious agenda. As fate would have it, that place turned out to be the throat of Your Humble Narrator.

 

I’ll not be too coy about this (too late for that, I’m afeared): Your Humble Narrator was not a well lad. The Lump appeared on the right side of my throat in late July or early August of 2018 and, after a brief period of waiting and observation, it was presented to YHN’s primary care physician for evaluation. This learned and worthy gentleman of the healing arts—the Hippocratic Oath personified—duly raised the alarm with scarcely a moment’s hesitation. Literally—it took him about 5 seconds, max. Imaging was ordered up with all due haste and an initial diagnosis was developed. This was then confirmed with an unpleasant semi-extractive operation of which the Lump must have been highly displeased.

 

At that point, it was Off to the Races, Gentle Reader(s). This being a matter of utmost seriousness as regards Life and Limb (and Lump), the most profound minds and machines in the medical firmament were engaged to attend to Your Humble Narrator’s wellbeing. These were determined to be the highly esteemed doctors of M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, of Texas. After a couple of introductory consultations, in early November YHN packed up clothes, books, guitars and and miscellanea and headed off to H-Town. Lord Amighty hep us all!

 

Houston. What can I say? Well, I won’t bother.

 

I took up residence in a ‘carriage house’ apartment. This means it was above a garage. All things being relative, it weren’t so bad but very tiny indeed. The folks who lived in the front house, my ‘hosts’ as it were, were perfectly pleasant people and they had three large maniacally barky dogs that were perfectly pleasant too, once they decided not to kill you. The neighborhood, known as Montrose, was leafy and old(er), by H-Town standards, and the Menil Collection campus (including the Rothko Chapel, the Cy Twombly Gallery, the Dan Flavin installation at Richmond Hall, and the new Menil Drawing Institute) was within Easy Walking Distance. I quickly took to a routine of walking to the Chapel every day to intone my Daily Devotions to Saint Jude as I prepared to engage the Lump in a life or death match. The Rothko Chapel is an exceptional place and to be in the presence of the great painter’s greatest achievement was about the only thing I really miss about H-Town.

 

The Lump Struggle commenced in full in mid-November and continued unabated until early January, 2019. The Lump was recalcitrant, as such Lumps tend to be, but the sage Docs at MDA let loose with a barrage of terrible and deadly chemicals (otherwise known as chemotherapy) and even deadlier radiation (otherwise known as Proton Therapy). These terrible ministrations extracted a considerable toll on YHN’s person—physical and otherwise—but they have apparently had the intended effect. The Lump appears to have been dealt a severe blow and is now in full retreat, if not in a state of utter non-existence. Extreme vigilance shall be required to insure that such remains the case and many return trips to H-Town have been required. Now—over a year out from the end of YHN’s tortures—their frequency has been thankfully deescalated. 

 

So there you have it. The Story of the Lump. Before this unfortunate set of circumstances came to pass I was of the frame of mind that Lumps were something that other people had to deal with. You are not a Lump person, I told myself. Then, lo and behold, I was a Lump person! It was unexpected and unprecedented, but it Was. What to do? Do what must be done is what.

 

I am one of the lucky ones: I had (relative) youth and otherwise robust health on my side and the monetary wherewithal to wage Lump War without assistance of insurance (which became a vestigial appendage once I made the decision to pursue treatment out-of-state). YHN has had his ass kicked, not to put too fine a point on it, but I am here and I am well. Better than well, actually. Life and love and art go on. There are many to be thankful to and I am thankful.

 

Thank you.