Origins

PROLOGUE

This new blog will appear as the text of a comic book, anyone wishing to illustrate it can contact me! The adventure will explore the role of the Cancer Patient as a reluctant Hero. The persoon who becomes the cancer patient is thrust into this role by the very nature of battle that the disease presents. A person with cancer faces many unknowns, has many questions and deals with life changing events that quite naturally -- and unavoidably -- alter the path that the patient walks for the rest of their life. The struggle has many stages, as I have mentioned in my other blog (secondbattle.blogspot.com), but no matter the diagnosis there is always that subtle transition, and awakening that foreboding of change, that the reluctant hero knows cannot be controlled, or avoided, the PERSON becomes the PATIENT, and there is no turning back.

CHAPTER 1: Taxing the System

Going over the Linson file for the third time, things just don't add up, something is off with the numbers. Leaning back in his leather chair, Reg Ularguy, gets up and walks around his desk. He makes his way to the coffee maker on the other side of his office. He pours himself a cup. Takes a drink.
"Damn, this tastes like crap."
He calls to his assistant, "Carmella, can you make a fresh pot of coffee, and find me the 2008 numbers for Linson, please?"
Carmella walks in, carrying not only the file he needs, but a steaming pot obviously fresh coffee. She hands him the file and takes his mug from him, walks to the sink, rinses it, returns to his desk and fills it with fresh coffee.
Still standing, Reg, stares at the coffee, but hesitates to pick it up.
"Something wrong, sir?"
"Na, my stomach is acting up again. I just need a couple ant-acids. These last couple weeks trying to figure out the Linson mess has been pretty taxing."
Carmella chuckles, that special way she does, one of the many qualities he saw in her when he hired her six years ago, fresh out of Temple University Business School. " 'Pretty taxing?' That's pretty funny Mr. Ularguy."
She knew that Linson was a client that owed the IRS several million dollars, and it was her boss's job to try and straighten it out. So, it was no surprise to anyone who worked around Reg that he might be under  a bit of stress. She also knew that he always bounced back from these times, returning to regular form as the legal stand-out he was.
She watched him walk the hall to the executive washroom, where he disappeared. Before returning to her desk, she slid open the drawer on the credenza behind his desk, retrieved the bottle of Tums, and set it next to his still steaming mug of coffee.

CHAPTER 2: Repeat Performance

The fire in his inside always seems worse at night, when he is trying to get some much needed rest. Reg sits up at his bed side, glances at the clock. How long has it been since he had a good nights sleep? Two months? Three?
"Damn, 3:30 in the morning!"
He sits still, listening to his wife's, slow regular breathing as she sleeps. He glances out his bedroom window, sees a street sweeper moving down the street, it's steady whirring brushes almost calm his stomach. Then, like a dagger the pain returns, and he has to make a dash for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet.
He sits, in the dark and finishes his 'mission'. After washing up, he is thankful for the dim light of the night light, plugged in next to the sink. He is about to flush and go, when something inside him tells him to flip on the bathroom light and take a look at the bowl.
Expecting nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a quick glance, and there it is, again. That faint swirl of red -- something he knows shouldn't be there, something that he has ignored for a while. As he stands there, the pain knifes into his belly again.
"Man! This is ridiculous." he says to him self as he crunches a few of the chalky ant-acids, which he thinks will help.
Washing the chalky residue down with a quick splash of water he says out loud, "I gottta call somone."
He walks quietly back to his side of the bed, laying down - careful not to disturb his sleeping wife.
He lays back, covers up and fumbles in the the dark for his PDA on his night stand. He taps a few times and the blue glow illuminates his face.
Tapping quietly he sends a message to his assistant:
'carm, please call dr. warfel and get me an appt asap. thnks, REG'
The device beeps once softly as he presses 'SEND'. Rolling over, he places the phone back on its charger, and looks at the clock.
"Shit, 4:30. I gotta be up in an hour!"