Energy Warriors by Bob Ellal

Author:Bob Ellal
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781615931507
Publisher: Divine Arts

A HERO NEEDS HIS PANTS

On the ninth day after they drip an IV bag of my stem cells into the catheter in my chest, I leave the hospital. The stem cells engraft perfectly and recreate my immune system, freeing me from my isolation room in record time. Tests show no trace of cancer: remission, blessed remission. I wait anxiously for Sheryl, due any minute with my clothes.

“Pretty impressive for a first transplant, never mind a second one,” Dr. Feingold says after he checks my vitals. He swings open the door, and for the first time in weeks leaves it open. “Ellal, you’re a puzzle.”

I knew why my immune system remained strong, why my stem cells mobilized, and why I kept my head on my shoulders throughout the ordeal: Daily practice of Qigong. It helped my mind and body hang in there so the medicine could do its job. But I couldn’t prove this, so I kept my mouth shut.

Light and air flooded the room as Feingold’s massive frame disappeared from the doorway. It felt as though a rescue party had just opened a tunnel into the collapsed mine shaft that entrapped me.

I waited for Sheryl. After weeks in isolation in a room the size of a prison cell, the brightness of the outside light, the coolness of the air and the thought of an open horizon intimidated me. To face this vastness, I wanted my wife with me.

Also, I wanted to leave the room in my own clothes, not wander about the circular hallway in a hospital gown. No longer was I a patient—I was free of cancer, at least for that moment.

Sheryl arrived with my clothes. Unfortunately, not all of them. My pants were missing.

“They must’ve fallen out of the bag on the car seat.”

“I really need my pants.” The thought of wearing hospital-issue pajama bottoms in the outside world infuriated me. It’s not that doing so would tip anyone off that I’d been treated for cancer; my hairless, bloated head and body were a dead giveaway. But I’d kept the lid on things for too long. A warrior needs his pants!

“Bob, that’s six floors down and two parking lots away….”

A young nurse, new to the bone marrow floor, entered the room with a suggestion: “How about a pair of surgeon’s operating room pants, the green ones?”

“I would like my own pants. Sheryl, please?” I said with irritation, my voice trembling. The months of working through the preparatory chemotherapy and of being a good soldier through the final three weeks of isolation had worn me down.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Sheryl was irritated, but she smiled anyway. She got it.

The young nurse didn’t. She looked at me like I was a petulant child, then at Sheryl with sympathy, wondering how anyone could put up with someone like me.

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