Thursday, January 24, 2008


The first time I had cancer I went through five weeks of radiation directed at my hip region, including some of my bowel. This caused mild diarrhea by the second or third week, which gradually intensified to the atomic variety. The hospital was about an hour from my house, so it was never a bad idea to use the toilet before my departure, even if I didn’t have an acute urge to shit.

The bathroom was very large for one person. It had only one sink, one toilet, a lock on the door and tons of open space.

I remember one specific afternoon toward the end of the five-week period. I expected heavy traffic on Interstate 66, and I also needed to poop. Waiting it out wasn’t an option, regardless of how much I preferred the comfort of my own home. I turned the light on, closed the door, and dropped trow.

I wouldn’t wish for anyone to be in the bathroom on that warm, sunny afternoon. No matter how bad a person he is, or how terrible a transgression he has committed, that punishment would not fit the crime.

After finishing I rested a couple minutes before cleaning up and going home. That’s when he walked in because I forgot to lock the door. He was a large man somewhere around 5’11 and 240 pounds. He was in his forties with glasses. He wore a shirt and tie. He opened the door and turned 90 degrees to his left, at which point he had a direct view of me and my junk.

The normal response would have been for the man to say “Whoops,” and immediately walk out. Not only did this large man not utter a word, but he also stuck around long enough for the door to close behind him. We stared at each other for multiple seconds. I can’t remember exactly what came out of my mouth, but I know it was along the lines of “Dude!”

or “Dude?”

or “Dude get out I’m taking a fucking shit here.”