The Ballad of Smokey Joe

I was getting lulled into a false sense of security with the chemo. It'd been a couple weeks and I had two weeks of treatment under my belt and so far, not a whole lot in terms of side effects. I still had my hair (trimmed, though, so it'd sort of match the divot left from the biopsy) and my appetite was fairly normal. I did notice a bit of a decline in terms of energy level, but that wasn't too big of a deal.

I didn't really even mind the treatments, and I never did grow to dread them. The nurses were great and it was a pretty peaceful afternoon in the chair.

Except for Smokey Joe.

I don't know the guy's real name but that's what I called him. He reeked of cigarettes and talked a mile a minute. Most days he was accompanied by a short, plump, Midwestern-y woman who may or may not have had developmental disabilities. She rarely said anything. Her role was as a sort of Greek chorus for Smokey Joe, who would go on long-winded, circular rants about "our good gov'ment," the best route to get somewhere, and fishing. All at top volume. She would chuckle and laugh that wheezy, Smedley-like laugh. To her, he was the most entertaining raconteur in the world.

And for some reason he always wanted to sit by me. I tried switching chairs -- I'd get there first -- but none of it mattered. He'd come in, see me, say "back again!" and we were off. I did my best not to encourage him by making it a point to keep my head buried in my books. It worked for the most part.

Turns out Smokey Joe was a repeat customer. He was in for his third tour of treatment for lung cancer. Once, the nurse scolded him for continuing to smoke as she was hooking him up to his IV.

"I know, I know," he said. "I did pretty good last night, but I took off that patch so I could have just one and I ended up having eight!" For some reason he seemed proud of this, as he said it in an "aw shucks, ain't I a stinker!" kind of way.

But that was his way of whistling in the dark. Later, after the nurse left, the Silent Chuckler said something about the Night of Eight Cigarettes. He mentioned that he hadn't been able to eat much for the past few days. Everything came back up.

But the cigarettes worked just fine.