Rick Long's Stories
November 23,
2007
2007
The First Ride of the Rest of Your Life
By Rick Long
“Take a deep breath. Hold it in.� The CAT Scan machine makes a whirring sound as the table I’m
lying on suddenly moves forward. The tech running the machine from the next room comes back on the
speaker, “OK, let it out. Now let’s do that again. Deep breath. Hold it.�
Again, the machine moves my head and neck through the x-ray pattern that will produce pictures of the inside
of my body. The radiologist and I are on a hunt. The doctors I’ve seen recently know something is in there.
We can feel its’ evidence. We can put our fingers on the lump in my neck. We can even poke it with a
needle and take a sample from it. Funny how reaching up to scratch your beard one Sunday night while driving
home can change the rest of your life.
Right now, our job is to make films and come up with an opinion on what the lump might be. Then, when the
biopsy results are in, the other doctors and I will have to agree on a plan for what we are going to do about it.
While you are lying on your back, staring at the ceiling of the examination room, you can choose to think about
what the tumor might look like on the film. You can imagine its’ size and shape, its’ consistency, and
other aspects. I think instead about my latest motorcycle ride: north on the I-15 up the Cajon Pass from San
Bernardino to Victorville after work a couple of nights ago just to get good barbeque. There’s something
about riding your Harley 40 or 50 miles that makes food taste better.
I could be thinking of a longer trip, like the annual Yuma run, or heading up to Big Sur along the Pacific Coast
Highway. I make a lot of those types of rides too. For now, I wonder what the next ride will be, short or long,
and how far off it might be. It will be the first ride of the rest of my life. Should it be some grandiose, marathon
adventure? Should it be to the Post Office to get the mail? Will I be able to choose or barely able to do either?
One of my favorite sayings in life is, “More will be revealed.� It acknowledges that we can’t know
everything that’s going to happen and that we have to wait sometimes for more pieces of the puzzle to
come into play. This is one of the more aggravating things about our existence but one that must be fully
accepted. There is no real alternative. Patience truly is a virtue.
It takes a lot of patience to wait for results from medical testing. The problem is that you know that somebody
somewhere in the system has the results you need prior to it reaching you. Sometimes they may have it days
before you get it. In decades past, a biopsy sent to a far away lab would be finished and the result sent to your
doctor via a letter in the mail. He or she might not read the letter for a day or so, and then you wouldn’t get
the news until your appointment next Thursday. Unfair, it seems, that all those people know so much about you
so early in the process while you remain in the dark, so to speak, for so long.
In more modern times, the far away lab e-mails the results right to your electronic chart which sends an alert to
the ordering physician upon his next log-in to the system. He quickly reads the findings and clicks on your
contact info. He grabs the office portable phone and calls your cell phone number. He finds you at work and
talks you to immediately, using words like “cancer� and “malignancy,� then tries to comfort you
with phrases like, “I know this must come as a shock to you.�
Maybe the old way wasn’t so bad. The world turned a little slower in those days. Now, I’m in
immediate contact with my wife via her cell phone. A friend at her work drives her to the lobby where I work
to share more than a few tears. We keep the Thursday appointment and both arrive with a list of questions for
the doctor. All of them surround the concept of “What’s next?�
The answer is that there are a lot of possibilities and a few certainties. More tests? That’s certain. Surgery?
At least one. That’s certain. After that, “More will be revealed.â€� The words “radiationâ€� and â
€œchemotherapyâ€� roll off the doctor’s tongue so smoothly considering the trouble they actually
represent.
You may find yourself in a similar situation someday that involves you or someone you care about deeply. My
advice for now is to get the bikes out and take a ride tonight to get some good BBQ. Plan a longer trip and
take it soon. When you wake up in the recovery room after surgery struggling for your next breath wondering if
it’s really worth it, it’s the feel of the throttle in your right hand, the taste of that sandwich shared with
loved ones and friends, and the thrill and beauty of riding a twisty mountain pass that will make you suck it up,
tolerate the pain, and get up every morning after that trying to gain strength and go on with life.
Don’t ask me how I know.
To be continued…(with a little luck and the grace of God)
(Note: Rick’s first ride after surgery was from his home in Forest Falls, California, up the mountain 16
miles to the Oaks Restaurant in Angeles Oaks on his 2003 100th Anniversary Edition Harley Sportster/Liberty
Sidecar rig. As an author, Rick’s habit is to write in the morning hours then print out a draft copy of his
work and ride to that restaurant for lunch and to edit the article or story.)
By Rick Long
“Take a deep breath. Hold it in.� The CAT Scan machine makes a whirring sound as the table I’m
lying on suddenly moves forward. The tech running the machine from the next room comes back on the
speaker, “OK, let it out. Now let’s do that again. Deep breath. Hold it.�
Again, the machine moves my head and neck through the x-ray pattern that will produce pictures of the inside
of my body. The radiologist and I are on a hunt. The doctors I’ve seen recently know something is in there.
We can feel its’ evidence. We can put our fingers on the lump in my neck. We can even poke it with a
needle and take a sample from it. Funny how reaching up to scratch your beard one Sunday night while driving
home can change the rest of your life.
Right now, our job is to make films and come up with an opinion on what the lump might be. Then, when the
biopsy results are in, the other doctors and I will have to agree on a plan for what we are going to do about it.
While you are lying on your back, staring at the ceiling of the examination room, you can choose to think about
what the tumor might look like on the film. You can imagine its’ size and shape, its’ consistency, and
other aspects. I think instead about my latest motorcycle ride: north on the I-15 up the Cajon Pass from San
Bernardino to Victorville after work a couple of nights ago just to get good barbeque. There’s something
about riding your Harley 40 or 50 miles that makes food taste better.
I could be thinking of a longer trip, like the annual Yuma run, or heading up to Big Sur along the Pacific Coast
Highway. I make a lot of those types of rides too. For now, I wonder what the next ride will be, short or long,
and how far off it might be. It will be the first ride of the rest of my life. Should it be some grandiose, marathon
adventure? Should it be to the Post Office to get the mail? Will I be able to choose or barely able to do either?
One of my favorite sayings in life is, “More will be revealed.� It acknowledges that we can’t know
everything that’s going to happen and that we have to wait sometimes for more pieces of the puzzle to
come into play. This is one of the more aggravating things about our existence but one that must be fully
accepted. There is no real alternative. Patience truly is a virtue.
It takes a lot of patience to wait for results from medical testing. The problem is that you know that somebody
somewhere in the system has the results you need prior to it reaching you. Sometimes they may have it days
before you get it. In decades past, a biopsy sent to a far away lab would be finished and the result sent to your
doctor via a letter in the mail. He or she might not read the letter for a day or so, and then you wouldn’t get
the news until your appointment next Thursday. Unfair, it seems, that all those people know so much about you
so early in the process while you remain in the dark, so to speak, for so long.
In more modern times, the far away lab e-mails the results right to your electronic chart which sends an alert to
the ordering physician upon his next log-in to the system. He quickly reads the findings and clicks on your
contact info. He grabs the office portable phone and calls your cell phone number. He finds you at work and
talks you to immediately, using words like “cancer� and “malignancy,� then tries to comfort you
with phrases like, “I know this must come as a shock to you.�
Maybe the old way wasn’t so bad. The world turned a little slower in those days. Now, I’m in
immediate contact with my wife via her cell phone. A friend at her work drives her to the lobby where I work
to share more than a few tears. We keep the Thursday appointment and both arrive with a list of questions for
the doctor. All of them surround the concept of “What’s next?�
The answer is that there are a lot of possibilities and a few certainties. More tests? That’s certain. Surgery?
At least one. That’s certain. After that, “More will be revealed.â€� The words “radiationâ€� and â
€œchemotherapyâ€� roll off the doctor’s tongue so smoothly considering the trouble they actually
represent.
You may find yourself in a similar situation someday that involves you or someone you care about deeply. My
advice for now is to get the bikes out and take a ride tonight to get some good BBQ. Plan a longer trip and
take it soon. When you wake up in the recovery room after surgery struggling for your next breath wondering if
it’s really worth it, it’s the feel of the throttle in your right hand, the taste of that sandwich shared with
loved ones and friends, and the thrill and beauty of riding a twisty mountain pass that will make you suck it up,
tolerate the pain, and get up every morning after that trying to gain strength and go on with life.
Don’t ask me how I know.
To be continued…(with a little luck and the grace of God)
(Note: Rick’s first ride after surgery was from his home in Forest Falls, California, up the mountain 16
miles to the Oaks Restaurant in Angeles Oaks on his 2003 100th Anniversary Edition Harley Sportster/Liberty
Sidecar rig. As an author, Rick’s habit is to write in the morning hours then print out a draft copy of his
work and ride to that restaurant for lunch and to edit the article or story.)