The sun beat down on Portland, marking it as the second hottest St. Patrick’s Day on record. I settled into a sturdy metal chair, its legs sinking slightly into the damp, freshly mown grass. The chill of the slats pressed against my back. My attire consisted of a simple tank top and shorts, my pale skin absorbing the rare warmth. Engrossed in a book detailing the journey of a college student and her mother traveling from Portland to Iowa, the heat radiated off the pages. The plot developed; the daughter yearned to reconnect with the people from where she had spent her formative years on a commune in the wake of the 1960s counterculture.
I find myself at the campus infirmary this afternoon, in pain from a toothache. Unfortunately, there are no dentists on duty, so I’m with a medical intern who looks younger than me. My frustration mounts as I realize I should be at the Howard Dean rally organized by my friend. However, the throbbing in my tooth is unbearable. The medical intern’s eye catches a rash on the back of my neck. He says it’s eczema, likely triggered by allergies—a common occurrence in Eugene, the grass seed capital of the world. He prescribes me a cream, says that’ll do the trick. Eventually, I make it to the Howard Dean rally where the topic of discussion is global warming.
The just-cut grass scent enveloped me, a mix of earthiness and freshness that tickled my nostrils. As I basked in the sunlight, a vibrant bird with feathers of green and gold rested on a branch of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. Meanwhile, the two women in the book continued their journey through the winding roads of Idaho. The story develops more, learning about the mother's battle against a vicious form of skin cancer.
Exciting news, my toothache is gone. I must be grinding my teeth again. However, the rash on my neck seems to be worsening, spreading down my back. It’s inflamed, causing intense itchiness and oozing pus. I realize it's time to consult a real doctor. I decide to reach out to Gary, my dad’s long-time friend from college. Gary had never left Eugene since his college days and is well-connected in town. My dad has so many crazy stories about Gary. One tale that stands out is the time when Gary and my dad set ablaze the Vietnam War Recruitment Center back in 1968 after a wild night of drinking at Max's Tavern.
I reached my fingers back to relieve an itch behind my left shoulder blade. My nails grazed my skin. They followed the contour of a banana shaped scar. No sensation, the nerves in that spot had long died. My blue eyes lingered on my complexion; a canvas of fair skin adorned with prominent brown moles. Skin I inherited from my Irish grandmother. Remembering the unforgiving nature of the sun, I shifted my chair under the cherry blossom tree. Meanwhile, the two women continued their journey, traversing through the vast expanse of Wyoming.
It's just after breakfast and I'm at the dermatologist. I'm holding the cream that the medical intern at the campus infirmary gave me. The dermatologist says it's not suitable for treating eczema, which explains why the rash has worsened. The dermatologist prescribes the correct cream. He offers to apply it to the hard-to-reach areas on my back, since the rash has spread. While applying the cream to my back, the dermatologist notices a suspicious mole. He removes it for biopsy. He will call me in a few days with the results. I'm about to go to bed; it is late. The rash is already clearing up.
I glanced at the weather app on my phone, the screen displaying an unseasonable 80 degrees. I recalled the subject of the Howard Dean rally I attended in college. The sun slowly encroached upon my shaded spot. I adjusted my chair once more. Meanwhile, the two women continued through Nebraska where it’s hot and humid. Their adventure led them to a quirky diner nestled along the roadside, where they indulged in a meal.
The dermatologist calls. Melanoma. I have never heard that word before. Dr. Google says it's not good. I am scheduled for surgery tomorrow.
As I turned the final page of the book, the story unfolded to reveal the reunion of long-lost friends. The mention of Iowa stirred thoughts of my Irish grandmother who was born there. It sparked a desire within me to visit someday. And as I reflected on this possibility, I couldn't help but think back to a distant memory - a throbbing toothache that troubled me two decades ago.