Cantrell: The Middle Years, Part Two

Is It Time To Give Up, Yet? a Cantrell: The Middle Years, Update-6

[Author’s Note: Content may be sensitive to some. Please read at your own risk.]

After a moment of standing before the microphone, trophy in hand, Erik nodded his head and began, “I am one blessed man. And I know some of you think I live a charmed life. It’s true, to some extent, I suppose. But there comes a time in anyone’s life when the wheels just start to come off of your wagon. Personally, I lost all four, which is hard, since it’s a bike with only two wheels,” Erik said, frowning a bit. “Yes, we are in a very bad state, currently. But God is gracious and I know He has His hands on us and He won’t let us fall.”

“I’m guessing you are all wondering just why an ambulance was summoned to my house night before last. There is already a great deal of sordid buzz going around the social media as well as the Simlebrity Watch channel. What has been said, is not only offensive, but hopelessly incorrect. One of our twins collapsed in some kind of a seizure. The situation is grave.” 

“He’s currently in the hospital, thankfully conscious. I asked if he minded my giving out his personal health situation. He told me he’d rather have the truth out there then what he’s read. So, here we go. Please bear with me, I haven’t slept going on forty-eight hours, now.  My son has a brain tumor. It has a name. Let me see if I can get this right, glioblastoma. Yes, it’s malignant. Yes, it’s cancer. Yes, it’s highly invasive in the brain, the tentacles of which have situated themselves into an inoperative position. I saw the image the physicians took. I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

“He first presented, as they say, with aberrant behavior for him. He was unusually aggressive to his siblings, more so than just a mean word or two. We took him to our pediatrician, he heard us out, asked a few questions, then told us, ‘He’s just experiencing teenage angst. Go home, he’s fine.’ I told my brother, the Chief of Staff at Children’s Hospital when he came to check on him the same night he was taken to the hospital. Dr. Joseph Cantrell became enraged. I think the Pediatrician, like so many of us is simply overworked. I do hope he uses this situation as a wake up call, at least. But I bear him no malice. Do I wish he had ordered up some tests, of course. But we each have to work with whatever is served to us.”

“Already, the doctors are working out a viable treatment for my son, using Nanotechnology-enabled technology to deliver the surface modifications PEG and ligand together to help melt away the tumor. This will spare his brain from any further damage. He’s set to begin the infusion-injection early tomorrow. It’s a series of infusion-injections, so he’ll be laid up for awhile. They’ve already put his identical twin through an entire battery of genetic tests to see if he’s susceptible to the same cancer. Or any cancer, for that matter. Which accounts for the second night without sleep. But it’s all good. He’s in the clear, despite being an identical twin. Glory to God.”

“And trust me, my wife and I wouldn’t even be here tonight except for the twins insisting we come.  What they’re up to, I simply don’t know. They have their own language, you know. And they were busy using it in front of us, as we were gathered by his bedside. Eerie. But to the moment at hand, if you’ll allow me.”

“This is a tremendous honor. I would like to thank the Starlight Academy for the nomination. And the Committee for cementing it into Music History. Five times. I am nearly overwhelmed. I would love it, if you would join me in a round of applause for the four other nominees, each great in their own right. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Erik,” the Host, Powel Noel said. “And now for the Book of the Year Award.  And our special thanks to the National Academy of Fine Arts & Literature, for allowing it to be moved up from its normal position on the yearly calendar.”

“Now down to business, If I may. In order for works to be considered, the Publishing House must submit an application for the manuscript anywhere between the first of December in the preceding year all the way up to the thirtieth of November in the current year. The list starts off with ten entries, that are narrowed down to five. From this final five, a winner is selected by the permanent five-member judging committee. This year’s winner ‘For such riveting writing and storytelling, in the fiction category, goes to Kayleigh A. Cantrell, for her novel, No Way Out, her second in a mystery series. Come on up here, dear. You deserve this. I’ve read the book, it is sensational. Great writing.”

As her husband did, she quietly picked up the trophy from the table. Then stood there as if she hadn’t a clue of what to do next. Clearly uneasy. Before raising it above her head, silently praising God.

“Thank you so much for this recognition.  You can imagine, I’m sure, just how hard the news is when it’s your own baby, who’s ill. I carried the twins for just over seven months — not unusual for twins. Then to learn our firstborn of the twins might also fall prey to this — evil, vile cancer, too. I thought briefly I might lose both of them. My heart has been in my throat. I even forgot about this nomination. Our son remembered, though. He insisted we go tonight.”

“Please forgive me. In many ways, I’m still numb.  I would like to thank the National Academy of Fine Arts & Literature for the grace given by moving this up to tonight. It could not have happened at a more needed time. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. And, wow, is this ever heavy.”

“Thank you again, and please forgive us, we have to get back to our children. Good night, everyone.”

Thanks for reading, all for now!