Ron's Blog

A few days ago, I was driving to the UVA Cancer Center for the last of five radiation treatments. If you’ve ever had to endure a series of unappealing but necessary medical procedures, you know how wonderful it is for them to be over. I had no desire to ring the proverbial bell, for a second time in two years. I was just glad to be done. In fact, I was a bit giddy as I headed down our two-lane country road towards the main highway.

We live in a beautiful area where winding roads and rolling hills are a constant pleasure. I do not miss the traffic and tension of the Washington, DC suburbs where we lived for almost thirty years. I would trade a six-lane highway of rage for a serene country road any day.

The challenge with small, beautiful, backwoods roads however is that there are very few off ramps. If there’s an accident, a utility repair crew, or an escaped herd of cattle blocking the way, you must simply wait and enjoy the scenery until the road is clear. While these slowdowns can certainly prolong the trip, seeing a soaring bird above the treetops while you’re idling on a rural byway is still better than seeing someone give you the bird while driving in hustle-and-bustle-burbia. So, due to the few alternate routes, I generally consult my iPhone’s GPS system to make sure the path is clear. Unfortunately, however, my smartphone is not smart enough to alert me to a slow driver.

As I left our neighborhood, I got in line behind three cars, the first of which was driven by someone who seemed more cautious than the conditions required. It was a clear, dry day and there was not a cow in sight. This particular driver, however, was traveling at a speed slightly below my mother’s gait when she shuffled behind one of those fancy walkers called a rollator. Molasses seeps faster.

The Code of Virginia prohibits passing more than one car at a time on a two-lane roadway. I was fourth in our creeping train of vehicles that day. I had no opportunity to pass either of the two drivers between me and the first slowpoke because they were already bumper to bumper as if trying to push the leader into second gear. And for the record, I would have no problem violating the aforementioned Code of Virginia if I had had enough highway to get around three cars at once. I may drive an old Subaru Outback but it still has some giddy up.

As the trip got longer and longer, while we inched our way to the interstate, I sensed a tightening in my stomach that worked its way through my chest, over my shoulders, and landed beneath my skull as a splitting headache. I reached for a bottle of Tylenol in my glovebox but at the same moment, our speed picked back up. I returned the bottle and of course, right on cue, the idiot in front slowed back down. To be fair, I have no evidence that this driver was really an idiot. But most certainly, they were a nimrod. I got the Tylenol back out and took two.

Finally, after what seemed like a week, we arrived at the interstate on-ramp and our lethargic leader turned in the same direction I was going. I grabbed two more Tylenols and while my attention was focused on replacing the bottle in the glovebox, the nimrod, who had been traveling slower than a snail on the back of a turtle, sped down the highway well above the posted speed, never to be seen again. I won’t repeat what I shouted but suffice it to say that it wasn’t, “Thank you Jesus.”

I settled in for the reminder of my trip listening to a playlist of classic songs from the 70s. The Seals and Crofts song, “We May Never Pass This Way (Again)” came on. It’s one of their most popular tunes and a favorite of mine. And while I’m no musical Einstein, I believe the lyrics are about telling us about the fleeting nature of our lives. As I listened to the song, I considered my drive to the hospital and couldn’t help feeling that perhaps I was the real nimrod.

You see, I have been dealing with cancer for a couple of years and even though my prognosis is good, metastatic cancer can be a devastating, and even fatal, disease. I’ve never been one to focus on that reality but the song was a good reminder that perhaps we do need to consider the limits of our time on the planet. On top of that, I had just spent thirty minutes of my life stewing about a so-called idiot driver rather than enjoying a leisurely ride through the beautiful countryside. It was a smack-my-forehead moment (duh).

Thankfully, I made it to my appointment with no other issues and have finished the treatments. I’m glad to be on the other side and will find out in a few days if the treatments worked. I also feel that I was given an existential nudge by the Seals and Crofts song so that I don’t miss chances to see the fullness of the life that is all around me. 

At times, we may all be nimrods traveling through life without a clue. But with the proper perspective, we can slow down, smell the cows in the road (roses seemed too cliché), and realize that Seals and Crofts had it right—We may never pass this way again.