This is a piece of my short fiction devloped for use #SpoonieChat. 'The Shutout' is intended to explore the social or human side of chronic illness. It’s drawn from my 15 year battle with Spondylitis along with detail generously provided by other Spoonies.
TERMS OF USE: “The Shutout”, along with its characters and setting remain the sole property of Dawn M Gibson. This story is shared for the purpose of raising awareness of invisible disability, and is not to be used to make profit of any kind.
This excerpted work may be reblogged and shared on social media, but always in its entirety, with attribution, and a link back to this post.
The Shutout
Chanel Jackson shifted from one foot to the other, twisting and stretching against the stiffness gripping her back, hips, and legs. She looked up at the Highway Dog menu, scanning for the lesser of the lunch evils. The heavily tattooed blonde woman handed off the previous customer’s order before turning to her. Her cartoonishly large nametag read “My name is Liz!”
“Welcome to Highway Dog, would you like to try the Coney Dog Special?"
"Is it really a Coney?”
“Yes. It’s a hotdog, not a hamburger or sausage.”
“What, with onion, chili, and mustard?”
Caught off guard, Liz adjusted her ponytail, and blinked a few times before attempting to answer what might be a trick question.
“Yes, on a warm bun.” She watched Chanel cautiously, not sure where this hotdog interrogation was headed. She paused a moment, and continued, “you get French fries and a fountain drink in a commemorative Winter Olympics cup, if you order the super combo."
"Can I just get some water? I’m getting coffee later.”
“You’ll have to buy a bottle.”
“That’s fine, but could you please crack open the seal for me? My hands aren’ t so good." Chanel pretended not to catch Liz’s disapproving side eye glance and pursed lips at her request.
"Will there be anything else?” She asked, drawing out the last word a beat too long.
“Nope,” Chanel replied without looking up from her wallet.
“That’ll be $ 7.50, you can wait down there,” Liz said, flinging her right hand toward the soda machines, food trays, condiments, and napkin dispensers. Chanel heard Liz muttering under her breath, “who does she think she is, the Queen of England?”
***
Chanel had just taken a bite of the “Coney Dog” when her sister called.
“Eden?”
“Hey Sis, how’s the drive going?”
“It’s ok.”
“Where are you now?”
“I just stopped for lunch."
"What did you get?”
“They called it a Coney, but it’s garbage.”
“Bad chili? I can’t stand bad chili!”
“Worse! They put some cheese sauce and ketchup on it."
"That’s terrible. Don’t eat it. We can have a real one right after Church on Sunday."
"Did you and Mama have enough help for the party? Has Daddy caught on yet?”
“We’re good. Daddy doesn’t seem to notice. When’re you going to get here?”
“At least a few more hours.”
“Why didn’t you start out early this morning?” Eden asked with a sigh.
“ I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Late night?”
“No, it’s the usual, I wake up so stiff and sore. The fatigue is always worse in the winter too.”
“The doctor didn’t have anything for that?”
“Not since the last time I asked, and I have enough meds and side effects already.”
“Are you ready for tomorrow night?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be."
"Why do you have to have an attitude? ”
“I’m just being realistic.”
“What are you wearing?” Eden asked nervously, “did you get a dress?”
“I have a dress, but I think it’s just too cold to wear it.”
“Did you at least bring some heels?”
“You know I can’t wear them anymore.’”
“But it’s only for a few hours…”
“It won’t work. My feet will be hurting for days.”
“If you say so.”
“Look, I can’t do this right now. I still need to take some meds and get more coffee before I get back in the car.”
***
The arthritis was the primary topic during Chanel’s last spiritual direction session with Sister JoJo. “Chanel, I remember from last time that you were especially frustrated with your arthritis. There was some pain, fatigue, and something with your hands, right?“ Sister paused a moment before continuing, "I know this is your least favorite question, so we’ll just get it out of the way. How are you feeling today? ” Sr. JoJo asked.
“Sister, it’s just about the same this week.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m taking pain meds four or five times a day. The pain wakes me up almost every night. My hands are really stiff. I’ve had to pay the neighbor girl to scoop the cat’s litter box.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“He doesn’t want to give me anything stronger.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell the real reason, but I think he feels I’m exaggerating or have a habit. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay. Are you looking forward to your Dad’s birthday party?”
“Kind of. It’s his sixty-fifth. My Momma and them rented out the church hall, got a caterer, and are showing some home movies. Eden will probably sing a few songs.”
“That sounds good.”
“Something always goes wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never know how I’ll be feeling when I wake up, so it’s never certain when I’ll be okay to drive. No matter when I get started it’s a long day driving home. Stressing out about my family isn’t helping me feel any better.”
“Have you considered flying?”
“It’s too expensive. I need that money for all my meds.”
“I see. Are you looking forward to seeing anybody when you get home?”
“My cousins are okay in small doses, but I need to brace myself for the rest of them. They find something wrong with my outfit, hair, and anything else they can think of.”
“What’s wrong with your clothes?”
“Momma likes a very polished look with fancy clothes, high-heels, and lots of make-up. My sisters go along with her. She doesn’t even have to tell them what to wear.”
“Does she tell you what to wear?”
“Sometimes she "reassures” me by having an outfit for me to wear. Other times she reminds me not to wear a track suit.“
"Have you ever worn a track suit to a party?”
“Only to a barbecue, and we were all wearing blue ones to go with our family reunion shirts.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“To her, there is no difference between a pants suit and a track suit. And flats are just fancy sneakers.”
“She wants you to wear a dress and heels?”
“Yes, but I can’t wear a dress in the cold. If my knees or ankles get cold I’ll be in pain for at least a week. My body can’t tolerate heels either.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I have a dress and thick tights to wear if it’s not too cold and a pants suit if the dress doesn’t work."
"Were clothes an issue before your illness?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t as bad, but these days I have to be about what’s functional. I don’t have the energy to spend hours on my hair, doing make-up, and then go out to the party.”
Chanel crossed her arms and sat back in the chair awaiting Sister’s next question.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve explained the impact the arthritis has on your energy and abilities?”
“Yes.”
“Were you honest with them?”
“Yes. I told them about the fatigue and that heels are too hard on my feet.”
“How did they respond?”
“Momma thinks I need to “get more rest” and that I’m just too young to have arthritis.”
“Did you give her any information from the doctor?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t help.”
“What about your sisters?”
“They know something’s wrong, but they follow her in lead in ignoring it.”
“It’s like they have a script or something. It always starts with “is that what you’re wearing?”, then when are you getting rid of “that cat”, and the finish up by reminding me that my eggs are drying out and I’ll probably die all alone.”
“Do you have a strategy for getting through the party?”
“Yeah, Cleopatra Jones will make the trip with me.”
“But not to the party, right?”
“Of course not. I’ll drop her at the hotel before I go over to the church.”
“And then what?”
“I can burn at least forty five minutes looking at pictures and talking to my cousins about their kids. Sometimes, I have to watch some pageant footage on somebody’s phone. Then I show some pictures of Cleopatra Jones or talk about what we’re reading in book club.”
“Who else is going to be at the party?”
“Just about Everyone. People from Daddy’s old job, extended family, and the church people. I can’t tell you who is worse, family or the church people.“
"Why is that?”
“There is all of this pressure to get healed.”
“I don’t understand. ”
“Some of the church people believe that it’s my fault that God has not healed me. If I had stronger faith, I would be healthy.”
“Do they just offer these opinions on their own?”
“Yes. They start by asking if I’m still “saying” that I have arthritis?”
“Why does mentioning it matter?”
“Some people believe that the devil is empowered by claiming the illness. These same folks are sure that if I just pray more, go to their church, or repent properly, I’ll be healed.”
“What do you usually do when this happens?”
“I used to sit there and take it. I was raised to respect my elders, but I’ve changed since Betty Johnson and I had it out.”
“Who is Betty Johnson?”
“Betty is a highly sanctified church elder. She cornered me one Easter, and went on and on about all those people Jesus healed, and how Jesus “told her” that he wants to heal me.“
“She didn’t!”
“Oh, she did with lots of pious certainty.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked her, if arthritis is even in the Bible. Of course she couldn’t find it, but that didn’t stop her. She just wouldn’t shut up.” Chanel paused a moment, sat up straight in her chair, and the leaned forward before continuing, “So I got right in her face. I mean nose to nose, like we were in a Western, or I was an umpire, and yelled, “Who the fuck asked you?”
A smile slowly unfurled over Sister’s face as her eyes met Chanel’s. She flipped her hair over her right shoulder before asking, “and then what happened?” She pursed her lips and put on her best serious expression.
"Well, we both stood there for a moment, and then she said, “I forgive you.” Can you believe that, her "forgiving" me? I told her that I don’t want her forgiveness, and walked away laughing.”
“Wow!” Sister said, as she gave up trying to keep her composure. Both women kept laughing until they cried.
