[stylist] writing sample

Wed Mar 12 17:53:35 UTC 2014

I'm currently working on a short story, but it's far from finished. So I dusted off the following essay, which I submitted to the NFB contest a few years ago (it didn't place). However, I still think it has merit.

Non-Fiction, 1000 words

Becky and the Bowling Ball

By Chris Kuell

On December 30, 2006, my friend Becky passed out and fell in her kitchen after pouring herself a bowl of cereal. Her husband and son found her some twenty minutes later and managed to revive her. she had no memory of the incident. They rushed her to a local hospital, then on to Ruby Memorial, the West Virginia University hospital in Morgantown. After several days of testing, the doctors drilled a hole in her skull for a biopsy, and determined she had Primary CNS Lymphoma. In layman's terms, an inoperable brain tumor. The cancer hadn't spread, but that's little consolation to someone who just received a death sentence.

One doctor wanted to start chemotherapy right away, but Becky decided she needed to go home and be with her family to grieve for a few days before the battle commenced. On Wednesday, January third, she spent her forty-fifth birthday at home with the people who are most important to her. 

As of this writing, she is on the fourth day of chemotherapy in her first round of six treatments. She sounds good on the phone-not too sick, and generally optimistic and positive. The day before yesterday she met a guy with the same diagnosis who came in the hospital in a coma. Now he's strolling the halls taking time to chat with people like Becky.

Of course, there isn't a much tougher blow in life than being told you've got a brain tumor. Becky has received a tremendous outpouring of affection from the many people who know her. One friend built her a web page, complete with photographs of Becky with her family, links to brain tumor information, and a blog where friends can post messages. Across the country, generous people   have contributed money, audio books, prayers, and a tremendous amount of support.

I think there has been an awesome response because people know and care for Becky, and want to help her and her family during these trying times. She has friends in the writing community, in the blindness community, and just about everyone in the small town where she lives. 

But her diagnosis tweaks a fear response in all our psyches. Our shared humanity dictates that we do something, because God forbid, what if it happened to me? 

The first few days after Becky's diagnosis, I could think of little else. I kept wondering how somebody could walk that tightrope of hope without falling into despair. Then I remembered something that happened while I was in graduate school. I attended the University of Vermont in Burlington, a beautiful town on the edge of Lake Champlain. 

One hot summer day in late August 1987, some kids were having a party downtown in a multi-story apartment building. As things heated up inside, somebody tried to open a window, only to find it wouldn't stay up. So, they got the brilliant idea of propping the window up with a bowling ball. Anyone familiar with the theorems of the late, great, Professor Max Murphy can predict what happened next. As the party grew in intensity, a lone female pedestrian waited outside a local deli below, oblivious to the 16-pound ball of fate accelerating at 32 feet per second.

And, that's just the way life is. We build fences, regularly put money in our retirement accounts, get childhood vaccines, see our dentist and primary care physicians regularly, never jaywalk or drive more than 5 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, take yoga classes and practice mindfulness to reduce stress. We try all our life to build up protections, to guard against our enemies, real and perceived. But, there's no way to avoid that falling bowling ball, or that Titlist in your brain if that is what the universe has in store for you. The idea that we have control is just an illusion. All we can do is decide how we react when it's our head that's in the ball's path.   

In his book, Man's Search for Meaning, holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl determined that the single most important factor in deciding who survived and who perished in the concentration camps was the belief that one still had an important purpose in life. Becky still has plenty to live for. First and foremost, her son and husband rely on her to be the glue and stabilizing force that keeps the family together. Becky's son Josh has Glycogen Storage Disease (GSD), a rare liver condition that causes chronic low blood sugars. She   has made arrangements for Josh to be seen by the country's most prestigious GSD doctor at the University of Florida Medical Center, and I know how determined she is to be there with him. She has a sister, parents, a nephew, and hundreds of people who are in her corner rooting as hard as we can. She has an unfinished novel that she's been working on for years, and she will see it in print some day. 

Despite  receiving a  catastrophic blow when a bowling ball fell on her head, Louisa Murray not only survived, but went on to graduate from medical school. The human spirit is strong, and regardless of the tremendous odds against us, we survive. I've hugged my wife and kids every single day since the bad news, held them in my grasp for a few extra seconds, and savored the feeling. Becky's diagnosis has certainly raised my consciousness about the frailty of life, and I don't imagine I'm alone in this new awareness. 

Becky's story has something for all of us, and I am certain of one thing- she always delivers a happy ending.   

Authors postscript:

Becky did take her son to the GSD clinic at the University of Florida in September of 2007. Unfortunately, he died on February 9, 2009. The grief was too much for Becky, and although she beat the odds by surviving CNS lymphoma for over four years, the cancer came back and took her on March 15, 2010. Her novel, Blind Fear, was published in June of 2010. 