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9780375507168

It Takes a Worried Man

It Takes a Worried Man
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  • ISBN-13: 9780375507168
  • ISBN: 0375507167
  • Publisher: Random

AUTHOR

Halpin, Brendan

SUMMARY

Kirsten told me I should write it all down. I think she thinks it will be good therapy for me. I have noticed that the stuff written about my situation is usually a line or two in the cancer books: "This is a tough time for him too." So maybe there is some room for my story. I begin this on October 7, 2000. Tomorrow is our sixth anniversary. The Troll Somehow, as much as I wish he weren't, the Troll feels like part of this story. We lived for four years in a condo over a childless couple: a Grizzly Adamslooking, dyspeptic folk singer and his wife. We'll leave the wife out of it, though she was a pain in the ass too. The husband, hereafter known as the Troll, is a loudmouth bullyone of those guys who is angry all the time and never stops to consider the possibility that maybe it's not everyone else in the world who's an asshole. After our daughter, Rowen, was born, he became convinced that we were torturing him by allowing our daughter to walk. Honestly. This despite the fact that his favorite hobby was rattling our floors with his own special brand of 1970s wuss-rock. His response to our completely unreasonable practice of allowing our offspring to move freely about our home got increasingly loony, culminating in him pounding on our door one Sunday morning and running away and then calling Kirsten a "stupid, ignorant, tight-lipped bitch" in front of our daughter the next day. He did his best to make selling our condo and moving out difficult, including squeezing 175 bucks in bogus "fines" from the condo association out of us. Our infractions included vacuuming at 9:00 a.m. and "heavy footfalls." Our lawyer told us the fines were bullshit and he'd be happy to fight them for us for two hundred dollars an hour. We paid the fines and sold the place for two and a half times what we'd paid for it. The Troll wrote "HA-HA-HA-HA-HA" on the back of the canceled check. I never tried to take any revenge, figuring that getting into a lunacy contest with someone who has such a large head start is bad policy and that, you know, living well is the best revenge. This has two implications for my story. One is that I took comfort in the knowledge that this hateful fuck would remain a hateful fuck and continue to find that the whole world was against him, while we would live happy lives in our new home. The other implication is that we were busy moving all summer, and Kirsten decided to wait until her annual checkup in August to get those lumps in her right breast checked out. Those Lumps The had painful lumps in her right breast. A year earlier, she'd had an ultrasound for some other lumps and been told that they were nothing. So it was easy for her to blow these off and wait. It wouldn't have been easy for me. I am a terrible hypochondriac. I worry constantly that every pain I have is a sign of a deadly disease, that my vision is blurring, that I have mad cow disease, that my pee is too bubbly, you name it. I also get chronic testicular inflammations. I had three ultrasounds on my nuts within six months because I was convinced I had testicular cancer. I mean, if your right nut feels like a bowling ball, that must mean something serious is wrong. Right? Wrong, as it turns out. Sometimes my epididymis, which is a tube that carries sperm out of the testicle and sort of loops around it on the way out, gets inflamed. No big deal except, you know, my balls hurt a lot. C'est la vie. Kirsten is always the steady one in these situations. She reassures me that I don't have testicular cancer, that I don't have mad cow disease, that my kidneys aren't failing. She is the voice of reason. So when she said that those lumps were probaHalpin, Brendan is the author of 'It Takes a Worried Man' with ISBN 9780375507168 and ISBN 0375507167.

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