Battle Cry of the Wolfmother

January 17, 2011 at 10:55 pm (Sweet sticky things, That's not funny...)

Even though the sun was out this morning, a cloud hangs over today.

Today is Boss Whitney’s 53rd birthday. He’s been off work for a few weeks now after exhibiting erratic behavior. Falling asleep at random times, drifting off into obscure conversations with himself. We were all quietly hoping he’d just fallen off the wagon. Remove the vodka and he’ll be fine, right?

There was no vodka. Whitney doesn’t drink.

After arriving at work at noon, several hours late and mumbling incoherently, Master P put him in the Lincoln and drove him to the ER. Ten days later they released him, with no diagnosis.

Today the doctors performed a brain biopsy. The verdict? Lymphoma.

Word traveled fast. Usually it’s juicy gossip when the phones light up like this, but there was no mirth or twisted delight. Only the sad realization that something is horribly wrong with one of ours.

We’re all trying to keep a stiff upper lip. We send text messages wishing him well. Store groupies have descended upon the hospital, holding vigil until he awakes and can know we are there and that we care.

Because we do.

Get better, Whit. The store needs your kind-hearted diplomacy. If it’ll encourage you, we’ll get a couple of coked-up statuesque blondes to dance to Wolfmother at the end of your bed. If you break the radio, we’ll know you’re on the road to recovery.

Be well, my friend.

UPDATE: Just as I posted this, the work phone rang and it was Whitney! “My head is numb, a comb-over ain’t gonna work on this haircut, but I am okay.”

I won’t share the rest of the convo, but I hope I don’t have to be a tough guy for a few minutes…

1 Comment

  1. ArtEast said,

    Underneath that calm, peaceful demeanor, Whit is tough as nails. Lymphoma is going to get its a** kicked. Our thoughts are with you Brother Whitney!!!

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