The Nebulous Call

Saturday December 15, 2007

"Bad news does not get better with time."

My former boss would seemingly utter the above statement every Monday during our weekly executive staff meetings at my former company. This usually happened after one of his direct reports waffled about when something was going to get done or how angry the customer really was about a particular issue. I was by no means ever really hanging on this man's every word, but I retained this statement. Despite his weekly pleas, there were always a few of his direct reports that failed to take heed. I've found this to be true in society at large as well.

A friend of mine was telling me about being jerked around by loan and title officers and a real estate agent today. As if they had rehearsed together, all followed the script of exchanging pleasantries, clouding the issue with some apparent good news, and then finally backing into the set-back as if it's just something to be shrugged off. Quite disenchanted at the news from these Three Stooges, my friend would have been less upset had she been leveled with at the outset.

I got a similar call today. Figuring that I should try not to prolong my flakiness any longer, I returned a call from a voicemail that I received earlier in the week. I was a little curious as to the nature of the message since it did not come from the physical therapist that I usually deal with , but their supervisor at the athletic club . Somehow, I sensed that something was wrong.

After playing 3 rounds of phone tag, she finally caught me as I headed down the freeway on one of my many errands today. She thanked me for calling back, and then she suggested that I reschedule some of my appointments with another trainer or therapist. At first, I just listened. Perhaps he had been fired or something. He did seem like a maverick of sorts, but that was actually part of his charm. However, not everyone always has as optimistic an outlook as I do most of the time. I'm amused by such things, while others might right the guy off as difficult. She continued, again suggesting that I reschedule with somebody else. So finally I asked.

She said he had a health issue. I recalled that during one of our previous sessions he had mentioned having a stroke earlier this year. Furthermore, he had explained (not complained) that he was having some difficulty with his hands sometimes, but he laughed it off as just "one of those things". He did this with so many of life's injustices, and always made me laugh. I've been to many other chiropractors or physical therapists during my storied, injury-riddled athletic career, but very few if any had a sense of humor like Dr. Andrew Cuccia.

During our first session, we somehow got into a discussion of race and politics. He laughed, almost apologetically about being Sicilian, and proceeded to give some clever insights and expressed support for stereotypes proliferated by the Godfather trilogy and the Sopranos. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard while somebody was cracking my back. He had me in stitches.

Another time, he was going on and on about his distaste for his son's choice of women. He talked about his childhood in Southern California, and about his immigrant mother and the clever things that she would say to him. During our last session, he talked about his Thanksgiving visit to see his son in New Mexico. As always, he did so with a George Carlin cynicism that entertained me thoroughly. He's the kind of guy that you almost had to look in the eye all the time because you couldn't tell if he was serious about something or not. But he was always hilarious.

Something still did not compute about what the lady on the phone was trying to say.

"Wait...is everything okay?" I asked.

"Well...he had that health issue...and well...," she continued. "He passed away."

"WOW! Did he...um...WOW!" is all I could say.

She offered up no further information. Why hadn't she led off with this?

"I had pre-paid for 2 or 3 additional sessoins...um...will we..um...what do we do for those...um...I...WOW! Are you kidding?"

I felt like an idiot for letting these things come out of my mouth. I wish I had something more appropriate to say. She hadn't exactly set me up for such news, positioning it as a personnel issue and not the terminal situation that it was. It seemed very impersonal. I don't know. Perhaps I'm overreacting. I didn't say as much to her, but I was uncomfortable for the remainder of the call.

Dr. Cuccia was truly a laid back cat. My first impression of him was so much the opposite though. He all but lectured me about keeping my appointment and stressed how good a deal he was giving me and how people often flake on him and miss appointments. I assured him that not only did I intend to respect his time, but my backpain would surely get me there when I was supposed to be. The mood was definitely lighter once I reported for our first session. He was hilarious.

When I got off the phone, I thought about our last conversations. During our last session, he spoke with much pride about his son who seemed to be getting his life back on track after being a late bloomer of sorts that had a few early-20s type transgressions in his past. It sounded like he had a really nice time visiting with him. Our last conversation was actually on the phone. We were to have a 730am appointment, and realizing that I would have to cancel in order to make it to work early for a meeting, I tried to contact him. I felt terrible when I discovered that he was already in his car and on his way to the gym for our appointment. I explained and apologized profusely, remembering his strong feelings on people that failed to show for their treatments. His reply was classic Andy though, and I had to laugh aloud when he delivered it.

"Hey...no big deal, we'll reschedule."

I continued my apology, expressing my regret that he had already began to make the drive, but he cut me off.

"No worries, brotha...I'll just go get myself some breakfast."

All day, I've been thinking about many of the humorous opinions he had about life and about how fortunate I was to get to hear them. In retrospect, I get the impression that he was really at peace, and that he almost knew his days were numbered. He didn't get worked up about a whole lot, at least not in a way that prevented him from enjoying each day. In fact, he'd probably laugh about my complaining about the fashion in which bad news should be delivered. He'd finish it off with that half-way deadpan, and subsequent grin and I'd have to laugh at myself too.

Andy, I'm glad I met you. Rest in peace.