I run. I run and run. I run from home to the gym. From the gym back home. From home to work and then back again. I run so much I could well be an Olympian. I cook. I clean. I eat. I sleep. I awake and then start the game over again. But why? Where do I run to? Where does it lead me? And how valuable, at the end of the day, is all the accomplishment worth? Today, in the midst of running I slowed down. I came to a halt. Just for a minute, not for long, and took a deep breath.
For the past two days, three if you count Friday evening, I have been struggling. Somewhere between work and home my equilibrium played a trick on me. The ground, solid and stable, shook beneath my feet. Slightly tilted to the left I walked, tapping against the walls of my house and at times seeing what appeared to be double. I ran. I ran as fast as I could to my computer.
"Health". Hmm...I will enter dizziness. Self diagnosis is such a blessing. Where would I be without it? Dizziness:Symptom of vertigo, Meniere's Disease, Poor Circulation, Multiple Sclerosis." There it is. M.S. It had to be. There was no more logical explanation than M.S. for what was now debilitating me and keeping me locked away on my sofa for the evening. "Hypochondriac: n. A person who has hypochondriasis, a disorder characterized by a preoccupation with body functions and the interpretation of normal body sensations or abnormalities (such as minor aches and pains) as portending problems of a major medical moment. Synonym:Keith Proto
I should be ashamed. Eight months ago a sassy, energetic woman sat in my chair as I cut her hair. Normally Mario would have done it but he was out on sick leave, the result of a shoulder surgery. Mimi had the sense of style I longed to have when I was her age. She grew older gracefully, no, more than that, she grew older stunningly. With hip hugger jeans, flared at the shoe line and well executed makeup she drew a second look. It would be remiss for anyone not to have noticed her eyes; those big, brown expressive, inquisitive eyes. Bette Davis.That says it all. Short, cropped hair spiked the top of her head flowed into a sweeping bang across her forehead. Sprinkled with streams of white natural highlights it was the icing on a cupcake made in heaven.
Luckily I had the pleasure, during Mario's recuperation, of "coiffing" Mimi's hair. Some people can fill a room with light. You can see a tiny bit of mischief in them like a leprechaun. "I run every day along the beach," she'd say and it was apparent. Friends would see her and comment on the stamina. No one could keep such a figure without some form of exercise. During our last session together she didn't seem herself. "The bottom of my foot hurts. I hope it doesn't keep me away from running."
"Just watch it, you probably strained a tendon." There might be a marathon in the future and it would be a lesser challenge if Mimi were not in the running. Months passed and Mario returned to work. Life went on and I continued my own version of running, though not as beneficial to the body as Mimi's. I noticed her name was back in Mario's book for a haircut and when she arrived her smile walked through the door first. Ah, she was radiant as always and filled with style as she lay back in the shampoo bowl awaiting a hair wash.
On my way back I noticed the radiance was not quite as effervescent. I gave her a quick hello. "Hey, how did you make out with your foot? Is it better?" The shaking of her head indicated it was not. "It's A.L.S." I didn't quite catch that. "What?" She repeated it softly. I stopped running. As a matter of fact I think my breathing stopped all together. The ground shook, off balance, as though an earthquake had occurred. "Oh Mimi, I don't believe it." Of course I did. I took hold of her tiny hand and squeezed. I wanted to squeeze all of the disease from it. I wanted to squeeze all of her fear away. I wanted to squeeze any light I could into her body. I went into the bathroom and began to tremble.
Months passed and Mimi would make her way in for haircuts. Driving was no longer an option. Her bubbly walk was sluggish with a foot trailing behind. Then a leg. Then a body. Then, without warning the door opened and Mimi came bounding in seated behind the controls of an electric wheelchair. Still she captivated me in her usual manner. Time was moving far too rapidly. She wasn't running. She wasn't being given the opportunity to win that marathon or live to a ripe old age and watch her grandchildren grow. I hoped against all odds she would have a few years of reprieve, that perhaps somehow God or at least life would be good to her and the disease would not progress so rapidly.
Today, with my head off balance I was running. I ran to have my blood drawn for a check up and called the doctor's office for an appointment to have my whirling head examined. "Can you make it between 10 and 11?" The receptionist must have known I was in New Haven through some extrasensory perception. "I'll be there." I waited. They called me in. "Tell me what's going on," the doctor said.
"Well..." I went into all of the details and openly told of my quest on the computer for self diagnosis. "We've talked about that, Keith. Leave it to me." I was rightfully reprimanded. "I'm going to give you a round of an antibiotic and some Antivert for the dizzy spells. It will take about ten days to go away and then you should feel better."
Thank you, thank you dear doctor. In my car I was pleasantly surprised to think that my suffering would end in a few short days. The road before me led back to my home where I would collect my grocery list and muddle through the market even with my imbalance. Back in the car, as I pulled from my driveway, there was a ring, "Bing bong". A text message came in. It was Stephanie. "Mario just had a phone call. Mimi has died." Had I been driving I would have soared off the road. It hit like a ton of bricks. It slowed me down like a jet who'd just engaged it's brakes after reversing it's engines upon touching down on the runway. I sat. I prayed for Mimi. I prayed for us all. I stopped running. I stopped thinking of myself as I tried to catch my breath. Where is the justice? I wondered if she had run all the way to heaven.
I suppose life just happens. It goes on, rolling majestically up toward the sky with it's infinite possibilities and dives into deep caverns with dampness and a lack of fresh air. I suppose I will stop running for the moment and try to catch up with myself. I say it time and again and yet I just don't. I suppose I will reach for the stars and try to lasso the moon. I suppose I will soak in the sun, drenching myself with it's warmth and lightness and dream on a cloud. And still, I suppose I will run to the computer when health warrants it and diagnose my impending condition. And I will run. I will run from here to there and back again.
I wonder if that is life. I wonder if we are incapable of changing, effectively changing, no matter how hard we try. Had my doctor returned with a different diagnosis I wonder, would it have made a difference? How does one slow down? How does one touch the sun and unlock the dreams deep within? I wonder if dear Mimi knows what a lasting impression she's left in many hearts and a mindfulness about life. Though she lost the battle in another way she won. I wonder if she realized that for an all too short period of time a stunning, stylish woman, not simply physically beautiful but genuinely beautiful, brought a brightness to our lives. I wonder...
For the past two days, three if you count Friday evening, I have been struggling. Somewhere between work and home my equilibrium played a trick on me. The ground, solid and stable, shook beneath my feet. Slightly tilted to the left I walked, tapping against the walls of my house and at times seeing what appeared to be double. I ran. I ran as fast as I could to my computer.
"Health". Hmm...I will enter dizziness. Self diagnosis is such a blessing. Where would I be without it? Dizziness:Symptom of vertigo, Meniere's Disease, Poor Circulation, Multiple Sclerosis." There it is. M.S. It had to be. There was no more logical explanation than M.S. for what was now debilitating me and keeping me locked away on my sofa for the evening. "Hypochondriac: n. A person who has hypochondriasis, a disorder characterized by a preoccupation with body functions and the interpretation of normal body sensations or abnormalities (such as minor aches and pains) as portending problems of a major medical moment. Synonym:Keith Proto
I should be ashamed. Eight months ago a sassy, energetic woman sat in my chair as I cut her hair. Normally Mario would have done it but he was out on sick leave, the result of a shoulder surgery. Mimi had the sense of style I longed to have when I was her age. She grew older gracefully, no, more than that, she grew older stunningly. With hip hugger jeans, flared at the shoe line and well executed makeup she drew a second look. It would be remiss for anyone not to have noticed her eyes; those big, brown expressive, inquisitive eyes. Bette Davis.That says it all. Short, cropped hair spiked the top of her head flowed into a sweeping bang across her forehead. Sprinkled with streams of white natural highlights it was the icing on a cupcake made in heaven.
Luckily I had the pleasure, during Mario's recuperation, of "coiffing" Mimi's hair. Some people can fill a room with light. You can see a tiny bit of mischief in them like a leprechaun. "I run every day along the beach," she'd say and it was apparent. Friends would see her and comment on the stamina. No one could keep such a figure without some form of exercise. During our last session together she didn't seem herself. "The bottom of my foot hurts. I hope it doesn't keep me away from running."
"Just watch it, you probably strained a tendon." There might be a marathon in the future and it would be a lesser challenge if Mimi were not in the running. Months passed and Mario returned to work. Life went on and I continued my own version of running, though not as beneficial to the body as Mimi's. I noticed her name was back in Mario's book for a haircut and when she arrived her smile walked through the door first. Ah, she was radiant as always and filled with style as she lay back in the shampoo bowl awaiting a hair wash.
On my way back I noticed the radiance was not quite as effervescent. I gave her a quick hello. "Hey, how did you make out with your foot? Is it better?" The shaking of her head indicated it was not. "It's A.L.S." I didn't quite catch that. "What?" She repeated it softly. I stopped running. As a matter of fact I think my breathing stopped all together. The ground shook, off balance, as though an earthquake had occurred. "Oh Mimi, I don't believe it." Of course I did. I took hold of her tiny hand and squeezed. I wanted to squeeze all of the disease from it. I wanted to squeeze all of her fear away. I wanted to squeeze any light I could into her body. I went into the bathroom and began to tremble.
Months passed and Mimi would make her way in for haircuts. Driving was no longer an option. Her bubbly walk was sluggish with a foot trailing behind. Then a leg. Then a body. Then, without warning the door opened and Mimi came bounding in seated behind the controls of an electric wheelchair. Still she captivated me in her usual manner. Time was moving far too rapidly. She wasn't running. She wasn't being given the opportunity to win that marathon or live to a ripe old age and watch her grandchildren grow. I hoped against all odds she would have a few years of reprieve, that perhaps somehow God or at least life would be good to her and the disease would not progress so rapidly.
Today, with my head off balance I was running. I ran to have my blood drawn for a check up and called the doctor's office for an appointment to have my whirling head examined. "Can you make it between 10 and 11?" The receptionist must have known I was in New Haven through some extrasensory perception. "I'll be there." I waited. They called me in. "Tell me what's going on," the doctor said.
"Well..." I went into all of the details and openly told of my quest on the computer for self diagnosis. "We've talked about that, Keith. Leave it to me." I was rightfully reprimanded. "I'm going to give you a round of an antibiotic and some Antivert for the dizzy spells. It will take about ten days to go away and then you should feel better."
Thank you, thank you dear doctor. In my car I was pleasantly surprised to think that my suffering would end in a few short days. The road before me led back to my home where I would collect my grocery list and muddle through the market even with my imbalance. Back in the car, as I pulled from my driveway, there was a ring, "Bing bong". A text message came in. It was Stephanie. "Mario just had a phone call. Mimi has died." Had I been driving I would have soared off the road. It hit like a ton of bricks. It slowed me down like a jet who'd just engaged it's brakes after reversing it's engines upon touching down on the runway. I sat. I prayed for Mimi. I prayed for us all. I stopped running. I stopped thinking of myself as I tried to catch my breath. Where is the justice? I wondered if she had run all the way to heaven.
I suppose life just happens. It goes on, rolling majestically up toward the sky with it's infinite possibilities and dives into deep caverns with dampness and a lack of fresh air. I suppose I will stop running for the moment and try to catch up with myself. I say it time and again and yet I just don't. I suppose I will reach for the stars and try to lasso the moon. I suppose I will soak in the sun, drenching myself with it's warmth and lightness and dream on a cloud. And still, I suppose I will run to the computer when health warrants it and diagnose my impending condition. And I will run. I will run from here to there and back again.
I wonder if that is life. I wonder if we are incapable of changing, effectively changing, no matter how hard we try. Had my doctor returned with a different diagnosis I wonder, would it have made a difference? How does one slow down? How does one touch the sun and unlock the dreams deep within? I wonder if dear Mimi knows what a lasting impression she's left in many hearts and a mindfulness about life. Though she lost the battle in another way she won. I wonder if she realized that for an all too short period of time a stunning, stylish woman, not simply physically beautiful but genuinely beautiful, brought a brightness to our lives. I wonder...
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