I Made a Joke

What happens when the definition of a word becomes the opposite of what it used to be?

The world has literally come to an end.

I Look at Pictures

I look at pictures, on the fridge, on the wall, on my laptop, on Facebook.  I feel what anyone feels.  I remember the moment, the times.  I see myself and I see others.  I remember my life in that moment.

I remember weddings, trips near and far, and simple times with good friends.  I feel a sense of happiness and sadness together; I feel a sense of longing.  Remembering the past the way I choose to; good times, but also good times passed.

I always come back to the same thought.  I ask myself where I was in my life. 

My freshman year in college, 2002-2003 at Villanova, I knew a kid named Paul.  We all drank a lot, but Paul would end up on the floor, lying face down or crawling on the hallway carpet.  I didn’t get it.  It seemed to me that he hadn’t had any more to drink than the rest of us, yet there he was, hardly capable of standing.  And there was nothing wrong with Paul, at least not physically, I guess he was just a sloppy drunk.

I never understood how that could happen.  It seemed to me, and admittedly my opinion is one of an inebriated mind, that I could still run and jump, I could still execute complicated physical tasks having had several too many. 

One day that changed.  I began to notice that alcohol, in significant quantities, was affecting me differently.  I felt that my balance wasn’t what it used to be; my drunken balance that is.  I attributed it to getting older, or having a lower tolerance for the stuff.  I didn’t feel that this was abnormal, just abnormal for me.  I was still within the normal realm of drunken coordination; I wasn’t Paul.

Of course as time went on these changes became clearer.  I found myself claiming repeatedly, “I’m not that drunk.”  And I had begun to see these changes seep into other areas of my life.  It became harder to attribute my experiences to the effects of alcohol. 

When I look at photos, I think of one thing first:  Am I looking at the old me, before I experienced any signs, or had I noticed changes?  When was this?  Which me am I looking at? 

And I always know the answer.

Ambidextrous

The use of a dominant hand creates strength and coordination differences between the right and left side.  But I have become ambidextrous.  I have different amounts of strength and coordination in different muscles regardless of where those muscles reside.  If my left shoulder is stronger, then I use my left hand to take dishes from the dishwasher and lift them to their space in the cupboard.  If my right hand is more coordinated, then I use it to eat soup.  If I have to switch arms I do.

As long as I can do what I need to, none of this matters too much.  

Draw Your Own Conclusions

I went to the doctor’s the other day.  We thought I might have strep throat and decided to see the on-call doctor, it being a Saturday.  I called ahead, providing my name and the reason for my visit. 

A few minutes after my arrival, I was called upon by a nurse who walked me down the hall, stopping to weigh me before sitting me in a chair in an examination room to ask me the reason for my visit.  I told her I had never had strep throat but that having seen my throat, my girlfriend thought I should get it checked out.  She said nothing but proceeded to take my blood pressure, and swab my throat.  I was told that the doctor would be in shortly.

When the doctor arrived he asked me the same questions and felt my throat for swelling.  He then sat down, laptop in hand, and asked me if I had any health problems, or maybe he said medical conditions.  I looked at him and said, “Well, I have ALS.  But other than that, no,” and smiled.  “Oh” he said, looking as if he was trying to conceal his surprise.  “Are you taking any medications at this point?”  After providing him with the names of my medications he instructed me to get up and onto the examination table.  I stood up and looked blankly at the table until he offered me a stool.  I stepped on the stool, grabbing the table with both hands, and climbed on, shifting my weight away from the edge, squirming into a stable position.

The doctor listened to my breathing, used a flashlight to take a look at my throat, and told me I didn’t have strep throat.  He checked his laptop for the results of my throat swab, (“just to confirm”) saw that they weren’t available yet, and told me I could get down.  He had moved the footstool away and after a few moments of watching my hesitation, offered it back to me.  I climbed down and he left the room to confirm the swab results. 

He came back and confirmed that it was only a virus and that I would be fine.  He told me of several remedies for the pain in my throat and after a brief discussion, sent me on my way.