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.

Basketball

I went to the gym to play basketball with a friend.  It was February and the drive was especially cold.  After changing into my gym shoes and trying to rub my hands together for warmth, I dribbled the ball across the court to the far basket.  My hands hadn’t warmed at all; they felt like bricks as I dribbled.  I had no feel for the ball.  I must’ve looked like a five-year-old who had never dribbled a ball, slapping it awkwardly.  It had been a while since I picked up a basketball, everything felt so foreign.  My feet were in a cold sweat, hands cold and dry as we began shooting around.

My shot felt weak, like I needed to use my legs, jumping hard just to assure the ball reached its goal.  After a few minutes of “shaking the dust off”, i.e. warming up, we began a game of “taps”.  Taps is a game in which one player shoots foul shots while the other “taps” into the basket, any misses.  It requires the “tapper” to jump, catch the ball, and shoot the ball before landing.  I quickly learned that this was asking a lot.  There was a time when this game came as easily as anything, but that time had passed. 

When I found myself on the foul line, I learned that I barely had the strength to reach the basket without jumping.  Watch a basketball game, be it high school, college, or pro, no one over the age of eight jumps on a foul shot.  But I did.  I had to.

Later we played “21”, essentially a one-on-one game that also includes foul shots and a three-pointer at the end.  I found myself a step slow on defense, and my hands still felt like bricks when handling the ball.  I tried to execute moves I was comfortable with in the past, and failed.  I tried to drive past my defender, dribbling with my right (dominant) hand, but found that when I tried to collect the ball to attempt a layup, I couldn’t get a handle; the ball bouncing forward, out of bounds and into the wall. 

When I or my opponent brought the ball into the post, creating a bit of physicality, I felt okay with the slowed down pace, but soon learned that this too brought challenges.  I backed down my defender, using my body to shield him from my dribble.  I leaned in, pushing him closer to the basket and suddenly he moved.  He slid his body to the side and I backpedalled awkwardly towards the sideline.  It felt like slow motion as I first lost my balance, then control of the ball, then watched helplessly as my legs struggled to try to catch up with my momentum.  They didn’t; I fell, sliding backwards on my butt. 

I’m not sure what my friend and opponent thought; I didn’t ask.  Likely he was as confused as I.  Soon after, I called my doctor to set up an appointment.  

Pleasant

I like getting coffee.  It is so easy.  Breakfasts are nice, but the crowds, the task of eating a hot breakfast (while it’s still hot) makes for a different experience.  There are too many distractions for me.  Instead I enjoy the quiet simplicity of a coffee shop. 

I enjoy spending an hour or two in slow motion.  I enjoy conversation that isn’t interrupted by the arrival of plates of food.  I enjoy sharing a newspaper and the discussions that ensue.  I enjoy watching and listening as people come and go or sit for hours with laptop and headphones.  I am endlessly entertained and often bewildered by the plethora of coffee orders I hear.  I ask my partner (and former barista herself) what they are, hear stories of her days behind the counter, and learn a thing or two.

Sit, chat, read, listen, look, sip.  All things with which I have little difficulty.

More Contrasts

I remember growing up we were always asked what sorts of things we enjoyed doing.  Whether it was on the first day of school, upon joining a new group, or in a conversation with a new acquaintance, that question always came up.  It seemed like everyone but me always included one thing in their response; hanging out with friends.  I always wondered what that meant.  It seemed to me that any time I spent with friends was spent doing something, not just hanging out.  Riding bikes, climbing trees, building forts, playing catch or whiffleball or sledding in the winter.  Even when we were inside we were usually playing Nintendo or later Sega Genesis.  Playing basketball in the driveway might have been as close to hanging out as anything else; there always seemed to be a lot of standing around. 

I never really understood what kids meant when they listed “hanging out with friends” as one of their favorite activities.  I always had something to bring me together with my peers; something we all wanted to do, and something for which we needed each other, whether to round out the team or strictly for companionship.  There was always an activity to bring us together beyond hanging out.

As I got older the idea remained and although a few sedentary activities (like drinking or watching sports) were added to the list, many of my relationships still revolved around physical activities like hiking, skiing, golf, or basketball. 

These are aspects of my social life I will never replace.  I struggle to think of what to do with people, whether it is my friends or my girlfriend.  You learn a lot about someone on a long hike or playing a round of golf.  Things like that make for easy companionship.  Without those experiences that were always such a big part of my life, I feel empty, I feel unfulfilled, and I know that feeling is here to stay.