I’m trying to figure out what I may have just learned these past few days, even as I call out to the universe: “Enough!”
It was as though we were getting to know each other at a level beyond the ordinary bounds of friendship, even best-friendship. This was something new. He was inside my life.
And then things got worse. Next morning, it wasn’t just knee pain. Something new got added: excruciating ankle pain, seeming to come out of nowhere. Both knee and ankle were in the right leg, basically turning me into a one-legged guy. Standing up was an act of desperation. Moving a short distance was even worse. I was no longer the host. I was the guy on the couch—much of the time asleep, just because awakeness was too difficult.
And finally we decided, two days into the visit, that I needed to go to the doctor. It was more Malcolm than me deciding this, because I was, at least partially, determined to transcend the pain, be bigger than it—to “defeat” it, or at least magically make it go away. Plus I couldn’t organize seeing the doc on my own. The plan was that he’d drive me to the clinic—an immediate care facility—that I’d been to several months earlier.
Not hard. Just a drizzle. But it seemed to add a special buzz of strangeness to the day. And when we got back to the house—go figure! There weren’t any firemen waiting for us. Malcolm, two years my senior, was my only steadying force in this moment—helping me exit the car and then, holding me from behind, helping me walk with my cane and one functioning leg up the steps. This is where the “taking something for granted” part hit with full force.
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