Hmmm…true or false?
Monday’s Bumper Sticker
Hmmm…true or false?
New Boy
The words weren’t what he wanted to hear. “Your son was in a terrible accident,” the doctor said. “Steven has suffered extensive injuries.”
He stared at the woman, Indian and young, attempting to assess her abilities. Beside him, his wife was hiccuping with sobs. New tears ran down her face. He didn’t know where they came from. He was certain she was cried dry, but no, here were more.
“I’m afraid we’re declaring him medically challenged,” the doctor said next.
That drew his attention.
The doctor said, “I have no choice, Mister Ryan. Your insurance dictates it.”
“What’s that mean?” he said, as his wife echoed, “Medically challenged?”
“Well, to be crude, Mister Ryan, Missus Ryan,” the doctor said, “and use a coarse analogy, if your son was a car, he’d be declared totaled, because it’s cheaper to write him off and give you a check to have him remade.”
Words exploded. He was talking. His wife was talking. The doctor was backtracking and attempting to explain and placate.
It didn’t seem like he heard anything, not even himself. He was saying, “My son is not a fucking car, my son is not a fucking car.” He didn’t know what was coming out.
Then he and his wife were holding one another, shaking and crying, a scene in the hospital. He held her warmth and tried pouring strength into her, but his strength was evaporating.
The doctor said, “It’s not as you think.”
He couldn’t believe she said that. He said, “What?”
Reacting with a speed she’d never exhibited before, his wife lunged for the doctor. Catching her, he held onto her. Her body felt like steel. She dragged him forward. She was saying something, but tear-filled and high-pitched, he couldn’t understand her.
“Heather, Heather,” he said. “Calm down, calm down.”
A foot shorter than him and fifty pounds lighter, Heather dragged him forward. He was forced to lift her until her feet were off the ground. That was the only way to stop her.
“Let me go,” Heather said, “let me go.”
Security showed up.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ryan said.
The doctor waved security away. A young nurse beside the doctor held a folder out. The nurse looked Indian, too. Were there no white people in medicine any more?
The doctor said, “This package explains everything. You can contest your insurance company and keep your son alive, but unfortunately, not in this hospital. He will need to be moved to another facility. In the meantime, if we harvest his organs, you can make more than enough money to pay off the expected costs, and your policy permits you to keep all the profits.”
“You are sick,” he said. He put his wife down, but held onto her. “You’re all sick.”
“And if you start right away, your son can be done here in five days.”
His wife fell still. “Five days?” Heather said.
He let go of her. “What’s that mean, exactly?”
“You will be able to take your son home in five days,” the doctor said.
“That doesn’t explain anything,” he said. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s explained in these package we’ve prepared for you,” the doctor said.
“I’m asking you,” Ryan said. “What’s it mean?”
The doctor sighed. “It means we’ll grow you a fresh boy, Mister Ryan. He will look and act exactly like your son, Steve. He will be a new boy, for all purposes, but he will be Steve’s age.”
“Like a clone?” Heather said.
“Yes, basically,” the doctor said. “He will have Steve’s knowledge and memories, of course, and the skill levels, talents, and abilities that he exhibited before, but he will have a new body.”
“How?” Ryan said.
“He’s been monitored his entire life, and we have his DNA map,” the doctor said. “So we will grow it. Steven’s teachers have faithfully filled out all required quarterly reports, with videos, and all his test results. You’re lucky that your son is in such a good school system. We also have all his social media records. So we can fully analyze all aspects of his personality and life.”
As he was thinking about what the doctor was saying, and what it meant, his wife said, “Can you…change things?”
“Changes are possible,” the doctor said. “They’re extra, of course, and it depends on what you have in mind.”
“Well, he was always a little slow,” Heather said, with a glance at her husband.
“And can we make him taller?” he said. “Steve’s always been one of the shortest kids in his class. It’d be nice if he was a few inches taller.”
“Of course.” The doctor made a gesture. The nurse made a call. A man in a suit appeared. He was white.
“This is Gary,” the doctor said.
“Hi, Mister Ryan,” Gary boomed, putting his hand out. As Ryan and Gary vigorously shook, Gary said, “I’m sorry about your loss,” and the doctor said, “Gary is a medical sales technician. He’ll walk you through your options and costs.”
As Gary shook hands with Heather, Ryan said, “Thank you, doctor.”
Smiling, the doctor said, “You’re welcome.” She walked away as Gary said, “Let’s go to somewhere quiet. There’s a Starbucks in the hospital. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“I’d love some coffee,” Ryan said. “It’s been a long night.” His eyes were bright.
A new son. A new boy.
Science was fucking amazing.
Friday’s Theme Music
Closing out 2017, I figure it’s a good time to listen to some old music.
Funny to think of this song, “Reeling in the Years,” as old music. This song was released in 1972, when I was just sixteen. It remains fresh sounding to me. Yet, I know how different it sounds, and I know that Steely Dan broke up long ago, then got back together, and then Walter Becker died. The band’s symmetry is a perfect illustration of how life passes for most of us, with triumphs and struggles, but ultimately, somehow becoming finalized with our deaths. That’s life, in all its glory, cruelty, and normalcy.
Ironic to listen to “Reeling in the Years,” though, knowing one of them no longer reels in the years. I always wonder, is death really that much worse than living? Maybe something else goes on with the energy that is us as the body moulders and fades.
Yes, those left behind find it painful. It’s a hard path to follow, because when others die, we’re forced onto new paths. Some of the paths have only a sight variation, depending on how close we were to the deceased. But sometimes, it’s like we’ve fallen off a cliff and have to pick ourselves up and learn to walk again.
Sorry, off-topic. Let’s get more upbeat. Here’s “Reeling in the Years.”
Another Frontier
I was thinking about my body, and your body, this morning, and the myriad energies that our bodies generate, use, store, emit, and absorb.
I think our current approach to our bodies’ energy is oversimplified and misunderstood. As I contemplated myself and my spectrums of behavior and being, I listed the kinds of energies manifesting and flourishing in us as humans:
- Physical
- Emotional
- Biological
- Intellectual
- Sleep
- Life
- Time
- Creative
- Psychic
- Dream
- Cellular
That’s a small beginning.
Most people probably treat these energies the same. They probably dismiss that all these energies, and more energies, co-exist in us, coming together as energy flows to help us function. Privately, though, many people know and understand on some level that these energies are different and unique.
People know when their energies are off. They’ve privately experienced the differences. They’ll tell you, “My physical energy is low, today.” Substitute emotional or intellectual energy for physical energy. Or they’ll paraphrase, and mention, “I can’t think straight, today.”
I think someday, we’ll have a much better understanding of these energy types, and their sources, and interactions. Meanwhile, we’ll make-do, struggling to cope with your physical energy, when it’s actually your sleep energy that’s mis-aligned.
Of course, I would think these, because I think life and reality is a series of overlays. As we learn and evolve, layers are peeled away, but we’ve barely begun to understand.
What Else?
He was surprised. She had never spoken of her ex in kind terms. “Why?” he said.
She considered her words. “What else could I do? He was dying. He’d had cancer. I loved him once. We had two children together.”
It had been the third marriage for both, he knew. Each had children from a previous marriage. Lasting ten years, personal sturm and drang struck every day.
Her tired face softened. “He’d asked his children for help. They turned him down. He came to me. He said, “I don’t want to die in a little room alone.” So I took him in, put a bed in the living room, and cared for him until he died.
“What else could I do?”
Shuck It
You ever get the urge to shuck it all, just run away and find some place where you think you can enjoy life more as it’s meant to be, and start fresh as someone else?
Yeah, me, neither.
Life Poetry
Moving singing walking dancing choking sleeping eating
Thinking breathing hearing feeling seeing
We hunt the rhythm and listen for the chords
Trying to do the things that need done
To keep what we need
Get what we want
And strive for what we hope for
Kisses go unfelt
Words fade unspoken
Skin is left untouched
And dreams wither
But we go on
Because there’s too much time left to stop
The Energies
He doesn’t want to be with her, because she’s crazy.
He avoids being with him, because he’s sick, and he doesn’t want to catch whatever he has.
She must be avoided, because her neediness exhausts him.
He can’t stand being with them, because their smugness enervates his Chakras and burns down his soul, and they must be ducked because their ignorance diminishes his joy.
So he tramps around by himself, struggling to find the right energy between the buildings and trees, and praying to the sun for help.
The Laments
Rising late, he moves like he feels old as stone. Boiling water for tea in the kitchen, he coughs out the night’s dust. His hacks echo through the house, debilitating his soul, and leave him wheezing and gasping, his eyes tearing. Sipping tea, he takes his meds and vitamins.
In his living room, he sits in his leather recliner, a gift from his wife before she died, and opens his notebook, recording the day by time, activity and amount. Then he turns on the television to the news, and surfs the net on his laptop, bemoaning the world’s news while shouting, “You fucking piece of shit,” at his computer when pages fail to open and videos don’t run.
Tiring of this when then noon has come, he laments his life, plans his meals, and decides to dress and go wash his car. There are things to do.
He just doesn’t want to do them.
Today’s Theme Music
This is the only song I’m familiar with by this artist.
His name is Tom Cochrane. The song is “Life Is A Highway.” The song came out during the last century, in nineteen ninety. I like writing, saying and thinking expressions like, “the last century.” Of course, for some, this has been their only century, so far. We don’t know how far they’ll get. They might be looking back on these times while thinking, “Remember two hundred years ago? Wow, I was only seventeen but I thought I knew it all.”
Or, maybe not. Oregon’s oldest woman on record died recently. One hundred ten years old, Birdie Johnson still only knew two centuries, yet consider the significant changes she witnessed in her lifetime.
On the other hand, advances don’t always progress as expected. The SF Chronicle recently addressed predictions they’d published back in nineteen ninety-nine. Flying cars again made the list. We keep expecting flying cars. Those cars still rolling on the ground were expected be getting seventy to eighty miles per gallon by now, so that was a strike. It was predicted that the wealthy would be living to one hundred fifty years old by now. That was considered a miss.
Too many cars and not enough houses for the SF Bay area was predicted back in ninety ninety-nine. That was considered on target, so they weren’t all misses. Yet, for all the predictions made that missed, humans still surged ahead in many areas that we didn’t expect. Yes, life is a highway. We start with birth and end with death, but the stuff in between might not be as predictable as we think.
Let’s just ride it.
Michael Seidel, writer 