"Listen to Me"

I sat in the chair opposite and asked how he was doing. It was obvious he wasn't doing that great. The side of his face was swollen, showing the signs of what we'd done the previous week. We'd taken a section of his jaw, placed it in a metal basin. We left him in a room with another team who fabricated a replacement part for him from a small piece of his lower leg and a plate that resembled something from my brother's erector set - all slots and screws. Not only was he swollen, he was bruised and his eyes had that dull look of someone who has had just enough narcotic to lower the boil to a simmer, but not enough to be able to describe pain as "gone".

He called me by my name but only after making the effort to look at the plastic-shielded tag hanging from the lapel of my lab coat. He pulled a piece of paper from his left shirt pocket, unfolded it, and started to read what was written on that pale green, lined sheet of paper.

"I want you to listen to me. For the last three years, I get up every morning and decide what I will eat that day. Almost everything goes into my blender, or I eat grits, or eggs. I love milk, so I drink a lot of milk. Oh, coffee. I have to have my coffee. The only way I can eat in a restaurant is to order grits and eggs. I want a steak so bad and I'll never eat another one. I bought an expensive blender. I make soup out of everything. I know what my body needs to be healthy. I put vegetables in there, and fruit. I never drink alcohol. My weight is stable. I haven't smoked for years. I want someone to listen to me and to understand what I've been going through. Everything I eat, I eat out of that blender."

He looked at me. I couldn't remember if his eyes were brown before, but they seemed black at that moment.

"I hear you. Do you need to tell me anything else?"

He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, shaking his head. "No, that's all."


I've been asked what I gain from my work. Sometimes I don't know at a particular moment, I only know much later. The moment in time I described seemed very special, though. I felt as if I gained insight into what it felt like to be in someone else's skin. I'm pretty sure that was the point. I'm almost certain of it.

Letting myself run, letting myself write...

With no real plan and beautiful weather calling me, I let my feet take me where they wanted. I ran through River Oaks, winding through the manicured, mansioned-lined streets for an hour. It was just me and the gardeners and an occasional bee-stung woman in a Porsche - or some other car I'd never drive. I'm just not that good at the car thing.

Sidewalk repair forced me to be ginger at times, tip-toeing and stretching my stride, taking care not to trip on stray bricks as a xylophone played some tune I don't know through my MP3 player.  The song showed up on my playlist one day after I moved some music around, trying to learn how the device works.  That was months ago.  I've heard that song dozens of times and it sounds new each time.  I still don't really know how the player works, either.

Today the sun won the match fought with the winter chill.  Although it was only 48 degrees, it felt closer to 60 and it seemed as if spring was pulling at me to stay outside just a little longer.  I kept moving, not wanting to end my run.  I saw a robin, but she was laying dead on the sidewalk.  She looked colder than I felt.

Fatigue continues to be my running partner.  It's not overbearing, or overwhelming.  It runs next to me and when I kick off my shoes, it sits on the couch with me, asking if we can take a nap even before we take a shower. 

It feels as if this shroud will lift if I don't wrap it around me.  If I don't pull it close, it won't gain purchase.  I'll allow myself rest, but I won't allow myself complete surrender.  Yesterday I had a feeling that each day brings something extraordinary.  It was more of an enlightenment.  I think I'll go with that.

A Recent Discussion: Amid Pizza, Beer and That Trusting Feeling of Being Able to Say What Matters

What to write about? What topic is most on my mind at this time? I'll delve into the most recent political discussion I had because it really gets to the heart of what matters to me.

I think many of us were schooled in the Guns or Butter Debate at some point in our academic careers. I remember Mrs. Fark (really, Mrs. Fark) talking to us about it in the fourth grade. She was stern, tall, buttoned-up, and I think I still have scars on my right wrist where her fingernails dug into me one day. I'm not sure why she made an impression on my scholarly life, but I can remember that when she wasn't terrifying me, she taught me a thing or two. I don't know if she came down on one side or the other of the debate about arming a nation or feeding its people, but she gave us the basics. At the time, I believed that war was evil. I was afraid that my brothers would be drafted and I didn't want anyone to go hungry. My little heart was already beginning to bleed.

Today, we've warped to a time when it seems almost impossible to choose between guns or butter. We are a military nation, expanding our might globally while people starve within our borders and worldwide. I have accepted that I can only fight as far as my arms or my personal resources will reach. I am able to donate funds to local and global charities to help feed those who are without, but I am simply not able to stop the war machine, as much as I might desire to do so.

There is a new debate/choice waging now that I think holds similarities, yet can be looked at on an even more finite ethical level.

Us –vs.- Them.

Well, that sounds a little vague, doesn’t it? Consider the issue of health care. I’ve heard the argument that our elected officials should solve the unemployment crisis before tackling health care accessibility for all Americans. I’ve also heard it said that taxes should be lowered before health care is addressed.

I’ve heard myriad “issues” proposed as more important than health care.

My opinion, my inkling, is that perhaps, PERHAPS, it’s an us –vs.- them issue. Is not the ability to obtain quality health care in a timely manner something that we should expect our citizens to be able to do? I understand the difference between a “right” and a “privilege”. I’m just saying that when I look at my fellow humans, I see no reason why they shouldn’t have access to health care: basic, timely, efficient health care unless it's about taking care of "us" before we take care of "them".

I don’t need my taxes addressed before that happens. I understand that I could lose my job tomorrow. I’ve lost my job before.

I’m talking about the way we treat other human beings. I’m talking about my guns and butter.

One foot...

...in front of the other.

This is what running gives me. It gives me a simple action to take after I set my feet upon the pavement and put my worries down knowing they will be there when I return in forty-five minutes or an hour.

I can let things go.

It seems that I am lacking answers to questions yet to be determined and running is so simple, so undemanding. It asks nothing of me.

Someone told me I should consider the MS-150 next. That would involve equipment, and training for a new sport. That would be complicated. I like simple.

I want to continue to run.

One foot in front of the other.

Sacramento Airport Writing Opportunity

I had almost 2 hours before my flight out of Sacramento yesterday and I wanted to sit, rest, and attempt a collection of myself - if not my thoughts. The last week was nonstop tasks and tears, then more tears followed by more tasks. We said goodbye to my Dad. Such a shock.

I found the little wine bar that I'd previously frequented and claimed a table in the corner. The family enjoyed some fabulous wines the last few days. Dad would have wanted it that way. Yesterday I chose a moderate South American glass of red to go with my penne and cheese. The pasta came with smoked gouda and truffle oil. Not typical macaroni and cheese, but certainly comfort food. I rounded it out with a small green salad. I know music played above. I remember hearing Willie Nelson at one point, but mostly I heard/felt/thought nothing...until I started looking deeper into that glass and so many of the dinners, the trip to Napa, the glasses we shared came back. I had no more tears left (at least not at that point yesterday morning). They would resurface later in the day. I pulled out a notepad and wrote.

Blackberry and Leather

Purple swirls and my thoughts
pull down the sides of the glass.
I wonder if I will ever enjoy
this again
without thinking of you.

The notes you taught me
sing on crystal edge.
Cherry.
Lavender.
Earth.
Mocha.

Time? No meaning.
I am standing in
row upon row of
brilliant yellow.

The mustard plants compete with
piercing blue of Napa sky
and I know there must be more
to this than that.



M. Scofield 02/02/10