Mind Body Comedy
Headline from nypost.com: “How AI era means, ‘celebrities will never die’ and stars’ families can make fortunes forever despite fan backlash.” Latter part is probably true, but hasn’t film, TV and web footage already guaranteed successful artists living forever?
And you thought Robocop was fiction. Headline from newsmax.com: “ICE Plans to Buy Up to $2 Million in Robots.”
Headline from foxnews.com: “Tuskegee University president defends dress code amid criticism: ‘Raise the bar, students will reach it’.” He banned durags, those headcovers blacks use. Big balls on this guy.
From 28 Totally Random Facts That Are Weirdly Awesome by Elizabeth Ben: “The guy who invented Match.com lost his wife to a man she met on his own website.”
From pinterest.com, posted by Raquel. It fits the short story that follows:
Mind Body Comedy
It started at least ten years ago. While brushing his teeth, Gino’s hand would become uncontrollable, the brush flying out of his mouth, threatening to poke his eyeballs, last night the tip entering his right nostril. He had taken to pressing his right arm against his body to steady the hand. It helped a bit. He’d recently begun brushing the right side of his mouth with his left hand. He considered buying an electric brush, but decided it would be better to track the ailment, so he stuck with the old fashion way.
About five years ago he began having trouble strumming the guitar while playing up-tempo songs. Concerned that these were symptoms of Parkinson’s, he mentioned it to his doctor, who attributed it to aging. He was now 76.
Recently, while doing his curbside Anti-Inflation Book Shop, Steve, a retired salesman, stopped to schmooze. Soon an assistant Manhattan DA approached and greeted them. When the gray-haired, scruffy-bearded man in his trademark orange T-shirt was out of earshot, Steve said the poor guy had been diagnosed with ALS.
Geez,” said Gino, shaking his head.
As soon as he was home, he sat at his laptop and Googled “ALS Symptoms.” One was drooling, which he did occasionally while singing. He was now mentally monitoring how often he dropped things, and the amount of reps he was capable of in various exercises with a 20-pound dumbbell to see if he were losing strength.
How did one sort symptoms of disease from the characteristics of aging? He recalled what Dr. Metz had said in closing recently regarding his sidewalk venture: “It’s keeping you alive.” On his six-block walk home Gino wondered if it had been a general statement or a hint at something greater, perhaps ALS. Wouldn’t a physician be required by law to immediately disclose such a problem, although Gino would understand why he wouldn’t? Worry might exacerbate, accelerate the progression. It would explain his monthly visits, which had become irksome, which he’d assumed were to keep track of the four nodules in his lungs, which hadn’t grown an iota since discovered five years ago. He would go to his grave wondering if they’d been caused by the three Covid shots he’d taken. He resolved to ask the doctor if the blood tests he took twice annually screened for ALS and Alzheimer’s. He wasn’t really worried about the latter. He was frequently amazed at how sharp his memory remained.
Was the stiffness in his ankles a symptom or merely neuropathy? Would it progress up his limbs? Recently, while resting comfortably, he’d suffered cramping in his upper right arm and shoulder. Was it due to the relentless humidity of the summer of 2006 or disease? For the past week the right side of his head experienced a slight fuzziness. Was it the result of a problem with his inner ear or…? Although he was in better condition than 90% of men his age, he was constantly looking for warning signs regarding his health. He recalled an acquaintance revealing that his doctor said he may have suffered mini-strokes, which were frequently dismissed by those who had them.
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Was the irritation in the left side of his groin due to the strain of transporting the heavy load of wares to his sidewalk dog and pony show, or a side effect of Cialis, which he took once a week and was said to cause leg pain, or was it some sort of blockage? He felt no lump there.
The scariest “symptom” was loss of equilibrium, which occurred two or three times a year. If he were outside he would hang on to something to keep from falling. It passed within a few minutes. The doctor didn’t think it was anything abnormal.
He recalled the flop he’d taken the other night in the shower. For some reason a soapy film had gathered beneath his feet. It happened so fast he hadn’t had time to reach for the towel rack behind him. He hit hard and lay there on his right side, stunned, gathering his wits. His first concern was whiplash that would lead to permanent rather than occasional neck pain. Fortunately, he hadn’t hit his head. He assumed his striking the rear incline of the tub had lessened the effects of the fall. He felt soreness only in the side of his upper right arm. In case a slow-moving time-bomb had been triggered, he left an explanatory note on the kitchen table. Was his body still sturdy, younger than his years, or had his lack of injury simply been dumb luck? He bought a mat that covered nearly the entire length of the floor of the tub. He considered one for the outside of the tub as well.
He had time to spare the next morning, so he donned his reading glasses and opened a novel he was halfway through, The Dead Are Mine by James E. Ross. Its focus was a subject he found irresistible, World War Two, in this instance the Battle of Anzio. He was disappointed at not having found any information on the author. Since the book smacked of authenticity, he assumed the guy was a combat veteran. Gino had not served. Freeloader, he thought, despite having paid hundreds of thousands in taxes and continuing to pay them. It’s not the same, he told himself. There was no equivalent of participating in war, sacrificing a life for one’s beloved country.
After a minute or so of reading, he caved and picked up his magnifying glass, muttering. Recently, a young man cleaning out his deceased uncle’s apartment had given him a box full of old paperbacks. Gino had put aside three to read. This one had a price tag of thirty-five cents.
Before heading to his monthly appointment, he took two CBD gummies he hoped would lower his blood pressure. He knew it was cheating, but he did not want to take any meds, which he viewed as substituting one problem for others. He was taking an over-the-counter cholesterol-lowering supplement after dinner each night. Probably gives you cancer, he thought, although it was manufactured by a reputable vitamin brand.
He did breathing exercises as he walked, more cheating to effect favorable BP numbers. On the way he suffered acid reflux, which resembled the early stages of a heart attack. It stripped a lot of the joy from his morning strolls. He was tempted to forgo them, eschew the exercise. At least the crackling in his right ear had ceased. It sometimes lasted a week. To his chagrin, he wasn’t able to tune it out as effectively as he did his right eye floaters. Hmmm–right ear, right eye, right side–was that what “Lateral” stood for in ALS?
You’re not gonna live forever, he told himself. Why was that so hard to grasp when trillions before him had passed? He knew why–ego. The great Gino, he thought.
Ha!
Even Dolly Parton, a force of nature, one of the finest human beings ever, had died.
He left the doctor’s office semi-relieved, everything okay. And he’d received a tip on neuropathy he was eager to try — taking a multi-vitamin in the evening as well as the morning. It can’t be that easy, he told himself, skeptical. Most important of all, the doctor wasn’t keeping ALS from him. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t have it.
He felt a bowel movement coming on and picked up his pace, fearful he wouldn’t be able to hold it long enough. He laughed at it all, shaking his head. What else was there to do?
Pleasant day but paltry return for the Anti-Inflation Book Shop. My thanks to the gentleman who bought Born Standing Up by Steve Martin.
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