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December 2001

Saturday, December 06, 2001

Picture this: earlier today I'm sitting at my desk. Posture is perfect, thanks to the carefully manipulated pillows. Sweatpants are hanging off my hip, because I brought one of my dad's pair up to school instead of mine by accident. My window is cracked to let just a hint of cold December air into the room, enough to give a chill and an occasional goose bump, and make the hot chocolate on my desk literally steam (I thought it only does that in commercials). The room looks like a library that survived an earthquake, and my desk is especially messy -- covered with books for my sociology class on HIV/AIDS. Because my final paper needs to be written.

There's only one problem: I can't concentrate. I am literally looking for any excuse not to do my work. It's serious this time, because I no longer have nails to clip. I have exhausted my buddy-list of friends to IM. I am tired and sore, so I can't go swimming. I am literally out of stuff to do. And it's such a shame because I was all set to do my work. Right down to the steaming cup of cocoa.

Earlier today I was at the point of no return. I was so bored and so fed up that I decided to do a little math. I thought to myself "hmmm, I wonder how many pills I've taken in my life?" I figured with some simple math I could figure that one out. I started adding and then multiplying and then multiplying again. I got an estimate that couldn't possibly be true. So I did the whole thing over again. Same number. Holy SH*T! I thought to myself. Could I have swallowed 20,000 pills? Numbers don't lie and it made perfect sense. But how could that be? I've only had arthritis since I was 13. And I'm still so young. I was depressed. Shocked. Impressed. Annoyed. And for the rest of the day (up through now) I am worried. My system has processed 20,000 prescription pills in its young life. It wasn't meant to do that. No system was for that matter.

That's what's troubling me. That's good reason to pause from writing papers and studying for finals. Obnoxious estimates like 20,000 pills that I've taken before the age of 21. I know in comparison to some it's not a lot (I wonder if there's a 1,000,000 pill-person out there?) but for a simple guy who remembers a time when he was healthy, it's a lot to swallow. So to speak.

Tuesday, December 11, 2001

I'm a traditionalist. A skeptic. Above all, I'm superstitious. Which is why when I'm feeling as good as I am these days, I try not to talk about it. I try not to show it. I try not to even think about it. But Lately I can't help myself. I just feel great!

Snow is on the ground in New England. Finals are on the horizon (as in less than 24 hours away). And America is at war. All good reasons I should feel like crap. But for some reason I don't. In fact, I feel better than I have in years. YEARS! The moral of the story: you can go from bad to worse to bad to great over night. Just like I did.

But I don't want to think about it. I don't want to change the way things are right now. I just want to keep going like this because I am doing so well. I deserve to do well. I've put in my time. Everyone here has, and their time will come too.

Sunday, December 16, 2001

I spent yesterday in the nexus of the modern world. Literally, the center of the universe. Of course I'm talking about none other than northern New Jersey. And I was two breaths away from committing suicide.

You haven't lived until you've traveled along Rt. 17 during the holiday season on a sunny Saturday afternoon. You haven't lived until you've bucked the congestion to find a spot that is less than 3 miles away from the mall. And in the end, you haven't lived until you've spent a day shoulder-to-shoulder with America's finest: New Jersians.

I'm only half joking about New Jersey. In fact, when push comes to shove I will probably move down the Garden State Parkway and raise my family there. But until I officially take residency in the Garden State, I reserve the right to make all the observations a New York suburban kid can ever dream up. And people from New Jersey know all about their reputation and why they have it. They know that in movie theaters, it's not uncommon for people to talk back to the movie or yell at other movie goers. They know that shopping malls are miniature demilitarized zones where it's everyone for themselves. And they take pride in these unspoken rules.

The moral of the story is that when you have a good week or two and you feel alright, you start doing things you thought were impossible. For me, it was a full day in the land where Uncle Floyd Vivino grew up (www.unclefloyd.com).

Thursday, December 20, 2001

You just can't take anything for granted these days. Because once you're into a good thing, it gets yanked out and you're left flat on your ass. Just when I thought I was doing well, and just when I thought I had it all worked out, I wind up falling into a spiral of problems that leave me helpless and aggravated.

The problem with the sweating and the pain the pins and needles came back last week worse than ever. When I came into the kitchen to cook dinner I started to sweat (naturally, standing in front of the oven). I couldn't take the heat so I had to get out of the kitchen. I know that was the worst clichÈ in the world, but it was true and it was painful. The pasta went uncooked. Tragedy struck.

So what should have been a great visit to the doctor this week wound up being a game of Clue, where we tried to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it. The best advice he gave me was to stop the Celebrex. "NOOOOOOO" I thought to myself. It had been working so well and I had been making the pain almost disappear. ëWhat else?' I asked him, impatiently. He told me I could see a dermatologist or an allergist. So I'm seeing both. Only problem is that when your doctors are ranked best in the world, it takes roughly 6-8 decades to get an appointment. But I'm being squeezed in by both after the New Year. I If the pain doesn't go away by then I'm definitely screwed.

I haven't even gotten through my emails from people saying how happy they are that I'm feeling better when things take a turn for the worse. Typical.

Monday, December 24, 2001

It almost happened this morning. I woke up but didn't move. I didn't even open my eyes. I was flat and as rigid as a cadaver at the morgue. I tried not to even breath heavily. "Could this be the morning I wake up without pain?" I thought to myself. I was scared to find out. Why did the thought come to mind? Did I have a dream that the day would be pain free? I know I have been feeling great lately but its been years so long that I cannot even remember a time since I didn't have pain in the morning (or all day for that matter). So what made this morning so special? I was anxious to find out.

Slowly as though I had a pound of plutonium balanced on my forehead I swiveled around and planted my feet on the ground. The moment of truth. I slowly opened my eyes and I began to stand. Nothing. I gave a great big stretch. Still nothing. It hadn't occurred to me what was going on. Then I took a step and the pain went scurrying from my knee to my hip to my back, as though it were late during rush hour and had to commute to all of my big joints with full force and the full fury of angry commuters. I must admit, I was very disappointed. I was scared at the thought of what to do next. But most importantly, I was in pain. It bothered me that I even got my hopes up. "What were you thinking, Seth?" The only thing I got going for me is the hope that tomorrow morning will be better.

And one day I'll wake up and my biggest problem will be deciding where to run and how high to jump.

Friday, December 28, 2001

I did the most amazing thing this morning. I was at a bagel shop, eating breakfast (vegetable cream cheese on a poppy-seeded bagel and an orange juice), reading the paper and minding my own business. Since I was alone I sat innocently facing the window, to see people come in and out. About half way through my bagel I saw a Nissan Pathfinder pull up right in front of me, into the only available handicap parking space on that side. The driver was a lady in her early 40s wearing what were obviously her pajamas. She checked the glove compartment and then she checked her door pockets. Then she got out of the car and checked the back seat. She walked around the truck and went to the other side to look. Finally she searched the trunk. Five minutes into her quest, she found what she was looking for…in her sun visor: the handicap parking placard for her mirror. She hung it up and then walked into the bagel shop. The lot was empty.

What started out as a relaxing breakfast reading the paper and enjoying one of the last days of December turned into a major episode for me. This lady was obviously driving her fathers car (because there was a Korean War Veterans tag on the dash) because she couldn't find where he keeps his placard. She didn't have anything visibly wrong with her, and granted, sometimes I don't, but she REALLY didn't have a physical handicap.

So I finished my breakfast and watched her stand on line. As though I were in a movie, I literally saw a montage of all of the people I have ever met in my travels and my work who needed that parking space. I saw them in slow motion with "Wind Beneath My Wings" playing in the background, and then this bitch who denied them that parking spot. It made me mad and it compelled me to do something.

So I wrote her a note. It read: How badly did you need this spot? Bad enough to look for 5 minutes to get the placard? Or did you not feel like walking 5 meters? One day you will pay the ultimate price for this.

"A little too heavy" I thought to myself, but I wrote it anyway and put it on her windshield. I walked away hoping I got the best of her and the next time she comes to David's Bagels, she'll know better. I considered waiting for her to come out but I figured I'd be mature and as non-confrontational as possible. After all, I only assumed she wasn't disabled. But I was willing to take that risk.