Turn of Mind - Alice LaPlante [39]
Anyway, we bought our hummus and baba ghanoush and walked slowly over to the park. We found an empty bench near the zoo. A glorious day. The park bursting with joggers, babies, and dogs.
One ambitious young father had an infant strapped to his back, a dog leash wound around his belt, and was helping his four-year-old fly a kite. You were not as conscious of your state as I’ve seen you on other occasions. You didn’t seem to grasp that you were impaired. Interesting how that self-knowledge comes and goes. But you were operating at a high-enough level for it not to be a problem that day.
Perhaps for that reason, you wanted to dwell in the past. I had an inkling—just an inkling—of how it must feel when you asked, Do I use this? and held up a plastic spoon with the plastic container of tabbouleh.
We talked about Peter and James, nothing much, did our usual complaining about their foibles. What women do when they’re bored and have nothing to say really but like the sound of their voices responding to each other. First me, then you, then me again. As satisfying as a good tennis volley.
For once I didn’t set you right. I usually won’t indulge you—it’s the thing I really argue with Fiona about—but I had to keep correcting myself when I slipped into past tense. Yes, James was a bit of a dandy. No, Peter wasn’t that hard to live with.
One moment was out of step with the rest of the lazy good feeling of the day. At some point one of the animals in the zoo let out a cry. I don’t know what it was—an elephant? A big cat? It was really more of a mournful wail, over quickly, but you got upset.
Give that child back her blanket! you yelled loudly, startling everyone around us.
You certainly startled me, and I dropped my soft drink and soaked my pants. You seemed to have forgotten your outburst as soon as it was out of your mouth. I was reminded of what Magdalena says about how you can change so suddenly. It’s not something I had ever seen before. You are either in a slightly better or slightly worse state.
I know there have been what everyone refers to as episodes. I tell Magdalena and Fiona to call me when they need help. So far they haven’t. I think there’s some sense of possessiveness, some rivalry there.
If nothing else, the day reminded me of how we gradually inure ourselves to tragedy. For it is a tragedy, my old friend, what is happening to you.
I am very selfish: I am more concerned about myself than you in this regard. You’ll get past this stage of awareness, and the disease will be its own pain-management regime. But me. These little outings remind me of how much anesthesia I’m going to need. Like the topical sedative that goes in before the big needle, everything I’ve done to prepare myself is going to be too weak to withstand the pain of separation that’s looming.
The end of my marriage is nothing compared to the end of our friendship—if that’s what you want to call it. It’s enough to want to burn the bridge and leave you on the other side. Too many good-byes lie ahead. How many times have you had to endure the death of James? How many times will I have to say good-bye to you, only to have you reappear like some newly risen Christ. Yes, better to burn the bridge and prevent it from being crossed and recrossed until my heart gives out from sheer exhaustion.
I am performing a complex brachial plexus procedure where the total plexus lesions have permeated all the nerve roots. The patient is under general anesthesia. His (her?) face is covered.
Things are not going well. I am attempting an intraplexual neurotization using the parts of the roots still attached