Though I have no symptoms of anything besides some lethargy and fatigue, I schedule an appointment with my Doctor for a physical. He walks into the examination room and asks, before a "Hi" or "How are you?", "Are you still playing ice hockey?" (My Doctor is an ice hockey fan and has admiration for ice hockey players.)
I do not say a word, but hike up the gown they have given me to show an approximately 6 inch diameter purple and blue bruise on the inside of my calf.
"Fantastic!" he responds. "You're still playing."
We talk about blood tests, bruises, exercise, family history, and vital signs. My Doctor seems happy with my results (pending the results of blood tests and some other tests). I do INSIST upon a testosterone measurement of my blood sample. And he responds with "Are you having any sort of sexual dysfunction? That's the only reason that you would ask for a testosterone or a free testosterone measurement."
When I respond with, "Well, you know, when you're trying for the fifth time in a night..."
And he bursts into laughter before I can finish my sentence. I am not laughing and I keep a straight face and stare directly at him and pretty soon he is not laughing either and he doesn't know whether I am serious or not. And he says that my insurance will pay for a testosterone and a free testosterone measurement and we will do it.
My Doctor tells me, even though I know it, that my biggest risk factor regarding my life span is riding the motorcycle. And I tell him "Once it gets in your blood, you can't get it out. I'd bet that you can see that in my blood test." And he understands.
He even understands when I tell him about blood in the urine after doing a session of intervals. He only responds with something to the effect that I shouldn't do that too often. I like my Doctor! Though I wish he would have taken his wristwatch off before he performed one of the examinations.
Friday night, after a long week, the USC kinesiologist/biomechanician and I have dinner and head for the Frat House (after Brandon has left us a message telling us to meet Joe and him there). We arrive, buy sodas and waters, and settle in for a night of music. Brandon is there, ChiChi is there, and Bob and Jimmie get there a bit later. Joe doesn't arrive until much later and Brandon keeps asking the question "Where's Joe?"
It only takes me answering once with "He's probably laying unconscious in a ditch by the side of the road" for Brandon to quit asking the question.
All of us have fun. I tease my friends/acquaintances by rapidly walking away from our table, hand held above my head, when the kinesiologist/biomechanician (KM) tries to comfort a pain that I have been having with a finger on my right hand. And after a few minutes have passed, I return to our table with "He hurt me!" as I point to the KM. My acquaintances stand up for me and threaten the KM that he should stop hurting me.
Joe is hanging off of the KM and me, talking about his current boyfriend and, being as young as he is, about how important sex is to him. And when I tell him that there are more important things in life than sex, he responds with "You mean like those f$*&@*% equations?"
We leave near midnight - both the KM and I have stuff to do the following Saturday.
Saturday sees a good bicycle ride on a brand new rear wheel for the mountain bicycle. As they said at the bicycle store, "The wheel shouldn't be like this after one year. You shouldn't ride so hard". And they give me half off the rear wheel rebuild labor costs. And the tree trimmers come and, as I'm watching television, everything goes silent and I know that they have cut the power line to my house. Well, it turns out that they have only pulled a cartridge loose, but it takes me a while on the telephone and a couple hours of waiting to see the Edison truck pull up to make the necessary repairs.
Thus on Saturday afternoon I am getting ready to go to a wedding. Sweetie's wedding. Why did I accept this invitation? I drive down to Garden Grove and mingle with the crowd. Yes, this is appropriate - it's cinco de mayo and I'm attending a Vietnamese wedding in the Mazatlan ballroom of the Crown Pointe hotel!
I am not at the reception for more than four minutes when a gentleman comes up to me, asks me "Are You Ray?", and drags me to the photo session with Sweetie and Kim. It is all that I can do to hold my tongue and not say what I want to. Instead I offer "I'm so happy for you and Kim!"
I strike up a conversation with a nice lady and her husband. After a while, she gives me her business card and says that she has her own professional recruiting company and that if I ever need a new job that I should call her. I pull out the business card listing me as Chief Scientist (not a TRW business card and not a Bullet Racing business card) and give it to her. We proceed to the ballroom for dinner and split as I'm seated at a different table.
The wedding reception is fun. There are a lot of friendly people who respond with smiles when I smile at them. There are a lot of little kids (aged 4 to 8). I'm disappointed that I am not seated with the kids, but I enjoy the company anyway. I'm seated next to another geek who does mission simulation for Logicon and we talk about geek stuff. I keep looking for a convenient time to leave - having made my appearance - but there is none. Have you ever been to a Vietnamese wedding reception? Near 11:00pm, after the reception started at 6:00pm, I finally manage to excuse myself and leave. I am happy that there was no commotion caused by...um...anyone. Well, there was the little incident when one of Sweetie's helpers/friends, who is responsible for distributing photos, comes to our table and asks, "Did anyone at this table have a photocard?" And I respond, shouting over the music and across the table so that he can hear me, with "I have a photo card, girlfriend." The table and the helper all fall silent and stare at me - realizing that I have just called this guy who I've never met before "girlfriend". But I ignore everyone as I dig my photocard out of my pocket. And give the guy a warm smile (which is returned in kind) when he comes around the table to get the card.
It is 11:15pm on Saturday night and I'm driving West on the Garden Grove
freeway away from the wedding reception. The only CD in the truck is the
Beatles "1" CD, so I pop it in, select random play order, and go. And, with
emotions running wild from Sweetie's wedding, a wildly emotional song
pops up first. (Why did I expect otherwise?) With the Beatles having risen
from playing clubs to being pop icons, having changed the world, invented
(with help) pop culture, dealt with heroin addictions, dealt with the war, and
finally self-destructing, the last message that the Beatles really left us with is
"Let It Be".
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be.
I hit repeat on the CD player. It takes two plays of "Let It Be" to get me to the Beach Blvd exit for the Frat House. I bypass it. Everytime the song starts over, with the stabilizing initial piano chords, tears well up in my eyes. I almost hit a car at the 22/405 merge because I cannot quite see clearly. The song plays 7 times between Sweetie's wedding reception hotel and my house. I am at the emotional edge of a breakdown each time the song starts over.
I arrive home - hoping for sleep to calm and settle me down. The neighbors two houses down are having a cinco de mayo party that is still going at 11:30pm on Saturday night. Seeing that these are the neighbors who I've had a run-in with a few times over their barking dog, I immediately pick up the telephone and report the loud party to the police. With the party still going I collapse into bed and fall asleep. About an hour later I wake up and the party has been silenced.
I wake up Sunday morning disoriented. I do not know where I am and cannot feel half of my body. I'm lying at a 45 degree angle to the bed with my head near where my feet should be and my feet near the headboard. I twist around a bit to get blood flowing to the half of my body that has no blood flow. (Where does the extra blood go when half of the body is cut off? The other half doesn't feel twice as "alive".) I realize that I am in my own bed. I look over and am relieved - and disappointed - when I realize that I am alone. And I recall the events of the previous night. There was a bridesmaid in Sweetie's wedding with the cutest smile and a dress to die for. I would have done anything to have that dress to wear. Or the bridesmaid. Or the photocard guy.
I get up and go for another good bicycle ride on the rebuilt wheel. And read 8th grade essays for the Society of Women Engineers (How did I get roped into THIS one?), mow the lawn, do shopping, go to the liquor store, watch motorsports, and drink heavily. To forget. As I'm watching the King's game, I have the premonition that Glen Murray is going to get the game winning goal. The game continues past the first overtime and into the second overtime. Shortly into the second overtime, Glen Murray shoots the puck and scores the only goal of the game.