Best Served Cold?

"How sad! He looks like he had been a very active man at one time."

came from over my shoulder just loud enough for me to hear from a group of women gathered outside in the hall. It stopped me in my tracks. I felt the anger welling up. Was I supposed to acknowledge this woman's feigned compassion, the one who'd been so insensitive and obnoxious? I bit my tongue. She was holding court with some community council members. The formal meeting had adjourned minutes before, and I had happened by, my laptop in tow.

I thought about turning around and hobbling over to her, and waiting for her to shut up long enough to put her down in front of her friends. Easy peasy. (okay, I stole that line from Capt. Malcolm Reynolds/Firefly. So what?) Like shooting fish in a barrel. Better? 

"Sad? And what do people say about you, lady? You can't help it that you've grown senile? Or no, it's not senility, rather it's the unfortunate fact you've always been ignorant of the truth but never let that get in the way of putting your foot in your mouth? You're stupid and proud of it."

What was the truth? I'd been left paralyzed by a sudden stroke. Prior to the stroke I'd been a runner, never took medications including aspirin, hadn't smoked in 25 years, rarely had anything to drink. When I found myself in this condition in the acute care facility at Maine Med Ctr I thought about my options. It didn't take a genius to realize I had only two - become despondent, feel sorry for myself, oh woe is me, and fall into a permanent state of depression, or... figure the best way to get the most out of this situation.

That's not to say I never contemplated feeling sorry for myself. The therapists tell me that's part of the natural order of things. I was lucky in that I had the words of a psychologist friend to guide me. He told me whenever he began a session with patients he took them to a place of peace and tranquility in their mind, a babbling brook, a mountain vista, a forest glade. He said that did more for them than anything he could have told them. I went thru them all. Thanks, Don Skekel. I owe you, brother.

It's been a year this month, so here's the truth lady. I can walk with the aid of a cane. I've lost fifty pounds. I'm writing again, with one-handed typing skills. I don't feel sorry for myself, so don't feel sorry for me. I may not be the man I once was, but in many ways I'm better. I won't say anything to you because that's not the person I am today. And I still can kick your husband's ass.