I’m Not Who I Thought I Was

Oh, the wonder of a hot shower on a morning when the house is cool. I stopped feeding the fire overnight and I am not a fan of the cool mornings at Pinecone Park. The shower brings me to life, and yesterday morning I had to get underway early. We left for our walk at 8:15 so that we could walk, and then get to the optometrist’s in time for my appointment. But Sheba was not having it; she wouldn’t walk, so we went off to my appointment.

On the way to the optometrist’s, we passed two cars that had run off the road and into a deep ditch—the same ditch in which, a couple of years back, I found the woman who’s had a heart attack. One of them was almost on its side, and the other one, with a damaged wheel, had just happened, and a young father was helping his three daughters out of the car. They must have been terrified. I didn’t stop to help. I saw no point as I could not speak to them and have no cell phone. However, the car driving behind me stopped to offer assistance.

I came home to read and watch the snow melt. Every hour or so, a big load of snow fell off the trees and onto the metal roof on my house. It scared all the pets, every time.

I watched Oppenheimer in the evening. As with novels, I have trouble remembering who’s who. But I was thoroughly engaged, and the story is sensational. Oppenheimer is a tragic figure. Much is made of Oppenheimer’s wife; she pushes him to fight his opponents. Truman gives Oppenheimer a moral way out of his burden of guilt. He chides O. for being solipsistic. “It’s not about you,” he says, to O., “I pushed the trigger.” (Something like that.)

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It's so odd.

It was my inability to watch movies that made me sit down and blog what became an epiphany for me. Since then, I have watched movies in total calm. So far, when I’ve felt emotion it’s entirely manageable. I’m 98% better as far as watching movies is concerned. I’m extremely happy about that. I like to read in the day and watch in the evenings.

On the other hand, my speech and my physical symptoms are flaring. My arms are out of control when I try to speak, and my speech is crap. On one occasion, I was able to speak more easily by holding my hand tight around my throat. Part of my problem with speaking, is that when I try to speak, my neck muscles tighten. Putting my hands on them lessened their impact on my speech.

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When I was in college, I met Sue. I remember her vividly, but not how it came to be that we met—there were 25,000 students on campus—nor, how I came to go to dinner there one night where I met her father, Dr. B. I went for dinner often, not to see Sue, to see her father, because he had been seconded by the surgical department at VGH, to lead an inaugural ethics committee, and he was writing a code of ethics regarding DNA testing.

DNA testing created a new specialty of surgery: transplantation of organs. Donor testing of relatives for transplant patients was opening up family secrets in a surprisingly high number of cases. It was ethical for Dr. B. to tell me his stories, as long as the patient names were withheld. His stories were evidence in his introductory paper that came with each code booklet.

I once wanted to go into medicine. I took preparatory classes, but I realized that I was far, far too sensitive and too emotional for the job. However, all my life, reading medical stories and about medical research still fascinates me. I was a very eager listener to Dr. B., and I loved the ethical discussions we had.

Siblings were finding out they weren’t genetically related to each other; fathers were finding out they weren’t fathers. The hospital staff found themselves with a moral dilemma, that’s why Dr. B. had his job. It was a very complicated issue, and it was all fascinating for me. I always arrived with questions. And I did a lot of thinking about how those people felt—the people who’s DNA proved they weren’t genetically not who they thought they were.

I’ve been thinking about them because I’m currently not who I thought I was. I’m carrying on, I’ve arranged to go out for dinner with Kris, Steve and Nancy next week. But I am at a point where I cannot really participate comfortably with people. If things don’t get better, I’m going to have to have chats with people beside my computer and type my thoughts. I’m a reasonably fast typist.