2006-12-04 - 6:52 p.m.
I had initially thought to commemorate my sixth anniversary of coming down with MS by talking about the final project I wrote for my disability class at Brown in fall 2004. I solicited responses about what people who�d known me before I became disabled thought of me now. How was I the same? How was I different? It was a very interesting exercise and maybe I�ll write more about it at another time. But I think it�s just too long and involved to fit into a single entry like my last two anniversary ones.
Instead I�ll relate the event that inspired my inquiries. Jill, the girl here, was one of my �sisters� when I was at Harvard (along with Erin and Jeanne). In late November 2004, Jeanne was having a party at her and Erin�s house in Boston. I went up there for that and a few other momentous events. It was the day of the Wild Turkey Breakfast, but I didn�t attend. Instead, I met Alithea for lunch (she berated me for being late). It was pretty traumatic; we hadn�t seen each other for like 6 months, but I got through it.
Afterwards, I figured I�d pile on the drama by recuperating at the radio station where I was a DJ for six years and spent many of my happiest hours. This visit actually turned out to be pretty anticlimactic. Contrary to my expectation, I wasn�t hit by a wave of nostalgia or traumatized by the feeling that a place that had once seemed like home had now passed beyond familiarity to become the turf of kids far younger than me. It just seemed vaguely depressing, filled with the same garbage and decrepit computers and moldy magazines.
After I took a nap there, I went on to Jeanne and Erin�s apartment in Brookline. This was going to be hardcore. I didn�t know who exactly would be there, but I knew I�d see some people I hadn�t in years. It was a third-floor walkup place; very tough for me even then. Jeanne�s boyfriend (now her husband) knew what was up with me and kept an eye out as I made my way up the stairs. There were also some new friends of Jeanne�s in the stairway, who didn�t know I was sick. I�d imagine my difficult-looking progress alarmed them, which is the sort of disturbing-others I guess I used to care about more.
The party was nice. There were a lot of people I didn�t know there, Jeanne�s friends from medical school and whatnot. But there were also a lot of people I�d gone to Harvard with, some of whom I hadn�t seen in a long time. It�s funny how coming together when you�re older for special occasions like weddings or milestone birthdays can bring into focus how dear the people there are, whereas when you were younger you might pass them in a hall stumbling to the cafeteria in their slippers and think nothing of it. I got myself over to a futon and camped out there.
After a little while, Jill arrived with her husband. I don�t think I�d seen her since her wedding almost five years before. She lives in New York now and I�ve just been negligent about staying in touch. I was so happy to see her. I was surprised to see her curly hair cut short. I always used to warn female friends not to cut back long hair as they got older with the idea of cultivating a more �mature� look, but it looked really good on her. We screamed in delight and kissed hello and she sat down next to me on the futon.
�Geoff, how are you doing? I hear you�re back in school now at Brown! That must be so much fun!�
�Yeah, it is. College is wasted on the young.�
�Are you living down in Providence?�
�I am now. Last year I commuted from here in Boston, but it was kind of a schlep,� I said. Then I shifted in my seat nervously. She didn�t know I was sick yet and had only seen me so far sitting down, giving her no clue there was anything wrong.
�Plus, y�know. I just can�t do the trip now with the cane.�
�Cane?�
I pointed at the floor where I had laid it down and nodded slowly. �Yeah, cane.�
She looked down at it and then peered into my face. I was clearly quite upset.
�Look, why don�t you tell me what�s going on,� she said softly.
I started to tear up. This wasn�t how I wanted to see her again, twelve years after we first met as freshman dormmates. I realized I felt ashamed, like I had let her down. �It�s MS. I have MS. Four years now. It got a lot worse about six months ago,� I choked out. Then I started crying. �I�m sorry, I�m so sorry.�
�Don�t be silly. You have nothing to be sorry about. I�m sorry.�
�No, it�s just� Well, I don�t feel like I�m the same person anymore.�
She shook her head. �Of course you�re the same person.�
I didn�t stop sobbing.
She sighed. �Do you know what a great person you are? My dad sometimes says he wishes I�d married you.�
�What?!?�
Jill and I had never even gone out. She was already married, to an Orthodox Jewish guy she�d dated at Harvard. I knew her dad had never been comfortable with this. He was Jewish, but not particularly religious. I remember that at a pre-wedding reception at his house in Jacksonville, after a few drinks he�d asked a group of guests: �Hey, do you think there�s anything you guys can do about this religious mania?� The night before the wedding. He�s calmed down somewhat since (as has Jill�s husband), but still. Oof.
�Jill, we never so much as dated. Where did he get the idea that you should have married me?�
�Because he still fondly recalls the time you made me soup. You remember that?�
Soup? �Uhm, I�m sorry; I�m afraid not.�
�It was my senior year, maybe fall 1995. I was sick.�
I still didn�t remember it, but waited for her to go on.
�I came down with the flu or something. You weren�t enrolled in school but lived nearby. You used your kitchen to make me chicken soup from scratch. Like you boiled the meat off a fresh chicken and put in carrots and onions and spices and everything. You brought it to me in my room. It was delicious and I was so flattered, I told my dad about it and he�s never forgotten.�
Wow, how culinarily enterprising of me. I did have a vague recognition of it now.
�That�s still you. Even though I haven�t seen you for a while, I very much doubt that you care about others any less. That�s Geoff, that�s you. MS can never change that.�
Was that me still? God, I hoped so. Maybe I�d formally ask people what they thought of me now. One of the options for a final project for disability class was compiling an audio diary about different people�s takes on disability. I could probably just ask people to respond via email. Asking what people thought of me seemed a little like navel-gazing, but maybe that�s what I needed right now.
Jill looked at me and nodded. �Hey, you look like you need another drink. Let me get you a beer.�
� 2006 Geoff Gladstone
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