If you want to know the truth, I began this disorderly and almost endless collection of scattered thoughts and observations in order to gratify a good mother who knows how to think. But even that’s not the whole story. Actually, in my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.” What’s this about advantages? What is it that you’re trying to say? If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. So I won’t. I’ll begin in medias res, with this reassurance only: You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I know now where to begin, but when… ah, that’s a different question entirely. At the beginning of July, during a spell of exceptionally hot weather, towards evening, a certain young man came down on to the street from the little room he rented from some tenants in S--- Lane and slowly, almost hesitantly, set off towards K---n Bridge. Or maybe it was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. No, no it was September—of that I’m certain. On a day during which we celebrate labor with recreation. Yes, those were halcyon days. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity. Well, let’s not get carried away. But although I stood at the brink of darkness and fear, I was not nearly so bad off as Gregor Samsa, who awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
So the beginning of September, as I said, opens this tale of woe. I found myself steadily losing weight. 180. 178. 174. 170. 168. 162. 159. I took my belt in a notch. I tightened my watch. I started eating and drinking more. And I went on with my life, but decided to visit the doctor. This doctor poked and prodded and relieved me of various and sundry bodily fluids and diagnosed me with an incurable disease. Call me Ishmael. Incurable, but treatable. Treatable, but deadly. Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York. Why did this happen to me? No one knows. All they would tell me is that all children, except one, grow up. Should I take comfort from this promise? I don’t know that either. When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning or in rain?
In the beginning…
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11 comments:
i can't even imagine an appropriate response to this post, so here is my inappropriate one.
Damn it, Andy, what the hell are you talking about? It sounds like you're having a baby. If so, congratulations. If not, don't be talking to us about recreation and labor and sons of York. It also sounds like you're about to die. In that case, i'm sorry it's happening so soon but you'll go to heaven and I'll see you there.
If I'm totally mistaken I curse the ivory-towered Academy which spawned you and invite you down to Tyler, Texas to teach you how to talk.
Yeah, why don't we all go down to Texas, damn it, and learn how the hell to talk.
You're all invited. Just let me know when.
Andy...
Bravisimo!!!
You've really outdone yourself this time, and-- to sweeten the pot-- you confused the hell out of Ryan. Excellent work! I look forward to sorting out your canabilized sources when I finish canibilizing critics for my term papers.
Bravo!
Dante, Holden, Richard, Orsino, Kafka, Melville and the Weird Sisters, to start with, but now I have to write...
woops, that should read Antonio rather than Orsino. don't I look foolish, now.
Rodion Romanych Roskolnikov
My apologies to Ryan and anyone else who has been waiting with baited breath (what does that mean, anyway?) for an explanation that will make sense of my, as Ryan has so elegantly pointed out, slightly enigmatic posting. I will begin with a brief description of my method, and then (finally) get to the message.
The Method
This post is about a doctor’s diagnosis that marks a new phase in my life, and as such I decided to string together the first lines of several literary works to tell the story. (beginnings…get it?) Truth be told, I was bored in the library and it was the last week of classes, so this post is both a communication tool and a procrastination device. For the curious, I will reveal my sources:
“I began this disorderly and almost endless collection of scattered thoughts and observations in order to gratify a good mother who knows how to think.”
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Emile
“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.””
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”
J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
“You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.”
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
“At the beginning of July, during a spell of exceptionally hot weather, towards evening, a certain young man came down on to the street from the little room he rented from some tenants in S--- Lane and slowly, almost hesitantly, set off towards K---n Bridge.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
George Orwell, 1984
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity.”
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.”
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
“In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.”
William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
“Call me Ishmael.”
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York.”
William Shakespeare, Richard III
“All children, except one, grow up.”
J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan
“When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning or in rain?”
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
“In the beginning…”
The Bible
The Message
Two months ago, I was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes. This is the kind that they used to call Juvenile Diabetes, though the age guidelines are no longer firm indicators in this age of obese children. The kind with insulin shots before meals and frequent monitoring of blood sugar, etc. So, the good news is that, unlike type II diabetes, which is largely brought on by poor lifestyle choices like excessive sugar in the diet, obesity, and lack of exercise, I could not have prevented this. I can’t look back and say, “If only I hadn’t eaten all those Saga cookies, I’d be fine today.” And it’s ironic, too, because I can remember as a child thinking that if I could avoid getting one disease, it would be diabetes. I never wanted to give myself shots or stop eating things that I liked to eat. Now, it’s part of my everyday reality. Like I said, ironic.
It’s odd knowing that you can’t trust your body anymore, that it just doesn’t work right. It’s kind of like getting old, but of course, it’s happening too soon. But, it’s not nearly as bad as I’d always imagined. The shots, while frequent (I have to shoot myself with insulin before every meal and then once at night with a 24-hour acting base insulin), actually don’t hurt much. The needle is so small and so thin that it really just slips right in. Harder to get used to is the sight of myself putting a needle into my abdomen—just holding it there and knowing that I have to do it, that I don’t want to do it, even though I know it won’t really hurt. And I eat pretty well normally, so my diet doesn’t have to change all that much. I just have to count the carbohydrates in each meal and give myself a does of insulin to match. Which means that, within reason, I can still eat pretty much whatever I want. But the days of eating handfuls of jellybeans, or having an extra slice of cake are largely gone for me.
So that’s my story, told in my own, slightly odd, way. Merry Christmas to all.
Clement Clark Moore, "A Visit from St. Nick"
I love you, Andy Logemann. (with no awkward attachments but rather simple, pure, delightful empathy)
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