Rhythms. Complex, repeating. LOUD. Like that Sonic Youth concert at the 9:30 Club back in 2002. So loud, my head spun—possibly the reason I wear hearing aids today. Music accompanies the patterns. Phantom music, it’s not really there, my brain fills it in behind the noise.
“Squeeze —- ball — —- —– to rock.”
“THE BALL, SQUEEZE IT IF YOU NEED TO TALK.”
Protection from the noise: Ear plugs, and then ear muffs. A helmet over that. Oh, and no hearing aids, either. I can’t hear crap. Except the rhythms, loud and clear. Comical that the technician keeps talking to me.
This was my MRI. I looked forward to it for weeks. Step one in the diagnostics. Headaches, dizziness, a probable seizure. Maybe a way to get some answers. “Results?”
“Your doctor will get them within forty-eight hours.” I assume they skip Thanksgiving in that hours-count. Black Friday too? “Of course, no telling when your doctor will get back to you.”
When I left the hospital, I sat in my truck, sort of cold. I poked at blog stats and Facebook notifications. I played NPR but didn’t listen. Anticlimactic. I expected a different feeling. Relief? Maybe. Closure? Not this.
Later at home Sophie and Eli made plans. Today is Sophie’s first day back in Pennsylvania. End of her semester. Eli wanted to take her to the pump track. It’s a tight, hand-built mountain bike course at the municipal park downtown. He gets good air on the first jump in each section. He wanted to show Sophie his stuff. “Come with us, dad. We’ll want to try your bike too.”
My post MRI depression lingered. “No, I’m running with mom.” I needed to talk. We ran to the park and watched the kids play on their bikes—Eli teaching Sophie to hop her bike off the ground. We ran the park loop and returned to find Eli teaching Sophie to jump. I rode the track once and got no air. Near dark, the kids rode home. Susan and I ran after them, slowly. A long run for Susan. She impressed me and surprised herself. And by the time we got home, that depressed feeling was gone.