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.”
“WHAT?”
“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.
The Other Stuff 
This is beautifully written. Such simple joy in spending time with your family. Thank you! It’s nice to know there are regular folks living happy, regular lives. It’s hopeful. Maybe our country isn’t completely screwed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha, we’re screwed alright. But things are on the upswing. Our president elect hasn’t sent out a single tweet dissing someone using middle school language. Thank you for the compliment.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I will hope that the doctors can find something that will help, or at least, put you at ease. Sometimes, there are no real answers and that’s the hardest part. The not knowing. It will be a difficult thing to have hanging around the holidays and waiting to find out. I predict a lot of runs in your near future to help you sort out any lingering anxieties. Perhaps you can run to the Sonic Youth songs that speak to you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I actually banished music from my runs about 10 years ago. Something about trying to be more present. But yes, back in the day, high volume Sonic Youth fueled many a workout. Trying to turn my mind off and not think about MRI results thiis week.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Good. The writing and the progress. I know it doesn’t feel like that, but starting the process is so much better than the limbo of waiting to, which can provoke lots of deep dives into “what ifs.” Keep running, keep moving, it helps. Sending good vibes your way, and hoping your doc calls you before the weekend.
LikeLike
Thank you for the vibes. I’m sort of resigning myself to waiting until next week. Happy Thanksgiving Ms D.
LikeLike
You too!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Running endorphins always help!
You’ve beautifully described the strangeness and uncertainty of tests/diagnostics. I hope you ultimately learn something helpful from yours. In the meantime, enjoy the holiday with your family.
LikeLike
You have a great holiday too. Stay safe, in all ways.
LikeLike
Perfectly described.
Hopefully all comes out useful in the end. When it doubt, run/ride it out!
Wish I could get some pump tracking in!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Does your track shut down in the winter? Two days of exercise in a row without dizziness. Most likely, now that I’ve bought an MRI, it will all just go away.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s the way it goes..
Yeah, our tracks aren’t maintained in the winter, so the snow and frost and rain make them rutted out and mucky. There is an asphalt track in the town south of us, but it’s a bit of a trek so everyone usually just switches sports for the season…. .
LikeLike
The contrast between the MRI and the calmness brought via running was really marked. Nice progression and I enjoyed the ‘getting air’ motif.
I certainly couldn’t get my MRI experience into a couple of paragraphs; probably a full length horror story would be needed.
Good wishes for the waiting room.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think if you dusted off your ‘lonely keyboard’ you could nail the mri scene with room left over.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Jeff. Poor LK. Most neglected.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am glad the run helped you feel better and spending time with the kids. I hope the doctor gets back to you quickly so you have some answers to what you have been experiencing. And I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving with the family!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Robyn, you have a great thanksgiving too. It will all be weird this year, for sure, but already it’s shaping up to be fun. Susan is baking a pie and Sophie is baking cinnamon rolls. I’ll be that round blob rolling down the trail.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The waiting! Great piece. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Debbie. You have a great thanksgiving too.
LikeLike
Echoing Robyn’s thought. Have a happy Thanksgiving Jeff.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ahhh…running can do that for you. Clears the mind and blows away depression. Holding my breath for you, Jeff. Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. The eating has commenced. Desserts everywhere.
LikeLike
Great piece of writing!!
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike