by Nicole Wells
“Even the brain scan?” my mom asks.
“Yes!” He says it with a smile, like he is personally responsible for the results.
“So what does this mean?”
“Well, I think she needs close monitoring of her vision.” He turns to me, “I’d like you to see an ophthalmologist, just to be on the safe side. You could be having ocular migraines, but it could also be something like a blood clotting issue. I’d like to have them check you out.”
“Okay,” he says, and it's reminiscent of a coach priming his team, “so the bad news is, like we talked about last time, there is no real test for psychiatric illness, and that’s how Huntington’s can present. Enya, you’ll need to start taking an SSRI, and you’ll need to have frequent appointments so we can monitor you. I’m bringing Psych on board, and I want you to have regular appointments with them.”
“Yes, certainly, Doctor, whatever you say.”
“Mom! It's my life!”
“And you want to keep living it, right? Honey, this is one of the nation’s top leading experts.”
I bury my face in my hands. Arguing feels useless.
“You can still do your meditations. You said that helps you, right?” Dr. Andrews says. I didn’t know I needed your permission. Wait, could my snarky voice be part of Huntingtons? I’ve got to get out of here, this place is really affecting my equanimity,
“Yes, yes. Honey, you can do more acupuncture, too. That helps her, too.” She’s looking to the doctor for approval, and I realize she’s not wrong.
I think about my acupuncturist, Jackie. I really should go see her. I think about what she would say. She’s always been an unwavering support. How could I forget about her?
I think she would tell me that I do have a choice. I always have a choice. It’s up to me.
I look up, an idea sprouting, and feeling light with purpose for the first time since I came back home.
“I tried to explain to you last time, Dr. Andrews, how my spirituality really helps me. But I haven’t been feeling it, because, you know, like we talked about? But I think I’m headed there. I will get there eventually. How about I see the psychiatrist, but I also see my acupuncturist every week? And I hold off on the medication, for now, while I do this online program I saw. It’s like a spiritual retreat.”
“I’m game if you start the medication now, and if Psych thinks it's okay, once your symptoms are better, you wean off. It takes time to get to the therapeutic dose, so I don’t want to lose our lead.” And people say I talk weird. This guy talks like he’s on SportsCenter.
“Fine.” I capitulate, because I know that means my mom is agreeing too. And I really think acupuncture and that virtual retreat is what I need the most right now. I turned over a new spiritual leaf during the road trip, now it's time to give this new me some roots so I can really take off on my own. I may not have ‘Doctor’ in my future anymore, but like Jacob said, that doesn’t mean I can’t be a healer, starting with myself.
{ Part Two }
It is my fundamental conviction that compassion—the natural capacity of the human heart to feel concern for and connection with another being—constitutes a basic aspect of our nature, shared by all human beings, as well as the foundation of our happiness. In this respect, there is not an iota of difference between a believer and a non-believer, nor between people of one race or another.
– Dali Lama
chapter 20
University of Maryland, Baltimore County
Catonsville, Md
October 2018
BOB AMBLES OVER to the picnic tables in front of the koi pond. I'd prefer to be in the sun on the giant concrete and grass steps in front of the library, but I know that would be hard for his back. Anyway, it's more private here and I want to tell him about the latest development.
“You know, arnica would really help your back,” I say as he joins me.
“You know I don’t believe in that homeopathic mumbo-jumbo,” he grouses.
“Acupuncture, too,” I tease, but he just ignores me.
“I just think it’s hilarious that you’re so open-minded about my visions but you won’t try energy medicine.” He doesn’t take my bait, but just proceeds to pull out a plastic container with noodles in it. Ah, well. I lay my messenger bag on the table, drawing out my turkey sandwich.
My dad's old buddy and I are having our weekly lunch date. He’s an astronomy professor here at UMBC, and he's been a surprisingly metaphysical support for me. Also, I enjoy coming to campus, even if I don’t go here now. It's like I’m trying on the clothes first before buying them. Even though it's been over a year since my diagnosis, my life is still in limbo, and I’m okay with that. Like Yasmin’s Auntie learned, life goes on regardless of how much you planned it.
A few students nod at Bob, and some even say, "Hi Dr. Pearson", interrupting our lunch, but most people just walk on by. He's also the faculty advisor for the African Student Association, so I get that I have to share him. He's wonderfully, if not inconveniently, gregarious. I'm just thankful the attention is on him. A little self-conscious, I push my shades flush to my face.
“So, I had another episode.”
"Really? You should definitely track this. This seems like a closer interval than last time. Do you think there might be some relation to your location? Timing, location, your mental state beforehand, and we should capture any aberrance to your regular initiation routine before we lose the data."
I try not to roll my eyes and before he gets on too much of a tangent, I say, "It wasn't a premonition. It was more like a flashback. Well, all I can say is it felt real like the premonitions do."
“Fascinating!” Realizing that I’m not keen on diving into scientist mode, he pulls out a spiral notebook and starts writing, “Do you mind if I keep a record?”
“You already have been” I mumble. I think I’ll get him a tablet for Christmas.
Armed now with his pen and paper, he waves me on to continue.
"It was a vision of my dad. I know exactly when it was — my dad was in a hospital gown, and someone at the nurses' station was complaining she'd have to write out the whole four digits of the year in all the charts with the new millennium."
"Your birthday! That's fabulous! We can verify it was a true flashback. Of course, we cannot rule out what you might have been told and subconsciously retained, but we can have greater confidence in it truly being another phenomenon. But that's presuming you can recollect relevant details. Hmm, I wonder if you could revisit with the intention of seeking out details you're not familiar with. Have you ever been able to repeat a premonition?"
"Um, I've never had the inclination or need," I say almost jokingly, and add before he gives me an assignment, "the focus seemed to be what dad said to me when I was born. He whispered in my ear, 'You're perfect.' Then I seemed to flashback to my mom being pregnant with me. There were no words, but it was like I could feel exactly what she was feeling. She was in a supermarket, her hand on her belly, and the people she looked at, she felt love for them. Like she imagined each of them as babies in their momma's bellies. And she could have all this love for them. And that was it."
“Hmm—”
I cut him off before he pumps me for details,
"Dr. Andrews thinks it's just a weird way for me to cope with the diagnosis."
Undistracted, he asks me if I saw the sparks beforehand. I answer in the affirmative. His lunch abandoned, he steeples his hands and leans forward, nodding to himself.
I tuck into the remains of my lunch and say, “Some people say time is not linear. What if —”
“Like a wormhole!” He’s exuberant, and I cringe a little, but none of the nearby college kids have turned our direction.
I capture his attention again, “Bob, seriously, what if … what if I can travel through time? What if my visions are real?”
He gives my question due thought, and answers gravely, "What we see, what's real? We are mostly space… matter is mostly space. Space
is mostly space, but we focus on the few solid, bright things. All the cosmos and we only care for minutiae. It's only worthy if it catches our eye. Like if you're at a beach and you disregard every grain of sand, looking for a seashell. Every grain of sand is a piece of glass, a bunch of silica. It's beautiful too. Why disregard it? We overlook the commonplace for the special, but what's wrong with what's right here, in front of us? What's wrong with what we have?"
I don't know what to tell him, but as my eyes drift, pondering what he's said, I notice there are a lot fewer students milling about. I pull out my phone, "You're late to class!" Poor Bob, he's chronically late to his own classes. With promises to email him all the details and track everything until we meet next week, he hurries off.
I decide to check in on Yasmin, as I have a few minutes to spare. Lately, I need to hear her voice more, so I call instead of text. She gets it, too. Long-distance relationships are hard. Luckily, she answers.
"Did you hear? Minneapolis celebrated Indigenous People's Day instead of Columbus Day! Didn't you go there last year with Jacob? Did you know it would be such a trendsetter? Some people think it'll take off, and this will be the end of Columbus Day. It's almost, in an extremely liberal and convenient sense of time, like you were a part of history!" She jokes.
I think back to almost a year and a half ago when I visited Minneapolis, that time never far from my thoughts. It's amazing how fourteen days can last forever. "Yeah," I answer, sounding glum even to my own ears.
“I bet Jacob would be psyched. I wonder how he's celebrating?”
I think of the constant letters Jacob has sent since I stopped returning his calls, texts, or emails. All his funny anecdotes, sweet observations, and wise insights. I had no idea he was such a gifted writer, and I treasure the window into his life, an absolute failure at resisting the temptation to read them. But I'm stringent about not writing back, even though it hasn't worked to convince him we're not together and to move on.
"I don't know. He's more than just his Native American identity. Maybe he doesn't even know about it or care. Berkeley's a world away from Minnesota. And he's super busy." I say tersely. It's an automatic edge whenever his name comes up.
"Okaaay…" I can just imagine Yasmin's face, and she's about to tell it like it is, so I backpedal. "With all the AP credit, he's already a junior and going to graduate early even with a double major. I doubt he's got time for much else."
Silence.
I sigh. “I'm sorry. I've been on edge.”
“No kidding.”
“Did you see there's a story in Howard County Times?”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, they reran the one from the Columbia Flyer.”
“So are more people recognizing you?”
“Yeah, but nothing as bad as when that video clip went viral. I wish I'd known someone was recording it.”
“I wish there was something more I could do, some way I could help you out. I'm useless here.”
“Even if you were here, there's not much you could do.”
"Well, I could distract you. We could have a girls' night in." I don't tell her a girls' night would be the very thing I would most avoid doing with her. I never shared about my brief fling with Jacob, and I'm still not ready.
"It's okay. Really. I'm in practice to receive every moment as it comes. Dealing with each encounter on an individual level, it's fine. I learn something from each one. And it helps me keep my heart open when it wants to shutter. So long as I don't dwell on the big picture, which leads me out of the present moment anyway, I can stay in this place of gratitude and compassion."
I think about how my premonitions have been coming true every time I'm tempted to contact Jacob. Which is pretty often. Even while I'm in the present moment, I wonder what he's doing at that moment too, and how he's doing. I can't be with him, but I still love him. I send him my love all the time, even if he doesn't know it. Especially when I meditate, I find a place of solace, knowing my sacrifice comes from a place of compassion, and let my heart fill with that.
“I’m sure Fee can do something with you. Maybe give you cooking lessons?” Fee, whose full name is Sophia, is my roommate. She’s spunky, her body adorned with multiple tattoos and piercings, and has frequently changing hair color, which was mauve the last time I saw her. She’s also sweet in her indirect way and an exceptional cook.
“Really, it's no big deal. I only got recognized by strangers, like, twice. It was mostly family and some people from High school calling me. I’m more affected by what the attention means than all the attention itself.”
"Somehow I don't believe you. Well, anyway, I just arrived at my dorm. I gotta grab my Psychology book and brush up before the quiz."
"Yeah, I gotta get going too.'' A local bible study group offered me an honorarium to talk up at Reisterstown, which Fee helped set up. She's friends with two members, including the leader, and I figured I had nothing else to do. We say our goodbyes and I head back to my car, trying not to think. I fail at that too, pushing the shades back up higher on my face, glad for their anonymity but even more thankful that they hide the tears in my eyes.
chapter 21
The red lights of the ambulance paint the walls, an ominous splash of color in the night. “It’s the water,” she confesses from the back, as the gurney slides out the front door, guided by the EMTs. The man she is talking to is nodding in understanding, eye’s following the woman anxiously trailing behind the medical personnel, now climbing into the ambulance. The doors slam shut and the siren sounds the alarm. The people that have clustered around are revealed. All ages, but shared features belie their common Native American heritage. The couple strides forward, and an older man breaks from the crowd to meet them. “I think there’s someone from the company that will testify if we talk to him. And I have a reporter friend that can help, if he agrees to an interview,” she says. “You guys go seek him out. I’ll take care of the others that are sick, and organize people to gather herbs and make tinctures,” he says. The old man puts his fist to his chest, “Thank you for coming out here so fast. We’ve really missed you.”
——— ———
“GOD IS…” The speaker looks to be in her late thirties, with straight blonde hair staggered around her neck and shoulders. People are spread throughout the room, some on cushions on the floor, some in the folding chairs or actual couches in the living room of the townhouse. It's a sizeable group for the small setting.
I am trying to be inconspicuous, holding my Solo cup of seltzer water with a hint of lime. When I first arrived, everyone was overly friendly, so by now, most everyone knows my name even though I haven't been formally introduced by Kate, the speaker.
“God has so many names. Think about some of these names.”
This Bible study is very loosely structured, especially considering they’re not studying from the Bible so far. It seems more a collective exploration of being spiritual.
Andy, a red-headed girl who I'd guess to be a Junior or Senior in college, raises her hand. "God is All-Knowing."
“Yes!” exclaims Kate. Here she takes out a piece of paper and reads off some names used in the Old Testament, and their meanings.
“Let's think about words you would use to describe God. What is God to you?”
“Love!” Shouts a guy in a jersey with the number 28 on it.
Other people chime in, a chorus of words erupting around me: Peace, Compassion, Faith, Eternal, Constant, Powerful, Forgiveness.
"Awesome!" a voice enthusiastically adds during a momentary lull and everyone chuckles.
“Indeed. Now, imagine applying some of those words to yourself.”
The silence following the cacophony is striking. Looks of confusion, wonder, and contemplation break out.
“You have divinity in you. You are created by the Divine, in His image, an answering flame in your Heart.”
“God is great, and so are you. God is love, and so you can be too. God is peace, and so you can be an
emissary for the Holy Spirit, spreading Peace.”
Many people are nodding, and one woman keeps issuing semi-whispered “Hallelujahs”.
"What if you loved yourself as God loves you? What if you become that love?" Kate pauses and catches a lot of eyes, looking at various people in encouragement.
“What if you loved your sisters and brothers here like that?”
She starts a slow pace.
“What if you were Strength to strangers?”
She continues in a metered circle of the group.
"What if you were Peace to people you didn't get along with or people you don't agree with?"
She completes her circuit and stops in front of the chair she has yet to sit in.
"For the next week, let's focus on being the manifestation of the Divine in all our doings. Let's bring the Holy Spirit into our soul and our society."
This statement seems to give the audience permission to break into conversations, both at large and in small groups of people who I suspected arrived together. Kate's drive is contagious, and people are talking excitedly.
After a few moments, she claps twice to regain attention. “We’re ending a little earlier today so we have time to listen to a special guest. Enya is here today to share with us her experience with the Divine. She has been in communication with the Divine and has been Blessed with visions.”
Strangers look at me anew, with Kate smiling encouragingly, beckoning for me to take her place in front of the chair-that-is-not-sat-on. She moves past the circle of people, putting her hand on the shoulder of someone as she passes them, to stand in front of the wall in the back.
"Um…" I stand and make my way over, and sit, unceremoniously. This is awkward and continuing to stand would be even worse. I put my drink down by my feet.