July 2017 – Writing Through Challenges & Change

Yesterday I had to take my car in for service. The Lexus dealership where I get my vehicle serviced is far enough away from home that if it’s going to take more than a couple of hours, I usually get a loaner and drive back. But this service was supposed to only take two hours so I chose to stay in Glendale and spend some of the time in the Glendale Galleria Mall.

I informed Jim and told him that he could call me if he had questions about anything. During the time that I was in the mall, I called to check on him but he didn’t pick up. Most of the time, he forgets to carry his phone or he just doesn’t hear the ring in his pocket but I figured he would call me if needed.

My first stop at the Galleria was Peet’s Coffee where I sat with a non-fat latte and read through some research material for a book project. Tedious and very confusing stuff on sectarian conflicts in the Middle East; not necessarily my choice of projects but as a neophyte in the freelance world, I’m tackling it. I doubt anything I write is going to screw up chances for peace in the Middle East.

The Glendale Galleria is pretty big so I took my time and strolled all the floors, stopping in just a couple of the stores to look around. By ninety minutes, I had had enough of the noise and crowds and called for a ride back to the car dealership. Fortunately, by the time I got there my car was serviced, newly washed and waiting for me. Apart from the fact that I have to go back in a month for new front brakes (something I was expecting) all was well and I thanked Fred, my longtime service rep.

I called Jim to tell him I was on my way home but, once again, no answer. I wasn’t concerned, however, and expected to find him right where I left him, sitting at the family room table, coloring or looking at a movie on his iPad. I was almost right.

He was standing on the front lawn waiting for me. “I’ve been so worried,” he said, hurrying over to me and hugging me, purse, bags and all. I put my arms around him and felt his shirt, wet and sweaty and sticking to his back. I looked up at him. “Why are you so hot and sweaty?” I asked.

“I’ve been walking to the end of the block and back looking for you,” he said. “I was worried.”

“Out walking back and forth in 104° heat?! Babe, why didn’t you just call me?”

“I was afraid you might be driving and try to answer the phone. It might be dangerous.”

He knows I have Bluetooth in the car; I just have to touch a button on the car’s steering wheel and the phone call is connected. He knows … but now it’s ‘he knew.’ What still should be in the present is now in the past. Not just a past that’s remembered but a past that’s forgotten.

“Let’s get in the house out of the hot sun,” I say and we go inside. Bags are barely on the floor before he hugs me again. “I was so worried.”

I kiss him and say, “I’m gonna change my clothes and then make us lunch.” I head to the closet and my eyes are already tearing. I know there are terrible and difficult things coming that I can’t even imagine going through but this, for now, is my biggest fear. I don’t want him to ever be afraid. I don’t want him to be scared.

Yes, there are times I am so frustrated with him, with our situation, I could scream. But to see him scared and vulnerable; this intelligent, wonderful, caring man with the incredibly crazy sense of humor; this doctor who could relieve a patient’s pain so quickly that they cried in sheer relief; to know that he is so dependent on me, so much so that my absence can bring about such panic and fear; the weight of such responsibility is overwhelming. I know I must try harder to not let that happen again. I also know I will fail; it’s just inevitable. But I must try.

I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, and after changing my clothes, head into the kitchen to make us lunch. “How about grilled turkey and cheese?” I ask.

A few years ago, before Lance Armstrong was stripped of his seven Tour de France titles and banned for life from the sport of cycling by the International Cycling Union, when we American bicycling enthusiasts were mesmerized by him and his seemingly unstoppable Tour victories, a story went around our little dental office community.

It seems one of the dentists who was an avid cyclist himself was riding with a group of friends somewhere along the Southern California coastline. According to the story, this dentist and his buddies were riding along the coast highway, enjoying the view and the invigorating sea air, when out from a side road another rider swung onto the highway and fell in with them. It took just a short distance before the dentist and his friends realized that someone very special had joined them. It was Lance Armstrong, arguably at that time considered (at least by us Americans) to be the best bicyclist on the planet.

I imagine these bicycling enthusiasts/hobbyists were totally blown away and may have had quite a time keeping their bike tires on the road. Lance stayed with the little group for awhile before turning to the men and saying, “You fellas are welcome to ride with me for as long as you want but I gotta get down to work now,” and with that, he was gone. Like he’d been shot out of a cannon or something. I don’t think any of the group even attempted to catch up with him.

Like I said, this story made the circuit among the bicycling dentists in our community. When I think about it, I’m surprised at the number of dentists I’ve known who’ve been avid bike riders. Though Jim was not one of the group riding along the Coast that day, he loved to tell that story, too. Only the other day, his re-telling of the story took a surprising new twist.

“I once rode with Lance Armstrong.” Jim and I were watching the Amgen Tour of California, our state’s premier race which attracts riders not only from the state but from all over the world. It was sort of our lead-in to the Tour de France coming in July. I looked over at my husband. “Don’t you mean the time those other dentists …” I thought perhaps if I gently suggested an alternative scenario, it might correct his memory. No, he was quite adamant: he’d been in that group of riders and rode right alongside Lance Armstrong. I could see there was no point in trying to correct him. Besides, what harm did it do for him to have such a cool memory? “That is so awesome, Babe. I would have loved to have been there.”

Although it is quite common for Alzheimer’s patients to misremember events, most people are surprised to learn that the rest of us do it, too, and more often than we’d like to admit. But that’s a topic for another day. One thing I do remember (hopefully, correctly) was the first time Jim introduced me to the spectacle that is the Tour de France. We were on a biking and wine tour of the Russian River Valley and he was frantic to find a bar where we could watch the Tour because Greg LeMond was racing again after being out of the competition for two years due to gunshot wounds in a hunting accident. Well, damn, if LeMond didn’t win the race in the final stage and I was hooked on bike racing.

Today is Stage 4 of the Tour de France and Jim and I will watch it together (we record each stage so we can watch it at a convenient time) and I’ll see if we can share some more of our own biking memories.

And I honestly don’t care if they’re remembered correctly or not.

Month: July 2017

One Of My Biggest Fears

I Once Rode With Lance Armstrong