Trapped in the Past

After yesterday’s afternoon visit with the oncologist’s staff for another blood draw and infusion of IV fluid, we took advantage of the time (well after the lunch hour, when the restaurant was almost empty) to stop for a late lunch at The Pho House. I’d like to visit the place more often…for the food, of course, but there’s an attitude about the place that draws me to it. The table where we sat is at a window that looks out on the pictured lilly pond. The summary description resulting from a Google search reads as follows: The Pho House is emotional, experiential cooking. Dishes that carry memory, pain, joy, and reflection. I look forward to visiting its sister restaurant/coffee shop/whatever that’s not yet open (its strip-center location is undergoing a slow, loving, pre-opening construction process): East Remedy. When I read the owner’s posts and ruminations on Facebook, I find myself interested in learning more about his perspectives and what drove him to create restaurants that seem to have foundations in Eastern philosophies.

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I’ve had an odd fantasy in recent days, borne I’m sure of my health-related challenges during the past many months. In the fantasy, I am on a table surrounded by a team of medical specialists who are preparing me for a planned five-year medically-induced coma. The purpose of the coma is to give the doctors and their teams plenty of time to repair all my many physical flaws and to allow them to fully heal. When I am brought fully out of the coma, if all goes according to plan, my body will be that of a 40-year-old man. Before sedation, the doctors review the repairs to be made:

• replace length of intestines removed during 1990 surgery with strong, durable, and perfectly functional artificial version;
• return heart to its healthiest condition before bypass surgery;
• implant a “seed” that will grow to replace the lower right lung lobe removed when a cancerous tumor was extracted;
• “scrape” internal veins, vessels, tubes, etc. to return them to pre-blockage condition;
• remove all alien cells and growths (e.g., cancer, polyps, tumors, etc.) and “immunize” my body against future invasions;
• rebuild the configuration of my teeth…remove the diastema, straighten both uppers and lowers, whiten all teeth, bring gums into perfect, healthy condition;
• examine and repair, as necessary, all internal organs;
• return my head of hair to the condition and density it was in when I was 55;
• repair the deviated septum in my nose/sinus cavity;
• repair or replace the ingrown toenail on my left foot;
• remove unattractive and unnecessary fat from my body;
• using electrical stimuli, etc. (or whatever works) that replicate the actions of strenuous exercise, build and shape muscles throughout my body (achieving a 40-year-old’s body) so it is in prime condition upon awakening;
• upgrade my hearing so it is the very best humanly possible;
• repair or replace my eyes so my vision is the very best humanly possible;
• using electrochemical techniques to manipulate my brain and muscles, upgrade my mental abilities so that I can speak fluently in multiple languages;
• using the same techniques (or whatever works), implant knowledge at least equivalent to the World Book Encyclopedia and/or Google in my brain; and
• repair any other flaws noticed during the renovation process.

I can only assume all the repairs, replacements, adjustments, and other improvements will “take,” so I will have—at the conclusion of the lengthy process—become a “more perfect version of a perpetually imperfect creature.” Some of this is vanity, of course, but I think much of it has arisen from my realization that I did not appreciate my better functionality and my greater comfort when my body was in considerably better shape. I’d like to be able to pay close attention to the experience of being quite healthy. As it has been, I’ve not given it the notice nor the appreciation it deserved; without this renovation, I will not be able to capture it for future happy memories. Ach! The 1988 song by Cinderella,  Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone) was dead-on. You’d think that, with all these repairs and replacements, etc., I must have been incredibly attractive before the ravages of time washed over me. You’d be wrong, as you’d come to realize when the renovation is completed. Such is life. I can live with that…as I have for many, many years. But the health part…oh well.

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Another bizarre dream last night. I fired my largest client and my entire staff (some of whom I had never met), leaving my company with an almost nonexistent revenue stream and no one to take care of the company’s obligations to other clients. After firing my client, I got into a physical struggle with one of its past elected leaders and I choked a staff member before I asked him to stay just long enough to get through managing a conference. The dream ended with me arriving very late to a meeting with a potential client, where my former staff were seated around a conference table, enjoying friendly, casual conversation with the client board of directors. I wanted to disappear, but the door locked behind me.