THE ODDS (Debbie Does ALS)



Alright boys and girls, it is time for another episode of Dreamin' with Debbie.

I am at an academic facility. A meeting I attended just concluded and I see Ellen Cochrane from the ALS Association. As I make my way over to speak with her, three women approach her and they begin to talk. Ellen invites them to her bungalow and I follow, thinking I will be able to talk with her. They go inside and I wait in an anteroom, occupying myself with my iPad. After what seems like a very long time, I gather my things to leave. At the same time, Ellen and her friends emerge and Ellen asks me to stay but I cannot.

iPad in hand, I begin the walk to my own bungalow, which is on the campus. I've never seen it and don't know exactly where it is, but every bungalow has the resident's name on the door. It's raining outside and I'm worried about getting wet. I am wearing high heeled boots, which seem inadequate, particularly when I have to go through a drain. I continue up a hill, confident I will find my cottage when I see a very well-appointed residence to my left. I am not surprised to see that it belongs to my darling Adam. At this moment, he calls me on my phone but our signal is sketchy and we lose each other.

My family and I are driving down the road to our house. Our progress is stopped, however, because the car in front of us won't move. I get out of the car, intending to walk the rest of the way but it is cold and raining so I get back inside.

I am in Norfolk. In the water. Yes, the water. An emergency situation exists further out, and I see waiters carrying trays, delivering drinks. I wonder how the waiters--who are wearing chefs' toques--manage to glide so gracefully back and forth, never spilling a drop. I then see they are wearing rescue flotation devices (shaped like small torpedos) on their feet, held in place by straps across the instep. I, too, am making my way quickly through the water because I am holding on to yet another flotation device, upon which stand John, Jenny, and Becky. My grip begins to fail, I let go...and start to sink. I'm afraid, but I know this is what has to happen.

That's it. The next thing I know, there's a knock at the door, and in comes good buddy Lynne.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

That is because you are a distillate, an exquisite soul gone to a place we can't follow, yet a place we revere. Ah yes--mother, wife, regular person, marathon runner !--I am those things,too. Big fucking deal. I guess that is too dismissive, really, in the scheme of things. But, we try to follow you, to run your race! And we cannot. You are surrounded by family and friends and strangers who respect you, admire you. And we note your courage. Please take some comfort in this.


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