The Word I Couldn't Remember.

"I've got a patient in his 40s and his cognitive function is..."

This was my doctor talking to me yesterday.

I don't remember the word he used. Degraded. Screwed up.

I was sitting in my running shorts. I had run to the appointment, continuing my training (for SteveFest60). The clinic is down on west 17th street.

"You've gone from using 60 units of insulin a day to zero after only a month of daily aerobic exercise."

"Yes, and 40 at night on the Lantus, down from 60." (That's the basal insulin).

After the exam, he was writing out the prescription for the blood tests for three months from now. He numbered them off but had missed one. I said, "And the thyroid." (I have Grave's Disease. My right eye is a little googly and tends to wander off.)

He snapped a happy grin at me. "And your mind. Your mind is quick. I talk about you when I do presentations."

"You talk about me??" I beamed.

"We don't know the long term affects of this virus. What's the difference between him and you? That's what we have to find out."

I ran-walked and jogged home. Took my blood. 75. Just in time to eat.

The man in his 40s whose cognitive function is impaired. That's the word. That's the word I couldn't remember. Impaired. That guy didn't impair himself. And the same virus that's attacking him is attacking me. I don't know what's going to happen, or is happening, to me.

I don't know what kind of life he leads. But, as I say in my concerts, the music gave me life. My friends give me life. Learning. And physical training gives me life.

God bless all my fellow positoids. And to all who love us.


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