Fixing

August 18: Morning on Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island


When the door opened, the place inside held only ancient machinery jangling mysteriously, wanting maintenance: room after room filled with dissonance. I came from a family of engineers (my father wanted to design airplanes), but none of us were good with the architecture of inner spaces. Not knowing where to lubricate or what to tighten, the men would turn from drum kettle boiler rooms of emotion, pretending everything worked fine, not wanting to face rust and misalignment until finally gears started firing pyrotechnics. Then someone would stand in the smouldering clamour shouting words, as if men could reason with the deaf apparatus of relationships. Nothing ever got fixed, and each new gizmo was based on the faulty configuration of the last, laced with failures of memory. I, not even an engineer, never carried correct tools into the bowels of any groaning factory, always a spanner. First would appear blueprints, eyes passing messages across the dark, heartbeats in careful detail if I listened closely. I craved to press my hand against smooth steel of a strong machine and feel its harmonious rhythm. But engineers always try to fix things, and the true way of life is to build ourselves from within.

Arthritis

Arthritis runs in Mom's family. She manages the pain in her knees without a cane, but others have been less fortunate. Aunt Gayle was confined to a wheelchair by the time she died in her 50s.

I've always attributed my pains to sore muscles until this summer, with several bad flare ups in my hips, knees and feet. Walking on pavement aggravates it. I described the symptoms to Mom and she said with shock that it's probably arthritis.

Today I went shopping with Danny. For the first time, he had to slow down and wait for me, the one who always strode ahead of everybody else. An aggressive driver sped towards me on a side street, expecting me to hurry out of her way. Idiot! If I had a cane I would have waved it. Then I realized this has begun restricting my mobility.

I need to consult the doctor and find out what to do. Would getting back to light weightlifting be good or bad? In the past it seemed to help. Mostly I have my dad’s excellent constitution. I don’t get sick easily, and don’t like to complain about my health.

But I’m only 41 and this sucks.