Fatal Disease
You go through life never thinking it will happen to you, and then one day, its staring you right in the face. You can't ignore it any longer.
A very close friend of mine - I'll call him Charlie - was recently formally diagnosed with the big "C". The experts weren't sure how much time he had remaining, but they are positive that his quality of life will visibly suffer week by week.
I left college in 1973, and wanted to find out what a "real job" was going to be like before I devoted any more time to higher schooling. I decided the join the "school of life" and that's when I first met him. He and I started work and sharing our lives on the same day.
Over the years, our careers had many changes of direction, many ups and downs, but we still remained close. If you were to ask me, he and I were like blood brothers. Family. Its as if we shared the same DNA.
Things were great, for a long time.
Well, it shouldn't have surprised me. Looking back, in the mid 90's, I could spot a few early warning signs that something wasn't quite right with my friend. Every so often, for no apparent reason, he would take some outrageous position on a topic, and end up triggering confused glances shared among his close friends. He wouldn't listen to reason, and oftentimes struck out at us with verbal and physical attacks. We figured that the stress of the job, or some unforeseen pressure, might be creating his fits of "spontaneous combustion" since once he calmed down, things seemed to return to normal. At least as far as outside appearances went for most people. But Charlie and I were close and I could tell by the lack of spark in his eyes that something inside him had changed.
In 1998, in an amazing feat of self-awareness, Charlie contacted the medical experts. He finally realized he wasn't well, and he believed that by getting analyzed, poked and prodded by people that were well paid, they would provide him the diagnosis and prescriptions that would cure his ills. Well, he took the medicine religiously and his energy did return. Good old Charlie was back! He rarely referred to the bad times publicly, and it looked like we were back on track to living long and fulfilling lives.
Then, there must have been a relapse.
I hadn't seen or spoken to Charlie for over a year, but rumor had it that he had decided to once again seek medical help. Sources said that he felt he had become tremendously obese. Although he had tried many self-help, weight-loss diets, they all failed miserably. Some say it was due to the fact that he didn't really follow the rules. He applied them indiscriminately. As a result, it turns out that this weird personal chemistry experiment had permanently altered his metabolism. There was no longer any relationship between his food intake, exercise programs and weight gain. He had once been a strong competitor, and this inability to perform was now destroying him.
A month ago, desperate, Charlie decided to take matters into his own hands - literally. He had a plan. He went away - he called it a retreat - and commenced to physically cut the offending weight off of his body. He took with him a set of surgical steel knives and an intense desire to force change on himself. His first cuts went into his arms and legs, slicing away the extra fat that had accumulated under his atrophied skin. He then started trimming away the extra fingers. After all, he only needed two fingers on each hand to manipulate his knives.
We don't know who called them, but when the paramedics burst in and found Charlie - blood and body parts surrounding his nearly lifeless body - they were able to grab the scalpel from him just before he severed his aorta.
In his pocket, they found a handwritten note, entitled "mission statement". It read: Efficiency is Key. Objective: Cease all unnecessary body functions.
In spite of the physical damage, Charlie survived. He remained in stable condition in the hospital - albeit on life support systems. Psychiatrists have not yet started their sessions, and are waiting until he regains some of his composure. They are referring to his condition as "Corporatitis".
Well, I heard Charlie was missing from his room last night, along with a scalpel.
Poor Charlie.
What? Was that someone at the door?
A very close friend of mine - I'll call him Charlie - was recently formally diagnosed with the big "C". The experts weren't sure how much time he had remaining, but they are positive that his quality of life will visibly suffer week by week.
I left college in 1973, and wanted to find out what a "real job" was going to be like before I devoted any more time to higher schooling. I decided the join the "school of life" and that's when I first met him. He and I started work and sharing our lives on the same day.
Over the years, our careers had many changes of direction, many ups and downs, but we still remained close. If you were to ask me, he and I were like blood brothers. Family. Its as if we shared the same DNA.
Things were great, for a long time.
Well, it shouldn't have surprised me. Looking back, in the mid 90's, I could spot a few early warning signs that something wasn't quite right with my friend. Every so often, for no apparent reason, he would take some outrageous position on a topic, and end up triggering confused glances shared among his close friends. He wouldn't listen to reason, and oftentimes struck out at us with verbal and physical attacks. We figured that the stress of the job, or some unforeseen pressure, might be creating his fits of "spontaneous combustion" since once he calmed down, things seemed to return to normal. At least as far as outside appearances went for most people. But Charlie and I were close and I could tell by the lack of spark in his eyes that something inside him had changed.
In 1998, in an amazing feat of self-awareness, Charlie contacted the medical experts. He finally realized he wasn't well, and he believed that by getting analyzed, poked and prodded by people that were well paid, they would provide him the diagnosis and prescriptions that would cure his ills. Well, he took the medicine religiously and his energy did return. Good old Charlie was back! He rarely referred to the bad times publicly, and it looked like we were back on track to living long and fulfilling lives.
Then, there must have been a relapse.
I hadn't seen or spoken to Charlie for over a year, but rumor had it that he had decided to once again seek medical help. Sources said that he felt he had become tremendously obese. Although he had tried many self-help, weight-loss diets, they all failed miserably. Some say it was due to the fact that he didn't really follow the rules. He applied them indiscriminately. As a result, it turns out that this weird personal chemistry experiment had permanently altered his metabolism. There was no longer any relationship between his food intake, exercise programs and weight gain. He had once been a strong competitor, and this inability to perform was now destroying him.
A month ago, desperate, Charlie decided to take matters into his own hands - literally. He had a plan. He went away - he called it a retreat - and commenced to physically cut the offending weight off of his body. He took with him a set of surgical steel knives and an intense desire to force change on himself. His first cuts went into his arms and legs, slicing away the extra fat that had accumulated under his atrophied skin. He then started trimming away the extra fingers. After all, he only needed two fingers on each hand to manipulate his knives.
We don't know who called them, but when the paramedics burst in and found Charlie - blood and body parts surrounding his nearly lifeless body - they were able to grab the scalpel from him just before he severed his aorta.
In his pocket, they found a handwritten note, entitled "mission statement". It read: Efficiency is Key. Objective: Cease all unnecessary body functions.
In spite of the physical damage, Charlie survived. He remained in stable condition in the hospital - albeit on life support systems. Psychiatrists have not yet started their sessions, and are waiting until he regains some of his composure. They are referring to his condition as "Corporatitis".
Well, I heard Charlie was missing from his room last night, along with a scalpel.
Poor Charlie.
What? Was that someone at the door?
posted by epiclectic at 10:30 PM
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