would give my left foot to see you.”
“Don’t do that, Nana. Promise me.”
“Okay. I’ll keep the foot. I’m finally unpacking the last of the boxes and settling into my new home.”
Duh. What was I thinking? Moving was a huge life transition, a shock to anyone’s system. Especially someone older, in their seventies. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have been there to help you.”
“You’ve got your own important things going on. Have you met new friends?”
“I think.”
“Be nice to them. Don’t be cactus-Sophie.”
“I am not cactus-Sophie!”
“Sweetie, you are beautiful. Strong. Resilient. A little prickly—like a cactus. You get that from my side of the family,” she said. “Don’t apologize for it. Just be aware of it.”
“Okay.” I knew she was totally right. “Have you met any new friends?”
“Yes!” She coughed deeply. “Hold on.” She coughed some more. Blew her nose. “Damn allergies.” She sighed.
“Are you okay?”
“Never been better! I have met new friends here, but they speak a foreign language. Because life is regrettably, short, I’ve decided to immerse myself in Berlitz to learn their foreign tongue. I hope to be able to converse with them in a more authentic fashion.”
“Nana, that’s awesome,” I said. “What language are you learning? Spanish? Italian? Chinese? Where are they from?”
“Skokie, Illinois, my bubbelah.”
“You’re learning Yiddish?”
“It’s a mitzvah, I tell you. Learning new things keeps one young. We’ll see each other soon. Oh, I got a couple of charges for—”
“Are you still okay with that?” I asked. “Me going to the healers?”
“Stop asking,” she insisted. “You are young and following your dream. I want you to have that.”
She was astute, but she hadn’t figured it out yet. Which was a good thing.
“But—”
“No buts, Sophie. We’ve already had this conversation. You need to be exactly where you are, doing precisely what you’re doing. I must go. Esther Rosenstein is hosting a game of cards. I asked what I could bring and she suggested I give her a holler.”
I shook my head and smiled. “Challah, Nana. It’s a kind of yummy bread. I’m guessing she wants you to contribute some snackies. Have fun. I love you.”
“I love you too, my favorite granddaughter.”
I hung up the phone. I felt sad and happy and nostalgic all at the same time. And then I felt grateful I was here in L.A. On my journey.
* * *
Alex drove me to some more appointments: a yoga class where we breathed and examined our every movement, body posture, joint alignment and then chanted funny words. It felt wonderful and I felt incredible the day after this class: no twitches. No leg weakness. No lethargy. I wanted to go back as soon as possible.
But the next day I was scheduled to be at the generic waiting room at the vanilla medical center waiting to get my dreaded, ear-killing MRI done. They wanted to ensure that the stem cells hadn’t turned from good to bad. Because apparently, stem cells could be deceptive.
These cells that were meant to be potential healers could once in a while morph into monsters that could form tumors that would further disable or even kill people that were getting them. That included me. Yeah, life was a laugh a minute in L.A. as I lay on the imaging tube, was shuttled into the MRI tunnel and tried not to grimace through the machine gun and explosion noises as the medical device took pictures of my spinal cord. My mind desperately needed to escape from this freaking hellhole and that’s when I thought about him. To be honest, started to obsess a little about him.
He was not only impossibly cute, but we seemed to have some strange connection. I knew this wasn’t right. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I hesitated. But finally gave in to my desires. I was out of the tube, yanking my clothes back on in a tiny hospital cubicle while I picked up my phone and hunted down
“Don’t do that, Nana. Promise me.”
“Okay. I’ll keep the foot. I’m finally unpacking the last of the boxes and settling into my new home.”
Duh. What was I thinking? Moving was a huge life transition, a shock to anyone’s system. Especially someone older, in their seventies. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have been there to help you.”
“You’ve got your own important things going on. Have you met new friends?”
“I think.”
“Be nice to them. Don’t be cactus-Sophie.”
“I am not cactus-Sophie!”
“Sweetie, you are beautiful. Strong. Resilient. A little prickly—like a cactus. You get that from my side of the family,” she said. “Don’t apologize for it. Just be aware of it.”
“Okay.” I knew she was totally right. “Have you met any new friends?”
“Yes!” She coughed deeply. “Hold on.” She coughed some more. Blew her nose. “Damn allergies.” She sighed.
“Are you okay?”
“Never been better! I have met new friends here, but they speak a foreign language. Because life is regrettably, short, I’ve decided to immerse myself in Berlitz to learn their foreign tongue. I hope to be able to converse with them in a more authentic fashion.”
“Nana, that’s awesome,” I said. “What language are you learning? Spanish? Italian? Chinese? Where are they from?”
“Skokie, Illinois, my bubbelah.”
“You’re learning Yiddish?”
“It’s a mitzvah, I tell you. Learning new things keeps one young. We’ll see each other soon. Oh, I got a couple of charges for—”
“Are you still okay with that?” I asked. “Me going to the healers?”
“Stop asking,” she insisted. “You are young and following your dream. I want you to have that.”
She was astute, but she hadn’t figured it out yet. Which was a good thing.
“But—”
“No buts, Sophie. We’ve already had this conversation. You need to be exactly where you are, doing precisely what you’re doing. I must go. Esther Rosenstein is hosting a game of cards. I asked what I could bring and she suggested I give her a holler.”
I shook my head and smiled. “Challah, Nana. It’s a kind of yummy bread. I’m guessing she wants you to contribute some snackies. Have fun. I love you.”
“I love you too, my favorite granddaughter.”
I hung up the phone. I felt sad and happy and nostalgic all at the same time. And then I felt grateful I was here in L.A. On my journey.
* * *
Alex drove me to some more appointments: a yoga class where we breathed and examined our every movement, body posture, joint alignment and then chanted funny words. It felt wonderful and I felt incredible the day after this class: no twitches. No leg weakness. No lethargy. I wanted to go back as soon as possible.
But the next day I was scheduled to be at the generic waiting room at the vanilla medical center waiting to get my dreaded, ear-killing MRI done. They wanted to ensure that the stem cells hadn’t turned from good to bad. Because apparently, stem cells could be deceptive.
These cells that were meant to be potential healers could once in a while morph into monsters that could form tumors that would further disable or even kill people that were getting them. That included me. Yeah, life was a laugh a minute in L.A. as I lay on the imaging tube, was shuttled into the MRI tunnel and tried not to grimace through the machine gun and explosion noises as the medical device took pictures of my spinal cord. My mind desperately needed to escape from this freaking hellhole and that’s when I thought about him. To be honest, started to obsess a little about him.
He was not only impossibly cute, but we seemed to have some strange connection. I knew this wasn’t right. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I hesitated. But finally gave in to my desires. I was out of the tube, yanking my clothes back on in a tiny hospital cubicle while I picked up my phone and hunted down
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