Get Used to It

“I think that polio has gone to your head.”

Of all the cruel things my father said to me, that is among the several I find most memorable.

To extrapolate: Dad was making a connection between my adult thought processes and my childhood physical illness.

He was searching for a physical cause for what he believed was a “thinking” defect. He hoped to rationalize what he thought was defective behavior by blaming it on polio.

Years later, a high official in the Diaconate of the Archdiocese of Denver told me basically the same thing.

He said he believed my cognitive abilities had been impacted by infantile paralysis, making me obviously far too stupid to ever become a deacon.

He even said that in black and white. He wrote me a letter saying that. (This made me wonder at the time which of us, myself or the chief of deacons, is working with impaired cognitive abilities. But no matter, I can’t become a deacon and I’ve gone on to other things.)

Fast forward with me now to a contemporary setting. Or two. I mean this as a germ, a little implanted idea for persons who may find themselves in a predicament similar to mine. A suggestion for something about which one should be wary.

When one reaches 65 or 70, one’s cognitive abilities come more frequently into question.

This is not entirely unreasonable. We know there is senile dementia. It exists. So-called Alzheimer’s Disease is documented, visible, a reality.

Sometimes, the cause of the affliction can only be laid to the age of the sufferer. We don’t know yet how else to explain this horrid human condition. Sad.

But go one step further. I once heard a woman say, “I have chemo brain. That’s why I’m so ditsy.”

Yes, medication, treatment, can “go to your head.”

Having had polio, and a variety of treatments for it, most certainly modified my thinking. My perceptions are different. How others perceive me is different than “might have been.”

Having cancer, and putting up with various treatments and limitations, has, as my dear father would say, “gone to my head.”

My behavior and my thinking are suspect. Called into question. Things are different, reality is modified.

A very good friend of mine who loves me and wants only the best for me recently said, “Tom, you’re so negative.”

So I’ve found it necessary to change my approach. Now I’m careful to say, “I am positive that I will not attend the church festival.” I approach the upcoming bacchanal in a positive way. I apologize for being unable to attend.

Here is the crux of all this verbiage: I am not more “negative” about things since I am under medical treatment. I am, however, less likely to withhold the results of my thinking from others.

I’m 70. I have cancer. There is far less need for me to be diplomatic about things now, especially when my cognitive abilities have begun to come into question.

Dad was right. Polio did go to my brain. And now, 66 years later, so did cancer. Get used to it.

Potpourri

Can’t be helped. I’m not an eavesdropper, but I hear things. Lunch counter comments just stand out to this old reporter’s ears.

Girlfriend speaking on a cell phone, apparently to her boyfriend: “I know you have your fancy new GPS, but you still don’t know where I am.”

And another, one middle-aged man to another: “It’s just the way my son is. He just can’t seem to think more than six inches into the future.”

And one more: “I wonder if we should start a campaign to get Greeley declared as a third world country.”