Day Six
After six days of wise labor, God finished our world. There’s a joke that says that everything was perfect until the Creator added people on our Earth. My situation was a little different, since after six days I was still ankle deep in mud and far from adding fish. My goal at that point was to go one foot deeper, a task that proved next to impossible: the water bed was formed of petrified clay that threw back my pickax, having it swing dangerously close to my face. The long and heavy crowbar was more efficient, but not able to accomplish much either. On top of all this, the day was extremely humid and hot, and each move I made pushed more sweat and energy out of my body. I did not want to kill myself in order to scoop a handful of dirt each five minutes. Just doing that meant I was losing muscle strength and stamina at an alarming rate that forced me to take more breaks. I needed badly to rest and catch my breath. The good news was that I shed a pound or two each working day. Nevertheless, loyal to my commitment, I kept working and struggled to remain optimistic regarding the eventual completion of my pond. After all, it was merely a rectangular hole of almost 10 x 3 yards. And while the subject of optimism was on my mind, I found myself thinking that an optimist is a person not sufficiently informed. That’s why optimists invented the airplane, and pessimists the parachute.
My work reminded me of the 1898 Alaskan gold rush prospectors. They panned in the icy creeks of the Yukon, but only brothels, saloons and general stores made money. A railroad was built to bring more gold prospectors, and it was completed exactly when it was discovered that no gold was left to be found…It was like building a bridge that went nowhere. The best thing to come out of it was Jack London, one of the countless losers, who came back with fewer teeth but ready to write “wild” novels, since he believed that one “can’t wait for inspiration” but has “to go after it with a club.” He sure lived and wrote by that principle. I wondered if my fish pond could compete with the infamous gold rush, and my journal be its lasting effect.
Sometimes in life it is most important to try a new idea to defy the odds. Reflecting on Jack London’s experience and going beyond it, I thought about how nations used to display extreme patriotism and mass euphoria when they went to war. Obviously they counted on a quick victory and no casualties. But months later, when the stalemate changed into clear defeat, the entire mood swung in reverse, and tears of bitterness and pain replaced the tears of joy.
Fairly similar is pre-marriage enthusiasm, when the happy couple cannot imagine life without each other, ignoring their parents’ and friends’ failed marriages. Factor in a few marital years with a heavy mortgage, three children, and the loss of a job exactly when a spouse is sick, and one faces a totally different opinion about marriage. Reflecting on this, I segued into my problem solving: if I were the leader of a nation, I would make marriage dissolvable automatically each five years. Unless the couple renewed their vows and paid a meaningful tax to keep the marriage alive, each partner would be free to walk out the marriage. I guarantee that 99% of married couples would do anything to stay married, just to defy this invasive law! One of these days I will write about an ideal society in a good country that will be destroyed by the sinful governments of superpowers.
In the meantime, toppled from the heights of my imaginary commanding social position into the muddy hole, I kept crashing the crowbar against the water bed to extract a few ounces of debris. Obviously, my pond will never be five feet deep as I intended, but only two feet… Soon I was ready to declare Mother Nature victorious and surrender my ambitions and work attitude. The good news was that 1.3 billion Chinese people would never know about my failed project and laugh about it, but at least one American, my wife, would find out very soon. Nonetheless, just as in real life when people are forced out of their houses or out of business and they stoically decide to resist, hoping for a miracle to correct the problem, I decided to stay put and keep on working. Frankly, I had no choice, since I had messed up a beautiful piece of property, a fact that our hawkeyed neighbor was sure to comment on. My self esteem and trust in my work had plummeted to its lowest point so far.
On the bright side, I burned calories in excess by working like everyone in the past who did heavy manual work. I read in some statistics that today only 2 percent of the American population is engaged in farming, meaning in physical labor and old fashioned sweat. Some 80 percent do office work, using minimum muscle to make a living. Probably this is why half of the population is fat or obese, and the reason for the epidemic of diabetes and gout. Those who are self conscious about health hazards wear themselves out in the gym where they sweat and eventually lose a few pounds. However, after a workout, they are so hungry that many go directly to a fast food restaurant and devour a large hamburger with French fries, cola and pie with ice cream that turns into fat and adds more pounds to the already overweight body. So they increase their weight by lifting weights. WhenI was a private fitness trainer, I saw perfectly healthy people entering the gym, only to end up limping into the doctor’s office with serious muscle, ligament and joint problems. I am not one of those weekend warriors.
Meanwhile, the day was already at a record high of 104 degrees, with humidity, and I had never felt so tired. I quickly came up with a sensible plan: work until noon, and then be done for the day. Ignoring my thirst, hunger, premature fatigue, short breath and heart pounding in my ears, I kept digging all morning. But with each shovel full of mud it seemed that I threw away ounces of energy. Mud filled my crocs, making each sgtep a painful effort. I began to regret that water was the main ingredient in sustaining life on Earth. We die if we have it in excess, as in a flood or tsunami, and we die in a few days if we don’t have it to drink. If it feezes, or if it boils on us, we also die. Yet, property that is on the water sells better than any other, and I want to bring water into a pond so I can look at it from the deck of my house. But I had not realized that I would create such an ordeal that I would begin to regret my decision to do all this on my own…
Ready to faint, I stopped and decided to go and get the cement boulders. A little shaky I grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and determinedly pushed it, empty, up the hill toward the neighboring lot. I could hardly walk and everything was spinning around me. Suddenly I felt that I was out of energy and oxygen, and that I was going to collapse. I stopped and rested, kneeling between the handles and breathing hard, heart pounding enough to break my chest. I pushed myself away from the wheelbarrow and began to crawl to the shady patio. When I finally reached it, I collapsed on the deck stairs.
Using the last drop of my strength, I took my pulse, which was irregular and close to two hundred beats a minute. What alarmed me most was that I could barely feel my pulse beat. From my track and field days when I fainted a few times from 400 meter dash exhaustion, I suspected I was running on empty. My eyesight was foggy, my head heavy, my liver and spleen painful, and my wheezing shallow breath felt hot while my arms and legs were cold. I slowly rolled on my left side, eyes glued to the muddy hole responsible for my collapse, and strained to grab the hose. My body functions were reduced to the minimum. I thought I was either having a heart attack or heat stroke.
At age 67 and engaged in brutal work without drinking water or eating properly, I simply collapsed. I began to exhale and inhale deeply to provide my lungs with plenty of oxygen. Around me all was hazy and quiet as I realized that I was alone, without hope for help. A very frightening situation to be in, when facing a life or death situation! Luckily, I could reach the garden hose near me, and I let the cold water pour on my head while gulping it at the same time. I hoped to recover soon. But that didn’t happen. Instead, my vision blurred and I had chills, while the hose dropped from my grip. Something unusual was happening because I felt relaxed and even smiled about my pitiful situation. I was unable to move and was somewhat amused to realize that any command of my brain was being ignored by each muscle. Still, I smiled in disbelief. Then, horrific ideas made me shiver: I recalled that all the dead people I have seen had a smile on their livid faces. This conveyed a much too clear message to those who lived: dying is a pleasant experience, a relief from too much suffering. In my case, it was a puzzling smile of “Am I about to die?” I was not ready to die, but at that point, I did not mind because nothing mattered. I was too tired to fight, and a final rest might be welcome. My life did not flash before my eyes, but without doubt I was brushing with death.
I rested on the deck steps at an angle of 45 degrees, which probably saved my life. I must have blanked out for a while until I was aware again of birds singing in the trees. For a moment, I thought I was having an out-of-body experience when I happily saw how my fingers and toes had begun to move. My breathing felt almost normal but my mouth was dry and my heartbeats very weak, irregular and with long pauses between. I wondered if this was a sign of recovery. I looked at the water hose now a few feet away, but I stayed put in order to regain full control of my body. If I were to move, I knew I could faint again and crack my head on the cement patio beneath the stairs.
All kinds of thoughts, mostly negative, crossed my mind. The most persistent was about a friend of mine, the same age as I am, who lives in Paris and spent three months in a clinical coma. He went for minor surgery, only to end up having an open heart triple bypass, losing one kidney, and then being re-operated on three more times because of post-operatory infections. Now he is legally blind and suspects that doctors took full advantage of the French universal healthcare system that paid a few million euros for his staying in the hospital. As I became more able to focus, I looked at the beautiful grape leaves being penetrated by the sun, and I knew for sure that I was alive. The green branchyes that created the shade had perhaps saved my life. There must be a kind of powerful energy they bestowed on me, feeding my senses and optimism. I smiled again, this time with confidence.
Feeling strong enough, I slowly got up, with only one thought in mind: “I am an old fool who did too much!” No argument there…and slowly I walked upstairs into my air conditioned house, opened the refrigerator for a bottle of seltzer and sat at the table. I emptied two glasses of the sizzling water and felt depressed: this would not have happened ten years ago, but now I am officially old. The air conditioner blew right at me, and looking in the mirror I saw how dirty and exhausted I was. I drank two more glasses of water to satisfy my body needs and went to the bathtub to let hot water pour in. In the meantime I took a shower that changed the white shower floor into a muddy-yellow color. Coming out, I felt a little wobbly and sat again. I added cold water to the tub and emptied two large bags of Epsom salt into it. For anyone who is not familiar with this product or doubts its miraculous healing powers, I will explain.
When I was conscripted in the Romanian Army, my garrison had a small infirmary which was always empty. Not because there were no sick recruits, but because of the abundant presence of Epsom salt, which replaced any other medication and promptly terminated any sickness. Each morning at noon and again at evening roll call when our unit was in a square formation, a few boys stepped out to report being sick. They were taken to the medical orderly, a lad resembling a hangman. He invariably administered one medication to all in need of treatment: a full spoon of bitter Epsom salt. If the sick guy had a toothache, suffered from diarrhea or was constipated, had pain in his chest or liver, a bleeding nose or twisted ankle—any health problem, a teaspoon of Epsom salt cured him immediately and on the spot. That guy would never report in sick again. In my case, I can be a living advertisement for that product that I always include in my hot bath. The reason is simple: it takes away muscle pain, heals joint discomfort, fights any itching, leaves the skin perfectly clean, and most of all, it relaxes and puts me to sleep. I believe that I owe my good health and my full head of dark hair to Epsom salt, and I can swear to its universal healing properties. Ask the orderly from my garrison infirmary.
Feeling better after my bath, I watched on TV how the Obama administration was fighting Congress to vote for a health care system similar to that in France, Germany and Sweden. I recalled another universal care program offered by the former Communist regime of Romania. It was, in fact, the most corrupt system one could imagine, riddled with bribes and indifference, and it was a total nightmare if you had to be hospitalized. Officially, theoretically, and mostly propagandistically, all medical care was immediate and free to everyone. But a consultation with the doctor took weeks to happen, and only a sizable bribe would ensure a careful evaluation. In the hospital, the patient needed to bribe all personnel from the doorman to the surgeon and anesthetist, the visiting doctor, the shift nurses and the orderly who changed the bed or cleaned the patient and his room. Indeed, private health insurance in America is expensive, but one can chose a doctor who acts responsibly, otherwise he gets sued. If the Obama’s universal health plan continues to be implemented in America, I expect poor and illegal immigrants will abuse the socialist system and bankrupt it in no time. Ask Californians and New Yorkers. A truck bumper sticker summarizes all draconic care systems in a few words: Work Harder. Millions on Welfare Depend on You!