Shortness of breath after burst during soccer practice persisted, and now I had regular checkups every two weeks.

“What are you going to tell him today?”

“Still have urgency, still uncomfortable in the morning, tired…”

“Seems like you’ve been doing a little better this week.”

“Yeah, but not great, I’m missing important soccer games, maybe the 6MP is helping a little, but I’m ready to try whatever the next course is.”

           We drove through the bound cable strands of the Brooklyn Bridge, Statue of Liberty, Mother of Exiles overlooking the harbor between the passing cables arching over the sparkling and hurrying tides—downtown Manhattan skyscrapers to the south, Mt. Sinai to the north. Skyline missing the twin towers, ground broken recently to replace the fallen, this time there would be one instead of two. I had my walkman that day in middle school, forbidden during the school day, but they made an exception as I listened to the radio on nine eleven two thousand one. Too young to understand the implications, burnt newspaper pieces and other papers coated our green backyard in ashy gray, must’ve blown up a million file cabinets. A week off from school. Then the Yankees lost the World Series in game seven on Rivera’s blown save, the greatest closer of all time, and after Jeter’s late-game heroics—how could the dynasty end just when the city needed their heroes most? My uncle’s present for Christmas 1998 was four tickets for the game on July 18, 1999. When mom, dad, sister, and I entered the stadium we were given pins for Yogi Berra Day and then took our seats down the right field line in time to see him catch the ceremonial first pitch from Don Larsen. We had a good view of Paul O’Neal’s diving catch in the first inning. and sat in our seats under the overhang through the rain delay in the third, which eventually cleared into a blue summer sky above the white frieze. We felt the tension build as David Cone continued to get one out after another until the crowd erupted as all 27 batters were retired in order and he threw his hands on his head in disbelief and was mobbed by his teammates who raised him on their shoulders and walked him off the field in the house built by Ruth and the legends who had propelled the team to become the quintessential American sports franchise, mirroring the city’s rise to global cultural and economic capital, and the nation’s rise to geopolitical prominence.  But the start of the new millennium marked the end of invincibility, the future ain’t what it used to be.

Mom dropped me off at the door of Mt. Sinai’s doctor offices and went to look for parking. For the waiting room I brought Blades of Grass which I had checked out from my school’s library. Sophomore English teacher had given us print-outs of selected poems, including Crossing Brooklyn Ferry about commuters traversing the East River by boat before subways and bridge. Eerie how I felt addressed, as a face among the masses crossing from shore to shore years hence, more to him than I might suppose because time and distance avail not. Did he foresee the subway? Plans must’ve been conceived while he was alive. Maybe he wouldn’t have understood going into cramped underground tunnels as opposed to ships across the river with fresh air and the city’s panorama in sight. He too lived in Brooklyn of ample hills and walk’d the streets of Manhattan, and bathed in the waters around… can’t do that anymore, dirtier after accumulated years of concentrated humanity on this concrete island.

           Called by a nurse, book closed, “Come with me,” she said as she led me back to an examination room, “Have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly.” I sat on the tissue paper bed, crickle crack, must be sterile with sicklings, wear white coats so we can see any biodegradable speck. Teacher had us read O Captain! My Captain! and told us Whitman read his poetry to the wounded Union before they were bequeathed to the dirt. The door opened, mom walked in and sat down.

“It’s so hard to find a spot around here, has the doctor been in yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well you remember what you’re going to say to him right?” asked mom as she put down her bag and took out her notepad.

“Yep.”

The door opened again, Dr. Mayer walked in.

“Hi there, how are things?” he asked as he shook our hands.

“Okay, but was hoping that I’d be doing better by now.”

“Sorry to hear that, what are your symptoms?”

 “My stamina is still poor when I’m playing soccer, I’m way out of shape compared to everyone else, and I’m still having stomach pain, doesn’t feel like the Asacol and 6MP are doing much.”

“Well that’s not what I was hoping to hear. I was actually looking at the numbers from your last blood test and the hemoglobin and platelet counts were closer to the normal range which is a good sign, but that doesn’t matter from a clinical standpoint.”

“Seems like I’m already taking a lot of pills, but do you think we should increase dosage?”

“No, you’re maxed out on those, but don’t worry, we have some cards left in our hand to play. Let me take a look at your stomach. You can lay back on the bed.”

I lied back on the tissue paper, he lifted my shirt and prodded with fingers.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“How about this?”

Sore spot.

“Yeah, that’s more tender.”

That I was, I knew was of my body… 

“How many bowel movements are you having per day?”

“Probably about 8 to 10, most of them in the morning.”

“Alright, well I’m going to recommend that we put you on a four-week prednisone regimen to shock your system back into remission, and then hopefully the Asacol and 6-MP will keep you there.” Medications forever? “Prednisone is a type of steroid, and it should get you back on the soccer field pretty quickly. I’m going to start you at 10 milligrams per day, and then you’ll slowly work up to 30 milligrams, stay at 30 for a week, and then you’ll taper you off. You should start to feel better in a few days.”

I nodded and asked, “And then my stamina will come back?”

“Yes, steroids force IBD into remission, so you should be back to full strength pretty quickly.”

“Aren’t there long-term side effects from steroids?” asked mother,

 “Not with such a small dose and short regimen, but we can’t prescribe it forever,” he responded.

“What about short-term side effects?” asked mom, pen on notepad. 

“Yes. If you feel really nauseous, get a bad headache, or have increased heart rate while taking it, call me. But most people have increased appetite, put on some weight, maybe get a little acne, sometimes a little extra body hair, and that’s it.”  

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