Londonderry News

They were just playing catch in the street, like any two twelve-year-old boys living in the close confines of the city. Marvin peddled backwards to catch a mile-high toss and leapt at the last minute to snag the ball against a chain link fence. But the fence snagged him too and the sharp metal pickets ripped a two-inch gash in his side that bled for hours afterward. But it healed completely in a week and left only a scar that he could brag about later. It was his first real injury, one he never revealed to his mother.

Over the years, he broke only one bone, if cartilage counts – a nasty broken nose in his high school days that occurred at a 4th of July fair. He and a friend were on one of those old-fashioned carnival rides, in which they stand you in a cage that can swing the cage over a bar, very much like a Ferris wheel. The operator gives the cage a little push and the occupants do the rest of the work. The objective is to build up enough momentum to swing the cage over the bar and keep it going. It’s all done with the strength and coordination of the occupants. As the two friends built their momentum, Marvin miscalculated and slammed his nose into the metal bar. Two opposite momentums working against one another. His nose lost that fight. That injury healed quickly too, but he would not breathe correctly through his nose for another 15 years, when a surgeon rearranged his deviated septum.

He sustained other usual types of minor injuries as life went on. Once, while jogging in the city as a college kid, he suffered a sprained ankle and hobbled on crutches for a week. The day he got off the crutches, he began running again – and promptly sprained the other ankle. That too healed in another week.

Marvin used to jog a lot. Rain or shine. Wind or hale. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. Every other morning at 5:30 on the dot, he left the house for a brisk two-mile jog through the neighborhood. Luckily for him, he avoided further injuries. But he was in his thirties then; he’s now in his fifties. The knees have had enough jogging; they tend to swell now if he overdoes it. They don’t bounce back as they once did. And lately, it’s just a wee bit tougher for him to straighten his legs after kneeling down. Although he still walks fast when in the full upright position.

But he falls fast too, as a slip on the ice last winter would attest. Trying to save his cup of coffee on the way to the ground, he wrenched his thumb. Tore all the ligaments on one side. The coffee went everywhere, but the Styrofoam cup hit the ground intact, with only a hole pushed into it. A testimony to his perseverance. The thumb is still recovering two months later. He still can’t use that thumb to turn a doorknob or open a jar of peanut butter.

Marvin also can’t bend the toes on his right foot without pain, thanks to a fall off a tall curb in the city last summer. One of those free-fall face plops to the ground, the ultimate embarrassment. So he gimps around just a bit these days, especially when wearing the wrong shoes. No matter how tall a curb, that shouldn’t happen. But it does…as you get older.

His exercise regiment has been curtailed slightly these days, as, with the self-inflicted injuries to his foot and his thumb, it’s more difficult to get through his routine. And a subtle but constant pain in his lower back also gives him pause before making any sudden moves. A quick twist to the right a few weeks ago left him with a back spasm that only a chiropractor could love.

Last week, Marvin received the ultimate proof that he doesn’t heal as quickly as he once did. He had his first stress test ever, which he passed, but during which the doctor discovered that he has a touch of high blood pressure. As a result, Marvin has now entered that exclusive club of older Americans who enjoy their “meds” on a daily basis. He’s looking forward to putting in his own two cents about this, when he next visits his parents. As always, that conversation will inevitably turn to their aches and pains, their medications, and their list of doctor appointments. He feels they’ll now have more in common than they’ve had since that grease fire drove them all out of the house together some forty years ago.

Marvin has now entered the Twilight Zone, that eerie phase of life when his body is just beginning to hint that it wants to slow down a bit. But we doubt that Martin will listen. In his mind, he’s still a twelve-year-old kid, shagging those fly balls out in the street. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that.

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