THE FLUTTER OF ANGEL WINGS

AUGUST 20, 2024 – Today I underwent a P.E.T. scan in the nuclear medicine department of the University of Minnesota’s Sprawling Medical Science and Services Empire (I’m making up the name but not its size or substance). The exercise was what I call “a data generator” in anticipation of my upcoming second annual check-up with the BMT (“bone marrow transplant”) doc.

This was my third visit to the highly polished, nicely appointed subterranean floor of the building that houses “nuclear medicine.” I was amused by the basement location. Back in the day at Franklin Elementary School, we were told that in the event of a nuclear attack, we were to follow the teacher down to the basement and into either the movie room in the old part of the school or the lunchroom in the new, depending on which space our class would be assigned. Since the blast itself would most likely be over downtown Minneapolis 20 miles away, flattening everything within a two-mile radius of ground zero, the point of going to the school movie room or lunchroom was to achieve a modicum of protection against nuclear fallout drifting well beyond the blast site itself.  Now, six decades later, I was directed to a basement to be injected with nuclear fallout so that a NASA- JPL- or Space X-like machine could scan for rogue cells. Just think, I mused: all those billions for defense when it would be the Rogues, not the Reds, who would attack!

An hour earlier I’d appeared at the BMT clinic itself, two blocks away, for a blood draw—to generate another set of data points for the doctor to interpret. Sarah, my appointed lab person, greeted me cheerfully and led me into the testing area. As we passed the first chair and set of curtains, another team member called out my name. It was Annie, who’d provided five-star care two years ago during my treatment. She’s the daughter of a former work colleague of mine, and I’d been so impressed by her dedication, proficiency, and genuine care, I’d written a note to her father, and said however great a lawyer he was, his finest accomplishment was having raised “an angel masquerading as a human being.” Annie and I chatted briefly, and her positive attitude was infectious.

Sarah, it turned out, was a varsity player too, and I told her so. Another staff member overheard and stepped in to applaud, as well. The blood draw took but a minute, and I was soon on my way, filled with the well wishes of everyone in the vicinity. The positive send-off felt like the flutter of angel wings.

The nuclear medicine personnel were equally personable. I was made to feel that they ran a spa, not a medical facility. After an injection of the magical “nuclear” compound, I was offered a warm blanket and ushered into a private waiting room equipped with a comfortable recliner. As on the two previous occasions, I’d expected a 45-minute wait during which I could write, read, do work. This time, however, the attendant urged me to relax. “We find that too much cognitive activity draws sugar to the brain,” she said. Hmmm, I thought. I dared not look for trouble, so I immediately stifled my curiosity. Sometimes it’s easier just to go with the flow. Besides, I thought, I was still experiencing the effects of jet lag from our recent return from Portugal and could use the extra snooze time.

After a few pleasant dreams I was stirred gently awake by an agent of the spa. She led me across the hallway and directed me onto the giant imaging machine. It was another napping opportunity, but now I didn’t want to sleep. Encouraged by the high-tech environment and the futuristic sound of the scanning machine, I pretended to be aboard an orbiting space station. For whatever reason, I soon found myself in a geo-synchronous orbit above the Horn of Africa, the Red Sea, and the Arabian Peninsula. Except for a strand or two of loosely organized clouds, I had a magnificent view of the earth below. If given a choice, I would’ve opted for some other vantage point or better yet, a LEO (low earth orbit) with varying flight paths. But I’ve learned to be grateful for what I’m given, and today it was a stationary view of the aforementioned arid portion of earth.

Five minutes into the ride I thought about an article I’d read recently about the probable origin of the asteroid that extinguished the dinosaurs—and a good many other species. The upside of the earth-shattering collision was that it opened an evolutionary trajectory for mammals—including us of the homo sapiens persuasion. I wondered how the astroid’s impact would’ve appeared from the height of my imaginary orbit. Did the collision produce a giant puff ball? Did it send a huge fireball into the stratosphere? Did it cause a perceptible wobble of the earth?

But what if the asteroid had missed? I thought. Humankind wouldn’t be. Nor would all that we are and experience. Yes, that includes pain, despair, sadness, darkness, suffering, and anxiety, but the human condition also includes love, joy, kindness, empathy, ecstasy, gratitude, satisfaction, perception of beauty and . . . the flutter of angel wings.

By the time I returned to earth, I felt renewed gratitude for the extraordinary care that has extended my life and infused it with greater meaning and clarity than I could have ever imagined before experiencing high orbit above this precious world of ours.

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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson