Brooklyn is Calling, Creepily!

This past Monday morning I was meeting with one of my staff members when I saw that I'd missed multiple calls from the same 718 phone number. I was certain that I hadn't exchanged digits with anyone in Brooklyn or Queens recently, at least not someone who'd be leaving me multiple voice mail messages well before noon. While it's pretty rare for me to check my personal messages during the workday, my grandmother lives in a 718 area code and I thought it could be a call from a hospital or something equally scary, so I gave the messages a listen.

[Message 1:] Good morning Sheridan. This is Lincoln High School, and I'm calling just to let you know that your son came to the medical room and when he was on the train he slipped and hurt his ankle a little bit, so I'm having him put ice on it and I'm going to give you a note to bring him to the doctor if it's still swollen and painful. Thank you very much. Like I said (she hadn't said) if you have any questions ## and name of caller.

Well, at least she was polite, right? The next voic email was left twenty minutes later. Before I hit play I'm sure it's going to say, "So sorry for the message, we called you mistakenly." Instead I hear:

[Message 2:] Hi Sheridan, How ya doing? This is **** from Lincoln High School (same caller). If you could come pick up your son, um, because he fell on the train at 8 in the morning, if you can please give us a cal back at (direct number) this is the medical room and your son is in the medical room, and he has some pain in his ankle, OK? Bye.

What's so crazy about these calls from a high school in Brooklyn? First, the obvious: I don't have a son. Yet, the caller just used my name. I run through the possibilities in my head: does she mistakenly have my name and phone number as an emergency contact for someone? (I also don't have a relative with a high school aged kid.) Did she hear me say my name in my greeting and decide to use it in the message without checking who she should be calling? If she grabbed the number from the injured party, is there a kid in Brooklyn just hoping some rando will get him out of school? The scenarios on this are endless, I conclude, as another five possibilities stream through my mind.

You're already on board with this being truly odd, right? I mean, particularly if you're in education, you know an incorrect emergency contact could be the worst thing. And I'd consider it possible that she'd just transposed a number, but it's scary that someone in the medical center would have number dyslexia, no? (And shouldn't a name be hand in hand with an emergency number in all circumstances?) Anyway, for the sake of this poor kid who wanted to be coddled by his mom, and hopefully not in need of more urgent medical care, I called back the medical center to let them know of their mistake. The person I reached claimed not to be the original caller, who'd "stepped away," though I'd be willing to swear that it was the same voice.

So even if we've given the mistaken caller the benefit of the doubt, despite having had twenty minutes to speak with the injured student to check his mom's name and/or number, the coincidences in this call had me looking at my phone with a blank stare. You're probably thinking oh, it's weird that it was about an ankle injury! Sher's been talking about her ankle/leg injury non stop for, like, twenty months now, with no end in sight. Yeah, that's coincidental, true, but how's this for you? Lincoln High School (and I don't mean any Lincoln High School, I mean THE SAME LHS, located on Ocean Parkway) is where my father went to high school. It's also where my maternal grandfather went to high school. I think I know where only one other family member went to high school. In fact, my brother graduated from high school two years ago, and I couldn't tell you the name of it.

So hey Brooklyn! Were you my future calling or my past? Why am I sharing the transcripts of what I hope are the strangest mistaken calls I'll ever be party to? The improbability (and incompetence) that landed them in my voice mail were remarkable, but of the number of coincidences piled into them just makes me think I must actually know someone at Lincoln High, and they were just pranking me after having an awfully slow start to their week.

What do you think really happened? Is there a narrative I didn't imagine? I've had wrong number and prank texts before, and even had the occasional recorded phone call played in the boy's locker room, but never something of this ilk. And yes, one day I'll report on that locker room story too. But for now I've got to run. If I go back far enough into the future, I may be able to prevent an ankle injury.

This wasn't an Are You Afraid of the Dark script from the 90s. It's true. And perhaps the real value message is: What's your institution's emergency protocol?

Embracing the Irrational

This is just one of many techniques I used in order to heal well and feel well after tearing my cartilage just eleven weeks ago.

What I'm Hiding

It's weird to get ready for the Jewish New Year, a time of soul searching, opening up, letting go, letting in, self-awareness, and reflection realizing that I've been doing myself a disservice in keeping a secret, which has, in turn, made me feel unfulfilled, frustrated and generally, resentful of those closest to me. At least, I hope that I can blame my lack of honesty and not the people.

Why have I been hesitant to disclose? For the most part, I think it's that I don't want to be a burden, because asking others to do things for me doesn't match my personality. I'm a 'do it yourself' kind of girl, independent and self-sufficient, and admitting that doing it myself is impossible is ... well... darn near impossible. So, more often than not, I have been putting on a happy face, and when I can't muster that, a blank expression. I've been ignoring my budget by taking advantage of soap.com and fresh direct. I had no clue that 3 blocks from my apartment was a drugstore clearing everything out for 50% off. And, I've been eating beans straight from the can.

Now, if you follow my food blog, you know that while I may consume chickpeas straight from a can, that wouldn't happen with anything else. Well, these were black beans. I've eaten cheese straight from a package, cereal dry, and I've stared at beautiful food on the brink in my fridge, and reached for yogurt instead ... in the last week I managed to make myself one meal, and, while delicious, I haven't touched a dirtied dish from that or the two weeks prior.

What I've been reticent to share over the past five weeks is that I've been in agonizing pain. Not just minor injury pain, which is, likely, how people perceive it. Laying down hurts. All the more so, standing hurts. A hot shower is the closest I've come to feeling good - but if that lasts longer than about 7 minutes, it's all fruitless and I'm back in pain. I have the tiniest of injuries causing all this pain, of course, just a little torn cartilage, and I've been sticking my knee brace under leggings and quietly using the chair next to me to keep it elevated.

And I've been hiding it by attempting to be social, where I can have alcohol in excess to disguise the pain, or by taking drugs that make me feel loopy and disconnected from what is going on around me. I've managed to get through my workdays, strained. Sitting up with my leg elevated for nearly 8 hours is completely exhausting ... but what I've most come to understand is that while I resent my body plenty for making me endure this - I really resent that amongst the community and the friends I boast as amongst my dearest and closest, I haven't gotten much of the support I need. All I can do is hope that it is my fault for not expressing my needs clearly. I want to believe this is true despite the fact that a number of friends have reached out, have delivered food, have come over for meals, have been tremendously, wonderfully accommodating. So I do wonder how much it's been me, and how much I must reevaluate my relationships to understand that not all of them are what I thought they were.

But then I realize, I am so profoundly grateful for the people who have been understanding, who have been supportive, who have offered me genuine well wishes, and I acknowledge that the resentment doesn't serve me. But when I'm crying on my 3 block walk home from the subway station, all I can think about is whether it's my own fault I'm not being fully supported through this.

In my heart I know that I will get through this, that I will return to my truest self with a smile, and, I hope, dancing and heels and yoga, too. What I'm unsure of is the relationships that don't emanate support now, especially the ones that don't offer as much as a "get well" sentiment, and whether I will be able or willing to foster those relationships in the future. It feels easy now to conflate the two types of pain, that of the physical and that of the soul, and I wonder whether it will wash away in this season of new beginnings, or serve to open my eyes and clear out wasted energies and fruitless friendships.

Best Question of the Week: "How is your Heart?"

If a doctor had asked the question, I would be in a gown, spouting my symptoms from rise to sleep. But I'm 28. I go to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, stomach problems, and most recently, an ear infection. We haven't discussed my heart beyond Cheerios. That is, how to keep my cholesterol in check in order to keep me heart-healthy.

Instead, the question came from a Rabbi. Well, a mentor, confidant, and friend, who is a Rabbi, teacher and a spiritual guide. He asked, "How is your heart?" and the completely honest answer is "... still not quite ready." The answer I wanted to give, the place I want to be is someplace still far off. Though not as far as when he and I sat down just over a year ago for coffee. I'm closer to that answer I want to give - "My heart is open and available, it is ready, it is healed, it is waiting ..." So the answer I gave continued, and I'd like partial credit for it. "I'm working on it... I'm learning ... I'm still having difficulty opening it to the right person..." many disjointed thoughts. Much reason for pause.

Since the season for renewal hit (some people call it fall, I call it the high holidays), I can tell you that I have been hyper-aware of my heart. I know it is still so tightly wrapped, protected. I keep trying to open up, and I know I do it only slightly, and rarely. Usually to "safe" people. That's been going on nearly eight years this December. People who can't possibly stay in my life long, or people who have been here forever. I can't manage the in between.

If I imagine my heart - right now - it is as a diver. Certainly not Olympic grade - probably not even competitive. A leisurely diver, toes over the board wavering about whether to take the plunge. I think a year ago, when I met with this friend my heart and I were on a high board - hardly able to see the pool below. Now, I can smell it, see it - I'm resting on this regular diving board - but I don't know what the temperature will be and I know I'm scared to just dive in. I want it to be graceful, I want it to garner applause. This is when I hate the perfectionist in me. I can be an amateur in love. Isn't everyone at first? I have to remind myself, I'm the only one watching and I need to get past the fear to recognize the fun. It's really going to be worthwhile. And if I fail somehow, I can get back out and dive again.

But diving isn't a sport I know. I'm not confident here - and I am typically a fountain of confidence. I've gotten back on a horse who has thrown me into a fence. I am stubborn and strong just like the animal who spooked and reared and couldn't wait to be rid of me. If I can have faith that the horse will be there for me, why can I not have the same trust in man? The universe has a way of working things out. Trust it. Sit with it.

I'm ready to dive. I'm ready to ride. I'm ready to see what all this hype is about.

Now, if only my words could be as effective as action.