[img]2962|right|Ken Ruben||no_popup[/img]Just as I have tried to imagine myself in Diane’s complex situation, battling a deadly disease for the past 9 months and 27 days, I have attempted similar psychology with transportation maven Ken Ruben, my friend.
Five weeks ago yesterday, a critical stroke shrank his normally hyper-active lifestyle to the size of a tennis ball, frozen in position.
The setting is pleasant enough, and now he has two roommates. They are unlikely to meet.
Imagine lying in a bed for almost 35 days, immobile, hooked up to oxygen, tuned in to mindless television, unable to move one side. You are remarkably – if understandably — uninspired, perhaps wishing someone would drape a bag over your depressed head.
Mr. Ruben, 72 years old, and I have visited almost every day.
This afternoon when I was about to trumpet communication success, he sustained another setback.
It will surprise none of his numerous friends that as soon as I enter Room 30 at Country Villa Mar Vista, his temporary station, he points at my cell phone.
In a language new to both of us, he makes a sound that tends to resemble “phone, phone.”
Then the clouds return.
Studying the log of calls, he instantly recognizes two. Reliably, he clicks in to two.
Otherwise, his return to normalcy has been a mid-speed ride up and down an abbreviated city block loaded with 24 speed bumps.
