The Troubles of a Superhuman
Jordan enjoys a teen mag sent by our friends at Siegel+Gale
I suspect that Superman feels this way after he’s expunged the kryptonite only to find Lex Luther has hatched another diabolical plan. In his head, he must think, “good grief!” Perhaps every superhero has a Charlie Brown alter ego. That’s how Jordan must feel. It’s not enough to slay cancer. You have to relearn how to use your legs. And you can’t go home!
She’s super human. In every way. In five days she’s proven that she can take a superhuman punch and get right back up on her feet … almost. We’re grateful the legs are working, but they’ve got a ways to go before she can chasse around the house and keep us on our toes. Make no mistake, she’s on them as often as she can. The only complaint you hear when it’s time for physical therapy is how much she’s sweating.
This is why I am intoxicated with this girl.
Yet, make no mistake, she gets blue.
It’s the pace that troubles her. She wants to be home. She wants to be on her feet. She wants it all to be over. Who can blame her? I think that’s the curse of being superhuman. Everyone admires you and everyone applauds your derring-does. But you just want to do like the rest of the world. I suspect that sometimes superheroes like Jordan want to be perfectly ordinary. They mumble to themselves, “yeah, yeah, yeah … give me a pair of pajamas and the remote to the television.” Of course, they can’t have it. There’s another challenge to face. Sisyphus has it easy, they think. Give him my boulder and then cry me a river.
We read together tonight. I did my best acting job and she sat quietly, listening … tapping her fingers across the side of the hospital bed, smiling at me when I looked up from the page. Every so often I’d ask if she was alright and she’d say, “yes.” Then I’d read some more.
Nurses came in occasionally to check on this or that. One said, “I want to pull up a chair.” Jordan smiled and said, “that’s my Daddy.” I felt superhuman, and yet totally helpless. I suspect that’s how she feels times ten. But it doesn’t stop her.
Tomorrow she begins in-patient physical therapy. She’ll put her body to the test on an aggressive regimen geared towards making her legs obey her will. That’s a tall order, but she’s given it before. No one doubts what she’lll accomplish. Not her doctors or her parents or even her. Still, that’s small consolation for a girl who wants to do what all the other girls do. It must be lonely. As much as I’m grateful she’s superhuman, my greatest wish is that she can be super as an ordinary human.