99 Problems

Malcom was a young African American male with a sense of righteousness that resembled his namesake. He was born in the wrong decade, fitting perfectly in the mid 1960s. He looked like a blend of Jimi Hendrix and Dr. J (google it), with a perfectly round halo afro and a menacing goatee. His crimes were out of the 60s as well, all for trafficking marijuana or “grass” as he’d call it. When he would wait in the lobby he wouldn’t stare at his phone like everyone else, he’d proudly be reading a philosophy book and would be eager to point out what he learned as soon as we sat down. He would even use 60s terms so casually like “right on” and they didn’t sound awkward. He was instantly likable. 

The walk from the lobby to my office was a journey to the other side of the building and Malcom would move so quickly it was hard to keep up with him. He was young and healthy, he never seemed tired despite a long day of labor in the Southern California heat. Our first couple of meetings he was on guard, not trusting “the law man” but over time he softened up. The inside of his apartment looked like a Santa Cruz dock, with fog so thick you couldn’t see past your extended arm. Except the fog was marijuana exhaust, from his roommate of course. Despite all appearances and his history, Malcolm never tested positive for any drugs. He satisfied all his conditions from the Court and over time our meetings would be the two of us chopping it up over philosophy or if Bruce Lee could really beat Chuck Norris.

One afternoon Malcolm was having noticeable trouble walking, he had an awkward limp.

“I don’t know man, my leg is kind of numb, feels weird.” He said with an unusual look of fear in his eyes.

The condition seemed worse the next time he came in, throwing his hips into each step to get his left leg out in front of him. He said he wasn’t feeling any pain, but his leg was very weak and he was losing sensation. The fear in his eyes was deepening. When I would go to check on him at his apartment, his roommate looked concerned and it took a long time for Malcom to get out of bed. I had a cane from an old ankle injury and I dropped it off with roommate a few days later. Malcom texted me, thanked me for the cane but said he didn’t need it, he was fine. At our next appointment he was leaning on the cane just to stand. He was no longer working, although his boss was still sending him money. I ordered him to the hospital that afternoon. 

At his next appointment, I got a call from the front desk saying Malcom couldn’t stand. I met him in the lobby. He was sitting with the cane and a walking stick he found in the woods and carved himself, of course he did. I didn’t see just fear in his eyes, I saw humiliation. I hated it. He needed me to help him up. The lobby was loaded with other probationers that day and Malcom was embarrassed as I struggled to support him. Instead of walking to my office I helped him back to his car and we talked on the way. The numbness had spread and he couldn’t feel anything below his waist. In a monument of complete vulnerability, Malcom said that included his plumbing. His baby momma was waiting at the car for him, they were on their way to the hospital. She was impressed that he allowed me to help him, said he was too proud to ask. The doctors didn’t know what the problem was and he was being passed around from one specialist to another. Malcom was positive it would get worked out and told me he’d be at the office anytime I needed him. 

A few days later I got a call from Malcom’s mother. Now, I never met her, so I have no idea what she looked like, but based on the way she sounded I had the image of Eddie Murphy’s mom in The Nutty Professor (Hercules! Hercules! – google that too). She was very concerned, as a good mother would be, but definitely had an edge to her. There was no question where Malcom got his righteousness.

“He’s going from one foo’ to the next at that hospital! They need to take better care of my baby boy!” She thanked me for the cane and my patience with the situation. “You know Malcom is hard headed with the po-lice, but he seems to like you, so thank you.” Mom was down from another state and staying with him in his apartment, stocking his fridge and keeping his attitude positive.

One morning I got a text from Malcom’s roommate, he was emergency transported to one of the best hospitals in the state and was now in the middle of a six hour surgery. I sent Malcom a text, told him to keep me updated and I was pulling for him. He responded a few hours later.

“Yo man thanks of checking in on me, I’m good. I’ll be at the office for my next appointment. Are you asking for the job or do you actually care?”

“Of course I care.”

“Right on.”

Weeks later Malcom’s baby momma drove him to the office on time for his appointment. I met him in his car in the parking lot. He had a brace on from his chin to his waist. He greeted me with a smile and told me they cut out a tumor that had been pressing on his spine and was eating away at his vertebrae. It was a benign, but they were scanning the rest of his body to see if he had anything else. Malcom doesn’t have a medical degree so I didn’t push too much with the questions, he really didn’t know. He was just happy that he was getting better and would walk again. I mentioned how lucky he was. He agreed, but thought I was referring to his support system. Its funny, instead of thanking the doctors or the universe for his recovery, his first thought was to be thankful for his friends and family. His mom, his baby momma, his roommate, his boss. All people who cared. I swear I saw a little mist in his eye when he talked about it. 

They say you can have 99 problems, but in the end only one matters, your health. When that’s at risk, its your only problem. Without warning or reason it can easily be taken away.

This got me thinking; support from friends and family are like your health, it’s easy to take for granted and not appreciated until there is a crisis. Really, how many times do we actually sit and count our blessings for the love that surrounds us? One moment of gratitude can go a long way. Don’t wait for a crisis to be thankful. Malcom didn’t.

Right on.