OCR Text |
Show 65 Race to the Hermitage His name ik Dr. lessor/and I know this only because I see it embroidered in cursive navy blue thread on the pocket of his white coat. He seems excited, talking about race horses and stiff-man syndrome. "Your muscles are like a race horse's," he is saying. "More than ready to go and constantly tight." He is watching something in the middle of the air between us and does not observe that I am confused. I realize his race horse analogy must have something to do with the fact that I now startle overwhelmingly at every possible event. Already tight, then, at the starting gate of sudden and unexpected stimulus, my muscles over-respond. "Opisthotonic posturing," Dr. Chappie had called it. Arching backward like tetanus - I can most unwillingly balance on my heels and the top of my head until gravity prevails and I flop onto my side. Then crunching forward into a compact ball. Back and forth. Heart racing to keep up with the oxygen demand, going nowhere. There is no winner. I never leave the gate. He is watching the tiles on the floor, talking about GABA and antibodies made by my own body. GABA relaxes muscles, helps regulate muscle tension. My own body produces an antibody that effectively effaces GABA. |