Riches to Rags

Riches to Rags

the account of an athlete and fate.

Cruel fate.

by Malcolm Toleno

I dedicate this book to my mom, for pushing me to do Maple Leaf.

Maple Leaf Book Project Writing Project

Brattleboro, Vermont

The name is Jack. Jack Siemko.

You could call me an athlete, or you could call me a superstar. When I say superstar, I really mean it. I was given the prestigious title of Junior Ballon D’or. The Ballon D’or is the award given to the best soccer player in the world. So the junior version of it is a pretty big thing.

I’m 14. I live in a very small town in the middle of nowhere (Tellemont, Arkansas). But my town has enough money to support me by buying me the best cleats around, the Gronki FG 439s, which cost $230. I think they’re worth it. Also, they raised money to send me to the ODC, or Olympic Development Camp. Of course, I passed the “audition” with flying colors. That’s me for you.

I am on an extremely advanced soccer team, FC Stars. Only the best high school soccer players in Arkansas can be on it. Not to be arrogant, but I’m the best player on the team.

So, life is pretty good for me, you could say. I’m the most popular kid in the school, and everybody knows it. That’s saying a lot, considering there are 400+ kids in my school, Tellemont Union High School. I’m also pretty smart.

About me: As you know, I’m 14. I’m 5’9”, I have dirty blond hair, gray eyes, and I weigh 130 lbs. I have small and thin hands, but my feet are very big, and STRONG! I’m pretty good at playing the piano, but it’s not my life the way soccer is. My favorite food is dark chocolate. Because our town is so small, I jog to wherever I have to go, because it keeps me in shape. But every once in awhile, I have my mom, Betti, drive me the longer distances. Or, I will ride my bike wherever.

You probably think it’s weird that my best friend is a girl, at this age, but it’s true. Her name is Mary Jinlam. She’s brilliant. I mean it! She is the smartest person I know, even smarter than some of the world’s leading scientists. At least, according to a survey that she took a couple of years ago. And she’s always getting smarter, literally. Her brain is always picking up new information, even when she is asleep. Some neuroscientist she went to said she might have a “supremely developed brain,” whatever that is. She comes to all of the games with us, and cheers my team on. It’s always fun seeing her in the stands, yelling her head off with advice like, “33% CHANCE THAT THEY’RE GOING TO GO LEFT HERE!” In Mary’s opinion, more information is always better. She doesn’t think about the fact that that information might help the person on the other team decide which way to go, but I know she means well.

~~~

It’s October 3, 2012. First game of the year, versus FC Brilliante, the best players from Missouri. We arrived at the field, which was named Jaarck Field. It was beautiful, if a soccer field could be called that; perfectly trimmed grass, perfectly straight lines, and amazing flatness, the best field I had ever played on, and probably the best I ever would. It was pristine, serene, it could even be called splendid! The FC Brilliante team practiced here 4 nights a week, and got to play here all the time. How lucky they are, I thought to myself as I walked onto the pitch to join my teammates.

The thing is, my vision seemed to be a little off, sort of like a cataract. But, I decided it was probably just the fog that was all over the field. Also, my hearing seemed to be worse. Before today, my hearing and sight had been better than average. That’s a big advantage towards an athlete’s accuracy. I was a bit troubled by this new development, but I didn’t mention it to anyone, not even my mom, because she would probably tell the coach, who then wouldn’t start me in the game. I really wanted to play in this game.

I talked to Mary before the game, and she wished me good luck. That was nice of her. But then again, she’s always nice to people, so it’s not out of the ordinary that she would do something like that. I said thanks, high-fived her, then jogged off back to the field and the warm-up exercises Coach was having us do to get ready for the game. The game went well enough that no one but me could tell that something was off.

~~~

The next day, I woke up to my mom shouting at me, ”Jack, Jack! You need to get up, or you’ll be late for school!” The thing was, I was trying to get up, but I couldn’t. My legs just couldn’t support the rest of my body. They weren’t doing what my brain was telling them to do. I couldn’t walk.

CRASH!!!!

“MOM, I NEED YOU TO GET UP HERE RIGHT NOW!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Why?”

“Please, just do it. I have to show you something.”

“Okay, okay, here I come. What is it?” she sighed as she came into the room.

“Look at me! What do you think it is?” I snapped. I was lying on the floor, trying to get up.

“Hmm. I think you’re just very exasperated at your mother because she’s making you get up to get an education, and you’re feeling very lazy and don’t want to do it. Am I correct?”

“NO! I can’t walk, so when I got up, I fell over and now I can’t get up. Can you give me some help, please?” I was starting to get very mad at my mom. After all, I couldn’t really feel my legs. Can you imagine how that feels? Actually, it doesn’t feel like anything, but you know what I mean.

“Okay, I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?” she asked. I don’t really think so, I thought. “I’m going to call TUHS to let them know that you’re not going to be able to come into school today, because I’m taking you the emergency room to see if they can tell us anything about this.”

I called Mary, which was no trouble. My hands were fine. She said she would come over to help get me into the car so we could go to the E.R., because my mom didn’t think she could support me well enough by herself. When she got here, Mary said to me, “On the way over here, I looked up some diseases that you might have gotten. I came up with Hypokalemia, Multiple Sclerosis, and Muscular Dystrophy. Have you been having any vision and or hearing problems lately?” she asked me in a worried tone.

I was saved from answering her question by us getting to the Tellemont Regional Medical Center. “Let’s go in,” my mom stated to no one in particular, because the whole reason we were going was to go in and talk to the E.R people. I wasn’t exactly in pain, but I certainly was scared about something being so horribly wrong with my body, which I had always been able to depend on.

I must have looked worried; “We understand how you feel,” both my mom and Mary said loudly. Really, you don’t have any idea, I thought.

~~~

I hate the E.R doctor, Dr. Joan Fordialite. I’ve heard she likes to talk to people like they’re stupid, all loud and baby-like.

When I hear her for the first time, I can tell that those rumors are true. “HI, JACK! HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?”

Not too great, thank you, I thought. I can’t tell if she thinks I’m deaf or dumb.

“Well, Mrs. Whitman-Siemko, what seems to be the problem with Jack here?”

“When Jack woke up this morning, he couldn’t walk, and still can’t, and we’re here to see if you know what could have happened.” I kind of wish they wouldn’t talk about me like I wasn’t here.

“Let’s take a few blood samples, then we’ll see if there’s anything out of the ordinary going on. This seems pretty serious,” said Dr. Fordialite.

~~~

“I don’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something that could be the symptoms of any one of these disorders or diseases: Muscular Dystrophy, Hypokalemia, or Multiple Sclerosis,” announced Doc Ford. I glanced at Mary, wondering how the heck she figured that out without a medical degree. She shrugged, and smiled. ”You’ll need to go to a neurologist for more information.” So we did.

“Your son’s name is Jack, am I right?” inquired the neurologist, Dr. Frank Gerfeod.

“Yes, that’s right,” my mom replied.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the athlete. You must be devastated at your loss. Dr. Fordialite says there are a few diseases that you could be dealing with, but as you already know them, I do not see the need to repeat those horrible names,” he grimaced.

“I feel the same way. Could you examine the blood samples that Doctor Fordialite gave us? Thank you so much for doing this,” my mom said to the neurologist.

“That’s what I’m here for. I must say, this seems to be pretty serious,” he replied. “This will take a little while to evaluate. Could you come back in about an hour?” he asked, because the look-see he was about to begin would take a bit of time to understand, I guess.

“Yes, of course,” my mom said. “We’ll be back here in 1 hour, on the dot.” She meant it. We arrived back at his office, worried out of our minds, 59 minutes and 58 seconds after we had left. Very punctual, my mom is. Just don’t say it to her face, because she prides herself on being “late.” She’s always just a tad early, but she pretends not to know. She’s also very weird.

“Very punctual, you are, Mrs., er, what’s your last name again?” he asked. I think I could diagnose him with short-term memory loss.

“Whitman-Siemko,” she answered.

You’re probably wondering if the doctor is wondering if I’m feeling alright. If I was you, I sure would be. But that just goes to show that nobody has the same exact mind as another. Ahh, we’re getting off track. I do that sometimes. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to hold any sympathy for me, but you can’t always tell. He did seem interested in the blood samples, though.

“With these samples, I’m seeing that you have MS, or multiple sclerosis. Now, for your sake, Jack, I hope you have what they call relapsing-remitting MS, or that you never relapse,” he said. FINALLY, I thought. I had been beginning to wonder if he cared at all. These words comforted me.

“What’s relapsing-remitting MS?” my mom asked. Her voice sounded very worried.

“It means that he could relapse after a period of time. Many patients for which this happens, they may have 5 or 6 years of being symptom free, only to have the symptoms come back. When they relapse, they have the same symptoms as previous episodes, so for you, you would not be able to walk for a period of time. Also, Dr. Fordialite said you told her that your hearing and vision were worse than normal. That will probably occur during your relapses, too. Of course, this all depends on whether you have relapsing-remitting MS. I think it’s very optimistic that you will never relapse, but your blood samples point to you being the relapsing-remitting type. While that’s obviously not as good as never relapsing, it does mean that much of your life will be symptom free,” the doctor said.

“When do you think that Jack will be able to walk again, sir?” My mom was very worried. You could hear it in her voice, which, at the moment, was as easy to read as a book.

“I don’t know for sure, but he will probably be disabled for a month or two. Possibly a year, you never know,” the doctor said.

I couldn’t see into my mom’s head, but I know what she was thinking: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let it be just a month or two. I was thinking along the same lines. I sure didn’t want to be sidelined from soccer for long.

“May I guess what you are thinking, Jack? I think you’re thinking, ‘Oh, I won’t be gone from my favorite sport for long. It will all be fine.’ Am I correct?”

“Yes, you are,” I spoke up before my mom could interject. “That’s almost exactly what I was thinking.”

“I thought so. Now, about that thought. You WILL be able to play soccer again, but not right away. Your body will need to adjust to being able to walk again. Another thing. You may not ever play at the same level, although you will still be a great soccer player.”

Not as good? I didn’t think about that. What will my friends think of me? Other than Mary, will I even have any friends? Of course I will, the popular part of me said to the other part, the worrying part. I’ll still be Jack Siemko, the super cool, super popular, super athletic soccer player. It’ll only be a little different. It’ll just be a little harder to be popular; I still love soccer. But I’m questioning myself. Is it that I love soccer, or that I love being the top of the game? I wasn’t so sure anymore. Another question: Will I have the emotional power to still play when I’m not the best, or will I just have to stop playing altogether?

When we got home, I realized I’d need help with everything. As in EVERYTHING! It wasn’t a very good feeling. I said to my mom, ”I hate having to just wait. It’s not how things normally work out for me.”

“I know, I feel the same way. Oh, you’ll need a wheelchair. And crutches, eventually.”

At this point, I am about to cry. I don’t cry normally, you might have guessed. It isn’t at all good to know how it feels to be so near tears. It feels terrible. I never want to feel this again. Which is ironic, because right now, I’m so overwhelmed with emotions, I can’t feel anything. And I don’t want to anymore.

I sort of want to go die in a hole. No one will think anything of me anymore, just because of this stupid disease I have. They won’t know ANYTHING about how it feels, and they won’t want to. They’ll discriminate against me, and make me feel even worse, if that’s possible – and I think it is. Actually, I know it is. I wish I could be done with the whole thing, because it’s shaping my future. I don’t want a sickness to have that much power.

At least I can play soccer again. At least I’m not going to be like this forever. At least this doesn’t kill me. All this is coursing through my head right now. Imagine how that makes a guy feel. How would you cope if it happened to you? Could you cope? I’m not sure. Ask yourself that. If you were in my place, what would you do? Would you go crazy? At this rate, I’m probably going to.

I love my life. Or at least, I did. Now, now that I’m branded as different, I can’t really say that anymore. How do you think that feels? You have no idea, do you? Well, start learning. It sucks.

Soccer is my life, and I can’t leave it. It will always, always be my life. I don’t have a choice. Wherever I go, people will whisper, That’s Jack Siemko. He was going to be the best soccer player of all time, but then he got MS. Oh, you don’t know what MS is? I’ll tell you…. It’s sort of tedious that that is how you’re known. You’ve got to get used to it, I suppose.

I don’t really think that I’m going to get used to this MS thing for a long time.

Just then, my phone beeped. It was a text from Mary. “I got your back.”

I’ve got to show people that I’m still Jack Siemko, the junior Ballon D’or winner. It’ll be hard, but with Mary at my side, how hard can it be?

Epilogue

15 years later

It’s not so bad anymore, you know. I mean, it’s still the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I’ve realized that there’s nothing else to do but go with the flow, and not worry too much. I’m married, to a woman named Mary. Guess her last name. Well, actually, her last name is Siemko now, but originally it was…. yep, you guessed it. At least, I think you did. Anyway. Jinlam. We have one kid, Keshawn Jack Siemko. He’s 8 years old, and he’s the best kid I’ve ever known. Truly. I’ll tell you one thing: even though he’s a great soccer player, Mary and I are making sure he keeps up with his piano lessons. He’s too young to be defined, and who knows what might change his life?

I guess this is it. The end. The grand finale. It better be good, you’re thinking. I know. I feel the same way. You know, I should tell you about the time we had to bring Keshawn to the doctor’s to see if he had MS. But I won’t, and that’s because it’s, as they say, a story for another day. Perhaps even another life, a better one.

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