Driving Lessons
Nate Borden

Bud continues to be a phenomenon, doing things next to impossible for most people at any age. The basic training for the psychic bunch was approved even before Gordon Gates returned to the hospital board. So far, the program is going great guns. Bud designed the curriculum and handpicked the instructors. He chose openminded medical people -- more or less -- to get things started. I think he threw in a couple skeptics just to make things less than totally serene.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the classes. The teachers have gotten to work with a totally new group of people who are all eager to learn. The psychic ladies have been so busy stretching their thinking apparatus, they haven’t had time to push their own agenda. Bud says the women are “rubbing off on their instructors,” nonetheless.

So, the heat has died down in that direction freeing Bud up for his several other activities. He’s back to his irregularly regular routine that includes consultations in the Department and helping the Second-Timers Medical Student Association which may be turned over to the medical school one of these days.

His professorial debut at Rocky Mountain Medical School was a big success. So much so, that Bud and his pediatric buddies are now teaching weekly at the school in an elective course for freshman and sophomores on “Medicine and the Art of Healing.” I understand that even though it’s an extra course, the whole of both classes generally turn out for the meetings. A good way for the different groups to get together. Bud says, “Getting people together -- mixing -- is more important than you can realize.”

So, what else? He still trundles around the hospital, sometimes with me and sometimes not. I think he just tunes in and when the vibes call him, he makes a turn into a patient’s room. Bud just introduces himself and me, when I’m along. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows him by now. He quickly gets a conversation going.

The patients love it when someone unexpected comes in with a smile and a bit of uplift. Passes their time very cheerfully. The old ladies are most responsive to his visits. They love it when he asks to sit at their bedside or even on their bed.

You should see the beams that light up on their faces when he says things like, “Do you have time to visit?” or “Can we chat?” What they love most is the way he so often refers to them as “Mother.” None has ever objected. I guess motherhood is so close to a woman’s heart, they all take it as an honor for a little fellow -- even though he’s now decked out in a white coat and sporting his Dr. Bud Borden monogram -- to be addressed as “Mother.”

If they get a chance they grab him and give him a big hug and run their fingers through his curly hair. They say, “Oh, I wish I’d had hair like yours when I was younger.”

Some are forward enough to ask, “Is that natural or did you get it curled in the beauty parlor?” Bud doesn’t mind any of it. He’s even let a few of the ladies cut off a lock of his hair.

Anyway, he’s great with patients on the wards. Bud can get a conversation going with almost anyone. For the life of me, as many times as I’ve seen him do it, I can’t tell you how he does it. But, it never fails. Whatever’s important or interesting to people -- patients -- comes up and Bud
goes with it. He inevitably leads them to some conclusion that makes them brighten up before he leaves.

If he meets someone who’s not talkative at the beginning, Bud pulls out whatever book he brought with him and starts to read. Somehow that gets things moving. I don’t see how he could know what book to bring for those people who are kind of closed in and not readily willing to talk. He’s a phenom and a hit.

On the personal front, things are great. I’m still in good shape. We still do our daily walks and some other exercises three times a week. I golf every weekend. The family is doing fine. Lately, I’ve even had more time to spend with my second son, John. Since Bud is really growing up, I can get away more. Child and the pediatric bunch keep an eye on him for me.

Joey and Marian are good. They made me a grandpa, again. They say, “We got a real baby this time.”

And, they did. They named her Jean after my wife. That was the greatest thing. They didn’t tell me that was coming. I mean, the name. But, it was so fitting, when the baby was born ten years and one day after Jean left us.

I see a lot of baby Jean. She’s my favorite grandchild, I have to admit. And, Bud is my favorite grandadult. Actually, I can’t get enough of Jean. She’s the sweetest thing, ever. Makes grandfathering fun instead of work like it has been, lately.

There are a couple other things on top, now. One is a woman and the other is a driver’s license. Both of them could be problems. I suppose we’ll ride them out.

The woman showed up at Bud’s first day teaching at the medical school. Small world, I guess. She was one of his heartthrobs from his last time back in Montana.

I met her. She’s a looker. Julie Jordan’s her name. Quite attractive. I can see what caught Bud’s attention. She has big, big blue eyes and other very prominent parts. Seems kind of flighty, though she must have some solid abilities else the young lady wouldn’t have gotten into medical school. I’m not sure she’ll be good for Bud. I have to think that she won’t be, but so far no harm done.

Bud has things to learn like the rest of us. He’s had pretty smooth sailing to date. His adolescent years are coming up, even though he’s only five years old by birth. They say he’s physically about 11 or 12 and puberty is upon him. No pimples, yet. But, he’s starting to develop like a teenager.

Anyway, I talked to Jim Child about Miss Jordan. He told me he’d noticed the situation almost immediately. So, we’re both going to keep an eye on that end of Bud’s affairs. No pun intended.

The driver’s license is the main issue, now. Bud told me a couple weeks ago, he thought it was getting about time for him to have more mobility and freedom. Interesting that this discussion came up within a few days of the appearance of one Miss J.J.

I couldn’t really object much at all. Though I wasn’t keen on the idea. We talked around the situation from several angles. He had it pretty well figured out. Said he could pay for a car with money the hospital had set aside from the department income and various other sources. Actually, I believe there’s more than a tidy sum collecting for him. A car wouldn’t make much of a dent in it, unless he buys a Rolls Royce or the like.

So, Bud asked me to give him driving lessons. He didn’t need much in that category. Cars haven’t changed much in the past several years and he picks things up so easily, it was no problem. We took a few spins in my wagon. Did some country roads and such. Then moved back into the city.

The only problem we had was with his legs. He still needs to grow a couple more inches to make things comfortable in the driver’s seat. So, it took a little doing, but with a cushion and seat adjustment, we were in business.

The next step was the driver’s license bureau and testing. I foresaw the problem there. So did Bud. But we had to go through it. Still are.

Actually, we prepared as best we could. Bud read the driver’s manual the night before the testing. The day we made the trip to the bureau, we stopped at the bank to retrieve that first box Bud had left with me six or seven years ago.

He opened it up right in front of me. There really wasn’t much of remark in it. A few trinkets and papers and plastic. What we came for was identification papers.

So, off to the driver’s license bureau we went. Bud filled out the basic form and we got into line. We were both a little nervous about the whole thing. Well, at least I was. Everyone was looking at us as we moved up to the front of the line.

When we got there, the clerk did a lot of staring and said, “I know who you are. You’re the little doctor. Yes? But, I don’t know if I can get you a driver’s license. You’re awfully young.”

Bud read the lady’s name tag and said, “Shirley, I’m really old enough. The body may be short and small, but I’m a lot older than you think. Just read my form.”

Shirley did some more staring. At the form, this time. She got a very puzzled look on her face, then stuttered, “Do you have any identification?”

Bud handed over his old license and fading passport, his social security card and birth certificate. The lady did some more staring. I think she was about to freak. But she called another clerk. Then another clerk. She made a phone call. Then another.

Finally, Shirley returned with a vacant look on her face. Bud beamed at her, and said, “It’s okay, Shirley. We knew this wouldn’t be easy. What do we have to do?”

Shirley responded, “Well, Bud. . . Is it okay if I call you, Bud? No one seems to know right now. They think you’ll have to do something more than hand over ID cards to get a license. I wish I could give you a license right now, but they won’t let me. You’ll have to contact the main office in the capital and request a hearing. I can give you names to call.”

We thanked Shirley and started to leave. There was quite a crowd congregating by then. All staring at us. We said goodbye, but then Shirley yelled out, “Oh, come back. I’m really sorry I can’t get you a license. But, I can make you dinner. How about you fellas coming to my house tonight for dinner?”

The Rest of the Story
Gordon Gates

I told you I was going to do a “Paul Harvey” on Borden. Well, it’s developing. No bomb shells, though. A few revelations. Sherlock Holmes’ help would come in handy, now. Nonetheless, I’m reassured, enough to move forward with some plans.

Well, I’ve had a couple of my best people scouting details on the Borden story. Sent one of them as far as Peru and the other all the way to northern India. They both returned with smiling faces. Bemused and happy. They were either brainwashed or just loved their assignments.

Truly and Goodwin tracked Borden’s meanderings to quite distant parts. One to a Buddhist monastery and the other to some Incan ruins. They did seem to knock on a lot of unusual doors. Skirted some secrets, maybe. They both came back saying, “Borden may have touched on inner circles of the White Brotherhood. The places we visited were just the outer ring. They wouldn’t let us heathens much further.”

Well, this White Brotherhood was news to me. My reporters seemed to think that they’re the Honchos who supposedly keep the planet in working order, such as it is.

Truly, my Indian explorer, told me, “The Tibetans at the monastery were quite cordial. They talked with me and ushered me all over their property. Told me they’d had the pleasure of Borden’s visits. He was a
disciple or initiate of some standing. Couldn’t or wouldn’t specify. Some of the things that are important to westerners don’t seem to mean anything to the Orientals. And bribes of money or things or notoriety are silliness in their situations.

“They would have let me stay as long as I wanted. I was admitted to some of their teachings and meditations. If I’d pressed, I think I could’ve joined in most any activity they did. But, it wouldn’t have meant a thing to me unless I’d taken up their practices and stayed for years.

“The language itself would’ve been a barrier. Apparently, Borden had learned Tibetan to some degree. Yet, the deeper teachings are done with symbols and by telepathy. You need a special onboard living computer with a very subtle network connection to get very far with those boys.

“The monk who took care of me had been studying for over forty years and said he was really just beginning. They dedicate their whole lives to ‘monkdom.’

“I asked about the divine fire thing and sitting on top of a mountain warming wet sheets. The old fellow, Yeshe, said, ‘You can do. We let you join us, this winter.’”

That was enough for Truly. Goodwin didn’t do any better. They both got some fascinating photos and stories for the travel section of the newspaper, though. Those trips were expensive, but not total losses.

Actually, the most valuable information we’ve gotten so far came from inside the states. We talked with acquaintances, friends, and the ex-wife of Bud Borden number one. One of my operatives even interviewed brothers Nate and Matthew.

Our boy, Bud, was really quite eccentric last time around. A bit of a mystery -- an enigma -- to most of the people who knew him. That view went way back, even to his childhood. A different kid. To himself, most of the time. A bookworm and an egghead. Considered a ‘chiro’ and a ‘quack’ by some of his colleagues.

The ex-wife and other women in Borden’s life could only tell us that he was a unique and free- spirited fellow. Mostly a loner, he would settle for a time in one place -- and with one woman -- until he had to move on. His former wife believed that he was cut out to be a man of the cloth. But he never found cloth that would fit. They wore out fast with him.

He seems to have always liked women, even when he didn’t know what to do with them. Say, that sounds a bit like myself.

Most of the other women we talked with said pretty much the same thing. They did say, even though he loved women, there was always a monk or priest hidden inside him. Part of Borden had a yearning for the life of a quiet, reclusive celibate. He may have succeeded at that in the latter years of his life.

One of our people talked to the youngest of the Borden brothers who lives in Alaska. He just told us Borden’s rebirth was not a total surprise to him. Although he hadn’t seen him in years, Matthew said, “Sounds just like him. Like Mom used to say, ‘Nothing regular about that boy.’”

Our local Nate Borden loosed some clues by unsuspectingly speaking to curious ears about a package which Bud Borden had entrusted into his care. The package had been placed in a safety deposit box at City Bank between Bud’s disappearance and the birth. Another package appeared mysteriously at a later date. We understand the first has been opened recently and merely contained papers and cards which the new Borden is using to reestablish his identity.

Smart fellow. I gotta hand it to him. He hasn’t missed a trick. At least, not yet.

The source of that second package is our next trail. Very strange. We gather that an unknown woman handed it to Nate Borden with some cryptic words and took off in an old car with Montana plates. That package remains unopened.

Our case -- story, I mean -- is on the other hand still wide open. We have to track down that mystery woman. Fortunately, there’s another option. This young woman who’s taken up with Borden apparently knew him several years ago. I have to get close to one of these gals so I can tell The Rest of the Story.

My Man?
Julie Jordan

I made a really hard decision to apply to medical school. So many experiences which told me to forget it. My heart was trying to tell me something other than the plan that developed. My head told me to apply and do it, if I got accepted. Somehow, I just couldn’t keep it from happening. Something was pushing me to do this and come here, back to the Rocky Mountains.

I almost backed out of the whole thing, I don’t know how many times. I knew the studies would be good for me -- the homework and discipline and testing, but medicine? Honestly, honestly, I don’t believe in it -- unless I’m really in pain and there’s no other option. I’m a chicken where pain and blood come in. That’ll have to change.

I didn’t put any of that on my application forms, for sure. I didn’t even hint at some of my alternative leanings. Leanings. . . Well, that’s being pretty moderate. I used to be a massage therapist and body worker. You name it and I did it, or studied it for a time. It was great, fun and experience and some income.

But after Mama died and my life fell apart, I got pointed toward college. I never thought I’d do the orthodox education scene. Look at me, now. I really have to be careful with “nevers.”

All that was about the time that I met B. B. It was one of those love at first sight things. Ah! Love at first sight. Only one so far. Oh, maybe it repeated when I saw the new version the day school started. It was similar -- yet still different. Actually, it was a total shock. But, I loved it. O- o-oh!

Now, the shoes have changed feet. Yeah, the shoe is on the other foot. He’s young and I’m old-er now. First time around, he was almost twice my age. Now, I’m six times his age -- birth age -- and two or three times his developmental age. The strangest things happen to me. Why me, God? Why me?

Well, we had this short fling. But, my world was crashing around me with most of my family dying. I was really, really close to psycho, then. Not now. Back then. I’m really in great shape now. Don’t you think? Like my shape?

So, I just ran away. I ran away from Bud. I shouldn’t have treated him that way, but I did. I guess he got over it. We seem to get over everything sooner or later. He’s had some years and a dying episode -- I guess -- and a new birth and now he’s Baby Doctor Borden. That’s what everyone calls him.

I think I’ve finally gotten over my mother and the rest of the losses in the family. They were too important to me, I guess because I didn’t know myself very well. Still need to learn who I am. Who am I, anyway? I need more clues.

None of the other med students could believe I hadn’t heard of Baby Borden. Well, I was 7,000 miles away in Switzerland when all this Baby Doctor stuff happened. I certainly wasn’t reading the papers then. Never. Never did even when I was stateside.

I did recently hit the library to look up some of what I missed. Bud did make one big, big splash when he arrived. It’s kind of surprising that I didn’t hear anything with all the publicity even though I was in Europe.

I fell in love with Switzerland on my first trip there after Mama died. Another one of my love affairs. Yeah, I fell in love with Switzerland. Then, I got the nudge to go to college and I found an English-speaking university there. I was in heaven. School was wonderful over there. I spent five years near the Alps. I paid part of my tuition by doing body work. I studied physiology and anthropology.

So, how did I turn back in this direction? How did I turn back? I wish I knew. I guess it was just time to come back. Maybe Bud was calling for me and I didn’t know it. That’s what he says.

When I asked him about my running away, he just said, “There’s nothing to forgive. Nothing
to forgive.” Bud repeats himself a lot. He sure does.

But, he’s changed. He has changed. Not just physically, although his facial features are
unmistakable. He’s more patient with me. Doesn’t push at all. Still repeats himself a lot, though. I’m not ready, yet. I’m not ready for a “relationship” with Bud or any man -- or boy. Maybe I’ve said that before. But now, there’s entirely too much to do. Three tests this week.

Things are kind of loose between Bud and me. We’re keeping our distance as opposed to the first time around. That should be for the good. Maybe we both have grown in different ways.

Yeah, we’ve both grown up.

Still, he’s mighty attractive and I have to fight to keep my hands away from him. Fortunately
for now, we’re both amazingly busy so we only see each other a couple times a week. Just a couple times a week.

Like I say, there’s a real attraction. But, he’s a mite small for an ample woman like myself. He says he’ll be full grown physically in three years. About the time I graduate. By that time, maybe we’ll both be ready for him to be my man. My man?

Postcards from the Edge
Helen Hood

I’ve known Bud Borden for years. He was my friend and neighbor. Now, I’m not sure how to describe him. You’re absolutely right. He was totally unique. One of a kind, for sure. But, we have lots of unusual “creatures” under the stretches of the Big Sky.

Still, he was about as singular as they come. Bud was a teacher, always trying to teach somebody something. I was one of his main students, but not always by choice. He was never timid about saying what was on his mind, preaching or giving advice.

Most of the time, I accepted it, even welcomed it. He pushed and prodded me into doing a number of things I would never have considered otherwise. Several times, I just took up things because I had seen him do them and I got interested. My life changed because of “old” Bud Borden.

Actually, my life is still affected by him. You see, I’ve been receiving letters and e-mails from him ever since he was born -- or reborn. It was only a few months after the birth that I got my first postcard.

I’d heard the news. It was splashed all over the television. I was only a little surprised.

That’s not totally true. I screamed and yelled and carried on when the news came out. I was just so excited that he’d come back and “accomplished his mission.”

Bud had told me some of his plans, bits and pieces of them, anyway. He let out quite a few hints to me. Bud wasn’t one to keep lots of secrets. Though, he sometimes expected others, like me, to keep them for him.

So, I knew he was back. I half expected reporters to come crawling around here looking up his past right after the birth. No one showed up. But then, I guess by the time he was getting ready to check out of his last life, he’d cut most of his ties. By then he was pretty nondescript, if that’s the right word.

Most of the locals just knew him as plain old Bud. Many of the townspeople didn’t put the two Borden names together. Lots of folks didn’t even know his last name or anything about his life. When the neighbors did put the two names together, they were all excited and confused at the same time. Reincarnation and past lives, and so on, just don’t compute around here. When they do, they get lots of negative, almost violent reactions.

Scares people for some reason. I never figured that one out. Not that I believed in reincarnation until Bud came along. I’m still not sure I do. Believe it or not!

I didn’t pay much attention to the idea even when Bud used to bring it up time and time
again. I’ve had enough trouble dealing with this existence let alone consider a previous -- or a future one.

Bud was way beyond me in that arena. At different times, he’d try to jog my mind about interests and inclinations which might hint about past lives. Well, duh! No luck there.

Other times, he’d point in the opposite direction. About next time. Where would I like to head based on this time around? Duh! Got me there again. When we were neighbors, I was just beginning to get my present act together. I had no time or interest in such games. Even now, I’m not quite sure where I’m heading.

Bud and I’ve talked about that in our notes to each other, since he started writing again. He’s always been a great one to encourage and cheerlead people to grow into their new lives -- “new selves,” Bud would say.

So, Bud has “a new self.” Wish I could turn in this body for a new, slimmed down version. Then, I wouldn’t have to think about diets and calories and skinny mirrors. I’m getting tired of repairing busted out clothes.

To be serious, I honestly and rightly know what he did was no simple thing. Bud Borden expended an awful amount of energy and went through really demanding training -- I guess that’s what you could call it -- to do this miraculous thing. I know that from first hand evidence, not just his words.

Actually, he didn’t say much about his “project.” Only hints. Then toward the end, he had to let me in on what he was about. I was his only contact. I was like his next of kin when he disappeared. Not literally, but just as a matter of events.

So, I’m so happy that he’s back. Bud. Oh, Bud. I may get to visit him one of these days. But for now, I just collect letters and cards and clippings.

From those first cards that were written in block letters to his present long e-mailgrams, I keep and cherish them all. I have a Bud Borden scrapbook. It’s getting so stuffed. I’ll have to start another soon.

Sure, you can look at them. I call my scrapbook Postcards from the Edge. And, they’re all from none other than my Bud, the Baby Doctor.

Fiery Fingers
Dr. Child

We’ve all been on our own a lot more, lately. I mean the insiders’ group. Bud and all of us had spread ourselves pretty thin, for one thing. For another, Bud thinks we need to do more “experimenting” on a solo basis. Besides, he says we’ve all learned enough to do useful work with our own hands and wits. After all, we’re licensed and practiced physicians.

It seems like Calhoun, Cromarty, and I have all gone through similar stages in our work with Bud Borden. First, we were afraid of him and kept our distance. Then, we had to question lots of things within ourselves and our practices. Eventually, we decided we had no real choice but to open up and give the guy and ourselves a chance by looking at alternatives.

But for a time, we leaned on Bud pretty heavily. We’d found a real physician and a master teacher. Maybe that’s why the name Master Borden has hung on for so long with some people.

For quite a while, whenever we had a difficult case, the three of us, and a few others, would call on Bud for clues or tips. He practically always seemed to have one. That made us almost dependent on him.

But, Bud saw it coming. The longer we worked together, the more he turned things back on us, like a good teacher should. He’d give us hints and make us mull them over -- unless there was a real hurry to do something.

That’s one thing the CeeTeam has definitely learned. We medics are almost always in a hurry. In a hurry to make a diagnosis. In another hurry to treat. And still in a hurry to get the patient out of the clinic or the hospital. Then, we’re in a hurry to see the next patient or to go home. I suppose most modern Americans are in a hurry. Don’t you think so? Now, hurry up and answer! I’m waiting . . .

Well, we just forgot that people don’t really ever, I think, get sick or even injured overnight. Things build up on the inside and break loose on the outside over time in one way or another. Often, over very long times.

When patients appear before us, we see them at that one instant and think, “Wow! This is just occurring and it’s really significant and definitely requires urgent attention!”

Not a good or reasonable view. We need to adjust that picture. Bud always says, “Make haste slowly.” Now, that’s a tough one to practice. But, we’re trying.

The next step we’re making . . . Maybe I should say we’re trying to make, because this is even harder in some ways. We’re trying to follow Hippocrates’ golden rule: “First, do no harm.”

Now, you might think this shouldn’t be all that tough. Believe me, it is. It’s really hard not to do something. Patients and families expect something to be done for every ailment they have. It’s hard for them to fathom that a symptom may be appearing for their betterment and really moving them in the direction of healing.

Very honestly, we physicians are used to treating most everything. We don’t discriminate. If there’s an ache or pain or discomfort, we treat it. That could be the medical motto, “We treat everything.”

But, the Hippocratic credo really makes more sense. It’s just hard to follow. Patients feel cheated if they leave the office without a lab slip or a prescription blank. Doctors have to find something wrong to justify their work and fill out insurance forms. If we send a patient home emptyhanded, everyone thinks that person’s ills were all in his head.

Well, times are changing, at least with our crew. We spend more time listening to patients and families, and learning about what’s going on at home. We try to identify symptoms which are really beneficial. Like fever, for instance.

I’m amazed, again. How could we have missed this for so long? We’ve been treating and overtreating fevers for too long. A simple corrective measure that the body makes to balance metabolism and body energies. Fever is just a thermostatic mechanism that nature created eons ago.

We gave up aspirin years ago. Now, we’re throwing away Tylenol. Back to sponge baths and alcohol rubs. Hands-on methods. I think this is great.

This hands-on stuff -- real scientific terminology, it’s not -- is what we’re doing more and more. It takes some relearning, but the benefits multiply.

We get closer to patients and exchange energy, but not just in the usual “hurry-up and get-some-information” way. We do get information, but it’s often subtler and much more valuable because it comes from deeper levels than we’ve been used to.

Then, we just naturally transfer and circulate energy. We’re always doing that even at a distance from patients and people, in general. But, when we take time and focus through our hands, it’s amazing what can happen.

I’ve had some extraordinary things going on with my hands, lately. Hints of things to come, I suspect.

First, during the whole of one day recently, whenever I washed my hands, I felt the most amazing sensations running down my forearms and through my hands. Then, I -- I still can’t believe it . . . I saw sparks or little flares shooting off my fingertips. It was like a rainy mist was lingering in the air around my hands and the sun was shining through it. There were little bitty rainbows around each fingertip. Amazing, I tell you.

No, I wasn’t outside. The sun wasn’t shining onto the treatment room and restroom sinks. That was grand, but not quite so amazing as what happened a couple days later. I was making rounds and stopped into see a young lady named Marissa. She’s a ten-year-old with serious kidney disease moving slowly towards a transplant.

Well, our drug regimens haven’t moved her even close to health. So, Marissa and her mother and I made a deal to try other methods. Everyday for a week or so, I visited her and took twenty or thirty minutes to do some hands-on stuff. Sometimes, her mother or a nurse joined in.

That particular day, it was just Marissa and me. I did pretty much what I had on other occasions. I put my left hand over her solar plexus and my right hand under her low back and kidney area. Marissa just prays when we do these things and I try to be meditative and prayerful, as well.

About ten minutes into our session, I got into some altered state. I was just kind of floating, but quite aware of where I was and that my hands were cradling Marissa’s body. In a couple more minutes, I lost sensation in my hands. Then a few moments after I was wondering where my hands went, I felt a tremendous throbbing roll into them. The throbbing soon turning into a fiery, burning sensation. It was almost painful.

Marissa spoke up then, saying, “Dr. Jim your hands are so warm. They’re really hot. There’s a thumping now in my back.”

I told her, “Let’s just wait a few minutes. This’ll all let up in a short time. Maybe this will be good for your kidneys.”

Well, my fiery sensation and her thumping lasted only a few moments longer. Marissa seemed a little scared until were done, but then said, “Oh, Dr. Jim, something did happen. I feel better. Can I get out of bed? Can we go for a walk?”

That was a wonderful sign. Others might be found in Marissa’s blood work. I was eager to check it. To my amazement, her kidney function tests have improved day-by-day to an astonishing degree.

Wonders never cease to appear when we reach for them.

A Day in Court
Nate Borden

Buddy Boy had his day in court. Most people don’t look forward any more to going to court than they do to going to the hospital. But, our Bud was keen on going. He told me, “In some ways, this means nothing. In another, it may help to shape the whole perspective through which people view their lives.”

I didn’t quite get what he meant, but I figured things would become clear as we went through the legal hoops.

After Bud wasn’t allowed to apply for his driver’s license, we had to call around the state offices several times in search of a ruling. Eventually, we were told that he would have to go to court. They basically said, “You have to prove that you are who you say you are.”

So then, we had to play lawyer, hit the law books, fill out some forms, and get on the docket in the District Court. Bud refused to hire a lawyer. Not that we couldn’t easily afford one these days. The whole Borden bunch believes in doing what we can for ourselves. The hardest part of the whole process was waiting for our day in court.

So, we got a court date and a hearing before Judge Jacobson. Bud dressed up in suit which was quite an unusual occurrence. Said, “I have to act the part. Appearances are important in court, at least to the judge.”

When Bud’s name was called, the two of us rose and marched up in front of the judge. The
graying gentleman looked about ten years younger than myself. But I figured if he gave Bud too much trouble, I could handle him with one hand tied behind my back.

Just kidding. I knew Bud had everything well in hand. He always does. I was just there to lend moral support and act as a witness, if needed. Actually, the whole family was there. John and Karen, Joey and Marian sat watching us with Laura and most of my in-laws.

Now, the judge was really quite decent about the whole thing. He started out by peering over his glasses, trying to make light of things, “Yes. You’re the young fellow who’s been in the news so much over the past few years. I’m surprised you haven’t been on Oprah.”

Bud smiled, “Me too, your honor. She hasn’t asked me, yet.”

The judge grinned back. “So, you’re trying to establish your identity so that you can get a driver’s license. Is that all this is about?”

“Well, pretty much your honor. I figured it was about time I got back behind the wheel and took care of my own transportation. The pleasant people at the Department of Motor Vehicles just said they couldn’t take the responsibility of giving me a driver’s license without some verification of my identity.”

The judge said, “Now, I understand that you presented those DMV people with some papers. What have you got to show me?”

Bud had all of his paperwork ready. “Yes, sir. Here’s my old license from Montana, my social security card, my passport -- it’s about to expire, my Army discharge papers, and my birth certificate.”

Judge Jacobson took the papers, but even before he looked at them, he asked, “Well, how old do you claim to be, Mr. Borden?”

Bud looked him straight in the eye and said, “For our purposes today, your honor, I’m 55.”

Jacobson still didn’t look at the papers. “Well, I gathered you’d say that. Didn’t take a genius to guess that, did it? Well, now, I mustn’t call you young fella, then.”

Bud couldn’t resist, “It’s fine with me, your honor. I believe I’m a might younger than you are either way you look at it.”

Jacobson stared at him again and said, “Well, I’ll let that attempt at levity pass, this time. Yes, I see you have more than adequate identification here. How do you propose to prove to me that these are your own papers? How do I know you are who you say you are?”

Bud turned toward to me and continued, “Your honor, this is my brother, Nate Borden. He’s known me for my whole life. He was there when I came home from the hospital 55 years ago. He’ll vouch for me.”

The judge was a bit shaken by then. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. Looking at me, he simply said, “Are you who he says you are? (I nodded.) Do you have identification to prove such? (I started to take out my wallet, but he waved me off.) Is this your brother -- 55 years old or whatever?”

I nodded again, after which the judge pointed to the family and said, “I suppose these people with you can vouch for the two of you?”

The family members all began to rise and pull out wallets from pockets and billfolds from purses. On cue, the whole of the gallery stood up and searched for wallets and billfolds, too.

The judge started to choke and sputter. He waved everyone to sit down and continued after he stopped coughing. “Yes, well. You’ve certainly supported your point. My assistant will take you, Mr. Borden, to get your picture taken. When that’s accomplished, the court will issue its own identification papers. I trust the driver’s license bureau will honor them. You just need to pass the tests they give you. Well, Mr. Borden or Dr. Borden, you’ve had your day in court.”

The judge gaveled our case complete and the crowd whooped it up until the gavel sounded again. Before we got too far, Jacobson called us back. He quietly asked, “How about you two fellas joining me for dinner tonight?”

The Judge Rules
John Rich

Station KBOB spent a few moments at the state courthouse today. We were on the scene when Bud Borden stood before Judge Harold Jacobson.

It seems that young Borden applied for a driver’s license recently and was refused because he didn’t quite appear to be his stated age of 55. He doesn’t even appear to be 16 quite yet. Borden was referred to state court and filed papers seeking verification of his identity.

The courtroom was filled with wellwishers and family members. Although cameras weren’t allowed inside, we were able to interview onlookers as well as the Bordens after the case.

The whole proceedings took less than half an hour, Judge Jacobson finding to meet Bud Borden’s request and validate his identity papers. Furthermore, the judge directed his bailiff to produce the court’s own I.D. card under seal for Mr. Borden.

We spoke to Bud on the courthouse steps, “Dr. Bud, we saw you get your identification validated. It seems that since you’re 55 now, you’ll be eligible for social security in only a few years. How do you feel about that?”

“I had no intention to retire last time. I certainly wouldn’t consider it this time, whatever my age. I don’t believe in it. Besides, I’m just beginning, like always.”

“Can we safely assume that you had more than one reason to go through this legal maneuver?”

“If you wish.”

“Would you give us a hint as to your other reason or reasons?”

“Let’s just say, I believe that Judge Jacobson not only verified my identity, but he also
authenticated Bud Borden as a continuing proposition. I like that. To put it differently: The judge is the first legal authority to validate the fact of reincarnation. The court today has created a precedent and ruled on the side of rebirth.”

Gordon Gates

The boys came back to the office today. It was good to see them. It always has been except when it wasn’t.

I did tread on thin ice for a while. Didn’t know how Borden would react regarding my investigating his past and the leads we’d been working on. Regardless, I was quite confident that I had a leg up on him for a change.

I addressed Borden right after the amenities of the day were passed around, “Bud, I need to tell you about a few of the paper’s recent involvements.”

Borden said something like, “Maybe you should. I know you’re going to confess in a roundabout way. Your reporters, at your direction, have been snooping into my affairs, past and present. Right?”

Well, I was a bit surprised. I told my people to do this lightly and I really thought they had. “Well. Yes. How did you know?”

Borden answered, “You should know by now that I have my sources. I can find out lots of things without much trouble. It’s a lot easier to get information than it is to get a driver’s license. At least, it is for me. Gordon, do you mind if I call you, Pop?”

Well, I was doubly surprised by then. All I could do was mutter, “Why, no. I’d be pleased.”

Next, he said, “You have some hints by now that the three of us have been together before. We were all brothers on one occasion. On another go-round, Gordon, you were our father. There was some rivalry, at times, and some pain and conflict. But for the most part, we’ve been friends
and allies over the ages. You really don’t need to worry over us or fear us, Pop. We’re all family and intended to be on the same side.”

I was dumbfounded with all that. I stared at Jim and asked him, “Do you . . . Do you know anything about all of this -- or any of this?”

Jim answered, “No, I sure don’t. At least, I didn’t until right now, Pop.”

He smiled and Bud smiled. I just kind of stood there with my hands in my pockets, my mouth wide open. I didn’t know what to say.

Bud picked up the threads. “Pop, you can investigate all you want. But, it would be a lot easier to just ask me what you want to know. Only a few people know much of anything about my past life. What they could tell you wouldn’t amount to too very much. My friend up north in the mountains does know some things. But, I know and understand more. The young lady is irrelevant to your searches. Your trips overseas were good experience for your reporters. Gifts that were due them and explorations that will serve them later on. They could’ve stayed for years and gotten no more information.

“So, it stands that we can dig into some of this history and occult stuff, but it wouldn’t do any of us much good at this point. This is on the edge of different worlds with foreign languages and secret formulas, and that sort of stuff. It’s really best left alone until it unfolds naturally.

“But, you can ask all that you want. And, I promise that I’ll answer as far as I’m permitted.”

I still didn’t know what to say. “Well, your lead then.”

“Right,” Bud continued, “we really need to put our heads and talents together and work on
real-time projects for the betterment of this community or the state. We have quite a bit of firepower amongst us that we can use to aim at the future.”

So, we just brainstormed for some time. No conclusions, just some possibilities brought up. We agreed to do some individual thinking on the subject and get back together for dinner next time instead of at the office.

Before the boys took off, we bantered a bit. We were all smiles, then. As they walked out the door, Jim turned back and said, “Hey, Pop. How about letting us use your Cadillac, Friday night? Gotcha!”

Yo Mama
Joe Borden

The family is growing and changing. Bud is a teenager, more or less, kind of, sort of. Jean is walking and talking like a two-year-old should, more or less. And, Marian is pregnant, more and more. Me, I just go with the flow.

Really, life couldn’t be better, although we do continue to have our surprises. Surprises are almost ordinary with Bud moving in and out of our lives on a regular basis. Grandpa takes up where Bud leaves off. So, we still have to be pretty adaptable.

Honestly, I’ve been the agent of my own amazements to a large degree since Jean was born. I keep my eyes peeled whenever I’m around her. I look for new developments and hints of one kind or another about you know what. They do continue to show up. Most often, when I least expect them. Isn’t that how it usually goes?

So, you’re wondering what’s up. Well, until Jean started talking, the clues weren’t all that solid. They were just highly suggestive as the scientists say. But now, we’re pretty close to proof. At least, as far as I’m concerned.

So, there’ve been three incidents, so far. One day, Marian was visiting friends for a weekend and I was in charge. Baby Jean and I got up on a Saturday morning. I was making her breakfast while she was playing with her dolls. Seems like she was humming some tune and giggling to
herself. So, I asked her what was funny.

Jean looked up at me and said, “Oh, Daddy, it’s not funny. It’s just like now. One time, you
were baby and I was your Mommy. Do you remember, Joey?”

Well, I spilled her juice and she ran into her bedroom and the moment was lost. Some weeks or months later, I was sitting with baby Jean in a quiet moment. My brother John had just left after one of his infrequent visits. Marian was saying good-bye to John and Karen in the front yard. Out of the blue, Jean said, “Daddy, how come I’m your baby? John was my baby, too. But, I like you better, Daddy.”

Jean ran off again. Marian returned and I started to tell her. But, nothing would come out.

I’ve decided to just write all these things down and make a little booklet. I’ll share them with her after the next baby arrives and things settle, again. So, one more. You’re such a good listener.

Well, Jean always likes to sing and hum. Whatever it is. We really haven’t exposed her to much music. We’re not very musical. Bud does some of that when he’s here. He’s really good with the baby. They listen to pieces of classical music for kids that Bud’s collected for her.

Again, one day, Jean and I were all alone. Everything was quiet and Jean just started trilling a tune, a lullaby. She stopped and asked, “Daddy do you remember? This song is for you.”

Then, she picked up the melody for a while as I stared at her with a huge smile on my face. I did remember. Mom used to put John and me to sleep with that tune when we were really little.

Jean is quite a little mommy.

Ella James

I just thought you folks might like to know what happened to me after I left the hospital. Let me tell you, I left all my aches and pains in the medical center and got a new life.

I told you that I had a plan. And I did. Now, it’s been a couple years and I’ve done what I set out to do. So, I figured it was too late to spoil my luck. Everything is golden now.

Well, let me tell you. The whole plan hinged on one little word. It was the word that touched my heart when little Borden came to read to me. He just called me, “Mother.”

That word got me crying and, then, it got me thinking. I told myself, “Once a mother, always a mother.” That’s my motto these days.

Since being a mother is so important, I got back into the conversation and said, “You’re really good with youngsters and, since your get-up-and-go is on the way back, maybe you can be a mother again.”

Well, I’m quite beyond the menopause. But, I’m hardly beyond knowing how to love and care for and fuss over little ones.

So, I started a day care in my home. Some people told me I was crazy, but most of them were all for it. My nephew was a big help. He did all of the remodeling to make my house suitable for day care.

Fifteen months ago, Mother Ella’s Day Care opened. I tell you I had so many calls and requests for peoples’ children to be with me. They’re still ringing us all the time. Frankly, I didn’t quite know how to handle that end of things. The kids were wonderful, but the paperwork and phones were a bit much for a seventy-year-old.

So, I hired a sweet young lady to help me. I don’t make any money to speak of. Most of it goes to my helper and taxes, but I really don’t care. My day care is a great success. I’m happy. The kids are happy. Their mothers and fathers love me as much as their babies.

The little ones all call me Mother Ella. So do their parents.

Repeating Myself
Julie Jordan

It’s a funny thing. It seems like everyone’s been ragging on me, lately. Coming down on me because I repeat myself. They say I do it almost every other sentence. Really! Do I? Really?

I never noticed before. No one ever said a word. Maybe I do. Maybe.

I did realize that I’m repeating some things in my life. Maybe my words just reflect my life. I like that: Words reflecting life.

I have returned to the mountains -- at least close to them. Gee! Look at those wonderful Rocky Mountains. They’re grand. So cool! It almost feels like home. Except Mama’s not here.

And, I am repeating with Bud. Another round with the Baby Doctor. Although he wasn’t the Baby Doctor, then. Things do change and still stay the same, sort of. How can they change and still be the same?

Maybe we do take two steps forward and one backward -- or something like that. Maybe it’s like a waltz and the only way you can progress is by doing a spiral. Yeah, I have to learn to waltz more. I like that. Julie waltzes through life: Two steps forward and one back.

I like to dance. I love to move my body around. I do it mostly when I’m alone, otherwise I attract too much attention. A little is okay. Just a little.

So maybe, maybe, Bud and I are waltzing again. He was more my height then. Actually, we were a good match in some ways. We only danced once -- literally. Maybe I should ask him to take waltz lessons with me. I suppose we could find some time. We could find some.

Some things, I don’t want to repeat. At least, I’m in a healthier frame of mind this time. I remember one time, years ago, when Bud came to visit me. I had rented the video Fatal Attraction. I was really hooked into it, somehow. I know Bud was taking note.

He was always taking notes, mentally. Bud said everything was symbolic of deeper things and we could get clues about people and places and the future if we paid attention. “Symbols are everywhere,” he said. I suppose he’s right. Symbols are everywhere. We just don’t take notice.

Bud must’ve had lots of clues about me. He probably should’ve given up then. But, he didn’t let go for some reason.

He won’t let go this time either. Neither will I. But then, neither of us is hanging on too tightly. Not too, anyway.

Sometimes, there’s almost more pushing us apart than pulling us together this time. Underneath it all, some steady force brought us back together and keeps us doing the dance.

I wish he were here right now. I’d make him waltz with me. I really can’t imagine him resisting. Can you? Can you?

Well, we haven’t literally waltzed this time. We haven’t tangoed, either. If you know what I mean. Know what I mean?

The energy, the vibes and the waves are there. The chemistry hasn’t taken control of the physics of things, yet. If you know I mean. The physical part won’t take too very long to catch up. Bud has grown a couple inches since I met him the first day of school.

We’re using our minds to keep things platonic, for now. Honestly, I have to tell you, I think Bud is largely responsible for keeping things as serene as they’ve been.

Don’t repeat this to anyone. I think he’s telepathic and has been getting into my dreams to keep the waters calm. He’s using mental waves, I tell you. I really think he’s telepathic.

Speaking of waltzing, I had this dream the other night. I had almost forgotten it. Now, it makes some sense. Plenty of sense.

It’s coming back. It was almost like real. More like a movie than a dream. Maybe it was both. Yeah, maybe it was both.

The picture was of Roman or Greek times. I was a young woman, maybe a teenager. I was
very pretty, but had darker hair. I was quite tall and statuesque, and had many suitors. Bud must have been my father. My mother was nowhere to be seen. She must have died.

Father was a charioteer. A great and powerful soldier. He had orders to go off to the army the next morning. I saw us dancing some intricate, slow, gentle steps. He had tears in his eyes. He bowed to me and said, “Be with God.”

I could see him away with the military. Each night he’d be in his tent writing me notes which took long times to reach me. He prayed and chanted and sent me healing waves. I pined for him and myself.

So strange, how peoples’ lives are entwined from lifetime to lifetime. I woke up or just lost the rest of the dream. My father, in the dream, must’ve died in battle and I think I didn’t do well then. I’ve had so many losses in this lifetime. Must’ve carried over. Wonder what I have to learn.

There was one other experience -- it wasn’t really a dream. I was just waking slowly one morning. Half asleep and half awake. I just had this heavenly sense of being connected with so many people, but especially Bud. There were strands of light that connected us all. So many different colors and textures and sizes.

The ones that connected Bud and me seemed much stronger and more powerful than all the rest. It was like beaming over to Julie. And the most wonderful thing. It was so cool! The threads were dancing and swaying to some grand celestial music. Maybe it was waltz music.

It was really heavenly. I mean really heavenly. And, I don’t care if I am repeating myself.

Dr. Greene

Mr. Rich. Good to be with you again. I must tell you, as much as I enjoyed my excursion to your Rocky Mountains, I am most glad to be back in the U.K. Like they say, “There’s no place like home.”

I do want to thank you again for all your kindnesses to me on my visit there. It has been many months now, but I still remember the quite fun times, especially with your Baby Doctor.

Of course, he is far beyond the baby stage, now. Thankfully, as I noted when I was with you, Dr. Borden merely grows at a rapid rate, though it seems to be twice the usual. There are as yet no indications that he will mature too over quickly or die at a young age.

I am saying that his is clearly not a case of progeria such as is seen in the media from time to time and as touched the life of King Louis II of Hungary. That good king was said to have been born so long before his time that he had no skin; in his second year he was crowned, in his tenth year he succeeded, in his fourteenth he had a complete beard, in his fifteenth he married, in his eighteenth he had gray hair, and in his twentieth he died. Quite a remarkable story.

So, it just seems that the Borden phenomenon continues. Now, as he nears his seventh birthday, he is pretty much on schedule as his body enters puberty, distressing though it may be for the fellow.

I can tell you, after studying the available literature, that our Bud comes nowhere near breaking any records for precocious puberty. Even in modern times, there are dozens -- even hundreds -- of cases of very early puberty in boys and girls.

The changes of body hair, muscular build, sexual organs, and voice have been noted as early as ages three and four in males. Numbers of boys in that age range have approximated the appearance of teenagers. Interestingly, many of them have taken on the duties of adults and eschewed the company of children. That is not unlike our own Baby Doctor, Bud Borden.

Now on the female side, breast and genital development with pelvic broadening and onset of menses has been noted as early as ages two and three. The fairer sex always has surpassed ours in
sexual development.

The earliest known pregnancies have occurred around the age of eight and deliveries of live
infants have eventuated after age nine. Even in fairly recent history, it has not been uncommon for young Asian Indian women of ages 12 and 13 to become pregnant and deliver. This has much to do with their customs and early arranged marriages.

It may not be totally appropriate to call 12-year-olds women. But on the other hand, if they are bearing offspring, I suppose they deserve our respect and admiration at whatever age they fulfill that most amazing female function.

Now, I have not even touched on the exceedingly rapid mental development which occurs on very rare occasion in child prodigies. There is such a wide range of talents displayed in these youngsters from musical and artistic abilities to mathematical wizardry and vast memory capacities. I must tell you truly that the only reasonable way to explain these unusual children is reincarnation. It is clear to me that the close study of such talents as exhibited by the likes of Mozart and Mendelssohn to a large number of modern day wonders will bring us to a clearer understanding of these amazing beings as well as of the phenomenon of rebirth. These amazing people simply must be carrying over abilities developed in previous times.

Speaking of amazement, I should reiterate that you do have one precocious and prodigious wonder in young Dr. Borden. We should like to have him come visit us here in jolly old England. Please tell him since our meeting and medical school rounds, I, who live amidst anomalies and curiosities, realize I have just begun to consider all the grand possibilities in this amazing world.


It Only Hurts When I Sneeze
Dr. Child

No, not when I sneeze. But, when Bud sneezes. Bud says, “It only hurts when I sneeze.” It’s his problem, not mine.

It’s really kind of funny, but I guess I shouldn’t have too much fun at his expense. Besides, it must be distressing to him or he wouldn’t bring it up. He rarely talks about his problems. It’s usually like he just doesn’t have any. Or else, he really knows how to cover them.

So, this has got to do with puberty. Our little Bud is growing into his manhood. Actually, he’s not all that little, anymore. He’s well over five feet tall and filling out. And, I have to believe that his male equipment must be nearing functional status, to be delicate.

His problem shows up when he gets close to women. Actually, we’ve known about that for years. But, we missed the clue for a long time.

When Bud gets excited, like most people, strategic parts of his anatomy react. Well, in Bud’s case, there’s some strange connection between his nose and his glands. We might ask Geoff Greene about this curiosity.

Anyway, when Bud used to sit on an attractive woman’s lap and lay his head between her breasts, he’d commonly erupt with a powerful sneeze. We all laughed at that. We thought he got too much perfume or maybe he was just claustrophobic.

As he grew up, he hadn’t ventured into that territory quite so often or, at least, quite so publicly. Maybe he just learned better.

But now, since his beloved, Miss J.J., appeared, Bud practically acts like a chronic hay fever victim. It seems even if he only thinks of the young woman, he starts to sputter. And, when she gets close to him, he either swoons or has a sneezing fit. If my mother ever saw his antics, she’d say, “Bud’s got it bad. Real bad.”

We’ve all seen our Buddy boy fall in and out of love countless times, but this one seems for
real. So real, that he doesn’t pay special attention to any other women. Hardly notices them at all. And, I tell you that’s been really unusual.

The kid always had the busy eye until Julie J. appeared. We might’ve called him our daytime REM boy.

Well, he’s got his eyes pointed in just one direction now where the opposite sex is concerned. Have to give him credit. Both of them. They’ve been seeing each other for almost two years now.

Recently, Bud has been trying to resurrect the BeeCees. I can see he wants to get J.J. in on the act. It would be okay with me. I really like the young lady. I don’t know if she has any singing talent. But then, I’m not quite sure how much our group’s got. We’ve been more perspiration than inspiration on many performances.

So, I’ll have to talk to Marty and Dave. Whatever we can do to help our Buddy boy in his romantic efforts. He’s done right by us, to be sure.

Besides, music and dance might relieve some of Bud’s apparent pain. Too much sternutation can’t be good for a fella’s health.

Go Away
Sharon Moore

I just wanted it to go away. No fuss, no muss. But, no such luck. The regular system had nothing to offer me, so I was stuck. Then, I wasn’t just ill, but depressed as well.

So, my husband made me go to him. I wasn’t really against it. I just wasn’t all for it. I wasn’t sure of what I was getting myself into. Now, I know and I’m not quite sure about the consultation.

Oh, it was useful. I got some startling information, but I don’t know what to do with it. Borden said, “You have to take the next steps in your healing. No one can do it for you. You have to live your healing.”

So, here’s the story. I’m forty-five years old. I have four children, all grown or nearly grown. My husband is a physician, a family practitioner. David has a good business. Treats his patients right -- he’s really the sweetest guy -- and they return the kindness. He adds other aspects to his practice. He and the whole family are wellness oriented. So, that rubs off on the office and his patients.

David knows how to pace himself, so he doesn’t overwork. Nor do I. I’ve taught and done counseling over the years as family obligations allowed.

We have a comfortable life. We eat right. We’ve been vegetarian and organic for a long time. Nothing unwholesome passes through our lips, at least coming in.

Going out, we do pretty well, too. We express ourselves inside and outside the family circle, and take part in lots of community activities. We’re not real churchy people, but we do some of that. It’s a positive influence for all of us. We exercise a lot -- jogging, skiing, swimming, hiking. Whatever’s in season.

We have plenty of friends. Our parents and siblings are spread around the country and are all doing reasonably well. We certainly don’t worry about them.

We do worry about the kids and finances, maybe more than we should. But, probably not any more than most people.

So, life is good or was good. Until . . . until . . . I had a seizure some months ago. I knew something wasn’t right for a few weeks before that, but just thought it would pass.

Well, I had a seizure on waking one morning. Very quickly, I was taken to the hospital and tested. The results showed a tumor in my head. Eventually, I had a biopsy where they took a little piece of the tumorous tissue at operation to view under a microscope.

I was thoroughly scared through the whole affair. I still am. I’ve been walking around in a daze more or less since the seizure. Probably before. But, it’s been worse since the reports came back showing that I have a slow growing tumor. It’s not malignant, not a cancer. But, it could kill me some day by just continuing to grow and taking up space in my head. That’s really pretty scary.

I mean, I might die just because the tumor wants more living room. It’s not as if we could build on an extra apartment in my head for it. Kind of paradoxical. The tumor could kill me because it needs more space and my brain loses out. Not a good idea all around. The tumor would lose out, too. If I die, it dies too.

So, here’s the other kicker. The medical experts have no treatment for my kind of tumor. They say it may have been growing for years, but cutting it out won’t work. It would just grow back. And surgery might make things worse. Same for X-ray. Chemotherapy is out, too.

What’s left? They say, “Sorry. We don’t know. That’s all we can do.” They just tell me what I’ve got and leave me stranded.

So, David and I got turned back on our own devices. But, it seems like we’ve used almost all of them. It’s pretty hard to improve our diet and lifestyle. There’s nothing to give up. All this begs the question as to what got the tumor going. You tell me.

Well, that’s exactly what I wanted Bud Borden to do after I’d consulted several other alternative people. They sent me in seven different directions. All with glowing hopes. Nonetheless, my fears weren’t allayed and my symptoms continue to come and go.

So, I had new hopes for Borden when I saw him at his hospital clinic, but now I don’t know. Honestly, he didn’t do anything except talk to me and then he really didn’t say much. Dr. Borden is a sweet little fellow and we did have a pleasant conversation during which I told most of the story like right now. Then, he took over.

He said, “I see you have a list of questions. May I have them.”

I had written out several that I thought he might possibly help me with. No harm in trying. He looked over them quickly and said, “Yes. This looks to be a well thought out list. Maybe I can add a couple questions which we can explore together.”

Then, he suggested putting me into a trance. Borden called it an altered state. But, I knew what he meant. Then, he’d ask me my questions. “You -- or part of you -- knows the answers. K- N-O-W-S. Can you accept that at least as a possibility?”

“Yes,” I said. Somehow, it made sense.

After a little explanation, he just talked me into an incredibly relaxed frame of mind. I didn’t quite believe it, as nervous as I’d been in recent times and when I walked into see him. It was our first, and only meeting, so far. I’m not really too sure about seeing him, again. What would he do with me, if I went back?

So, I’m almost asleep. Just quite relaxed, like I’m swinging on a cloud. At the same time, I know that I’m also in the clinic and there’s this little man talking to me. And, I’m able to keep track of all of this. Don’t ask me how, though.

He says, “The tumor is part of your being. As part of your being, you can communicate with it. I want you first to acknowledge its presence within you like your heart. You could say, Hello, heart, and mean it. Your heart is the organ of love which sends life to each part of your body.

“Now, your tumor has its own function. So now, just acknowledge that tumor. Say, Hello, tumor. Imagine or, better yet, know that you’re now able to have a conversation with your tumor. Maybe we can get a reading from it today. Simply ask the tumor, what brings it into your life. Does it respond?”

I was dumbfounded. Out of somewhere an answer came. “I came to help you learn.” Oh, God!

Borden said, “Ask it, what it wants you to learn.”

I just knew it was saying without words, “Things you could never learn in your present life
without me. I’m really your friend.” Really, I thought. You sure don’t seem very friendly. Next, he brought up one of my own questions, “How long will you be in my head?”

I really didn’t like this answer: “As long as you need me.”

Borden prompted me to ask, “When you go away, will I be healed?”

“When you’re healed, I will go away.”

Oh, God! I didn’t like that one either. Well, there were more questions before and after, but those were the most important ones. Still, I didn’t have really tangible directions. Only some platitudes and tumorous sweet talk. But, it really was kind of neat. Except the tumor in the head thing is not my kind of Christmas present.

Eventually, Borden brought me down from the cloud and asked me some direct questions. He said, “The tumor apparently wants you to be healed. What or who will you be when you’re healed? When you realize your wholeness.”

He really caught my attention then. I froze kind of and I immediately knew the answer. But, I had to go back ten or twelve years and relive an instant in my life.

I was in an art gallery with my husband. Much of it was local work. Some good, others okay. But, there was also some excellent art of varying types. I froze, too, at that moment years ago and began to sob. I knew art was part of me -- deep down.

And, I could be, should be an artist. I had a gift. I knew I needed to make a commitment to art to be real and authentic with my life.

Well, I made a commitment of sorts. But, honestly, I haven’t lived up to it. Like a marriage vow, that’s only partly fulfilled. I’ve let all sorts of things -- children, housework, insecurities, worries, time -- get in my way. I’ve taken classes, but started and stopped with different media. I know I could be a wonderful illustrator. I even know that there’s some medium that I could create or patch together myself as an original and I could do some wonderful, unique work.

So, when Borden said, “What or who will you be when you’re healed?,” I hesitated for my reminiscence, then it poured out of my mouth, “Oh, I’ll be an artist. Yes, I’ll be an artist.”

He asked one more question. I know he was trying to make things stick. “When you’re an artist, how much time will you spend on art?”

Again, it rolled out, “Oh, lots and lots.”

Oh, I wish I didn’t know these things. Now, I have a tumor which is in no hurry to go away. And, I also have all this information which will be with me until I do something with it. It certainly won’t go away, either.

Back on the Block
Nate Borden

Well, we made the move. Finally. Bud and I moved out of the hospital after living there for almost seven years. “A whole cycle,” Bud says. An incredible one, at that. It was really like two cycles of life for Bud.

He’s now an adolescent in so many ways. He’s driving a little red sports car. Plates read: BABY DR. Though everyone knows and recognizes him without plates or name tags. He attracts attention everywhere. Women, young and old, are still drawn to him like bees to pollen. But, he’s so hooked on that Jordan gal, not even the most attractive ladies impress him, anymore.

So, he’s got his driver’s license and sports car and his girl friend, although she’s really a much older woman. He’s not in school except for his teaching here and there. Bud has his regular classes and meetings at the med school and the hospital.

He also started dropping in at various high schools for an afternoon every week. The kids love it. The principals and teachers seem to like the attention, too. Apparently fills in some of the missing blanks in his life. Bud just sits in class and plays high school student for a few hours. Oh,
I’m sure it’s more than that.

Bud has the best of both worlds. He can pass for a kid whenever he wants. On the other hand,
his I.D. cards say he’s 57 years old. All sorts of people have to look at his driver’s license to see his birth date. Everything about him is still a curiosity and rightly so.

So, you guessed that my job is being slowly phased out. Well, yes and no. I don’t keep anywhere as close tabs on him as I used to. I’m just around when he needs me. Mostly, I just cook and counsel.

I make a mean stir fry and still take some time creating Nate’s Naturals, a line of healthy snacks we -- I mean -- I put together. A local store does the manufacturing for my items and for Bud’s Best. They’re fairly popular, I guess. Honestly, I don’t even try to keep up with it all, anymore. There’s just too much going on and I’m either slowing down or just wanting to cut back. I had my 70th birthday just a few weeks ago, you know.

Really, Bud is taking care of me, more often than not these days. I don’t do much driving, anymore. He does the chauffeuring. I do take his red little job out for a spin on the weekend to show off to my lady friend. I’ve let the golfing slip. I only play once a month.

I’m still Bud’s assistant in the clinic wing and we still do the Healing Modalities Department, but I see that changing. Bud’s cutting back while Jim Child is there more and more, lately. I expect him to take over the reins sooner or later as Bud moves on to something else. Who knows what that might be?

So, we’ve been moving “our energy,” as Bud would say, out of the hospital. Actually, when we moved out of our living space there, no one noticed. Really. We did it all over time. Bud didn’t want any “to do” made. We just carried our gear piece by piece to our new place.

We moved to a nice little house within walking distance of City Medical Center. So, we can hike over there every weekday morning for the walking group. That’s still going after all these years. Can you believe that? To tell you the truth, I’ve cut back on the walks, too. I take the bus over and just visit with the walkers and hangers-on. Bud and I bus home at night or catch a ride.

So, I gave up my condominium and Bud and I put in on this new house. It’s nothing special except for a really large meeting room which comes in handy from time to time. We’ve had 30 or more people in there on several occasions. Bud always has one project or another in the mill.

Oh, we do have a hot tub in the backyard. Bud’s idea. A good one, too. I use it more than he does. I’m out there every night. I get my weary bones in the tub and stare out toward the snow- covered mountains. The tub alone should add years to my life.

If Bud or the tub won’t, then the other grandkids will. Bud and I go over to Joey’s every weekend. I spend most of my time there with my sweet little grandbaby, Jean. She’s growing up too quickly while I grow old too quickly. Howe’er that be, we have a great time. Jean’s the apple of my eye just like her grandmother used to be.

Oh, you should know: Marian is on the nest again. She’s all lit up like expectant mothers can be. Says, “I’m going to have twins.”

Hasn’t even been to the doctor, yet. I don’t know what’s got into that girl. And, Joey, for that matter. I think that elusive new element which we call radioactive Budinium has really gotten to them. They say and do the strangest things, these days.

So, Bud and I are “back on the block,” as they say. At least, for the moment. Don’t know what Bud’s got up his sleeve. I think he has some idea, but either he won’t say or he’s just not sure. I know he’s got a meeting with Gates at the Gazette coming up. Maybe something will come of that.

Simply Irresistible
Gordon Gates

I took the boys to dinner at the Petroleum Club the other night. We had a private room overlooking the city with a view of the sunset on the mountains. The food is always top notch.

Bud and Jim were in fine humor. Almost as bright as I was. We really got to know each other better than any time over the past years. Felt almost like having a meal with my own family. Next time, Genny will have to be part of the group. Maybe we’ll get Jim’s wife and Bud’s heartthrob to join us, too.

So after the table was cleared, I moved toward making my offer. “Boys, I gather things are changing in your lives and work. Jim, you’re spending less time with your regular patients. And Bud, you’ve moved out of the hospital without telling anyone.”

Bud said, “Now Gordon, I just didn’t want anybody making any fuss over Nate and me. Actually, we’re not totally moved out yet. We’ve been pulling up stakes a bag or box at a time for several weeks. I’ve written to the board requesting a few minutes at the next meeting to tell about our plans.”

“Well now, Bud,” I asked, “what are your plans?”

Bud took his time. “Honestly, Pop, I think the ball is in your court. I’m waiting for your proposal. May we hear it?”

“Certainly, you may.” I continued, “Well now, since you fellows are ready for change, I want to propose that you come to work for me and the newspaper.

“Let me lay out a few things. First, you need to know that the Gazette is much more than it appears to be. I am the Gazette, for all practical purposes. I own it, or most of it through two or three larger corporations. My companies manage seven other papers, two magazines, and two television stations. Beyond that, I have a large personal stake in one of the cable companies. I have interest in a few other ventures, but these are the main ones.

“With as many activities as fall within the range of my companies, both of you young fellows surely will find ample outlets for your talents. The media business is changing rapidly and dramatically. The medical one is hardly in the same league. But, there certainly is the possibility of making some liaisons.

“Basically, I’m thinking you fellows could write columns, do interviews, be commentators, do Ann Landers’ stuff. The typical medical columns that the syndicators send us are just God awful.

“Most likely, there are some niches waiting to be created that we haven’t even thought of, yet. Or at least, I haven’t thought of, yet. Television, cable, the Internet are wide open.

“Now, you’re both worth your weight in gold. So, as you -- we -- figure out what you might do, you’ll pretty much be able to pencil in your own numbers for salaries, et cetera.

“One more thing. This all can be developing gradually over time. It can even be done part time. I’m easy. You know. Now, I believe my offer is irresistible. What do you say?”

Actually, I sensed by the way they were looking at each other, that Bud was ready and Jim had other things to do. Right I was.

Jim started, “Pop, the offer -- the idea -- is great, but I’m not ready. Maybe down the road or just here and there, I might fit in. But for now, how about I just be one of the boys and we get together like this more often. Besides, I’m taking over some of Bud’s work in his clinic. Bud’s your boy on this one.”

I turned toward Borden. Bud got up from his chair and stood at my side. I shook his hand as he pulled me upright and gave me a big hug, saying, “Pop, you’re simply irresistible.”

Read Maturing: Chapter 6

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