Realignment

But before I could get to Dr. Bendo, I first had to get out of Wal-Mart and to the emergency room. A manager knelt beside me and asked whether I wanted an ambulance. Had the fault been Wal-Mart's, I would have asked for one. But it hadn't, so my mother drove me to the hospital. The manager escorted me to the entrance in a wheelchair.

The visit to the ER turned into a weeklong marathon of X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs and other diagnostic tests at Franklin Hospital Medical Center that proved inconclusive. But my subsequent visit with the orthopedic surgeon turned out to be more decisive. I found out that my C5-6 disc was severely herniated. The C4-5 disc even more so. It was pushing against the spinal canal and causing it to narrow. That, in turn, impeded the signal it needed to function properly. I was in serious danger of becoming paralyzed, and there was no telling what might set my spine off—or whether the paralysis would be reversible. There would be no returning to California, so I gave him the green light to perform the surgery.

Nine grueling months later, I still struggle with decreased range of motion. But my friends and their endless stream of jokes about passing out in Wal-Mart, of all places, helps. Though neither the tests nor the neurologist have been able to determine whether my passing out was related to the herniated discs, I haven't had an episode since.

When I began postsurgical physical therapy, I realized that my West Coast workout clothes weren't warm enough and I found myself back at Wal-Mart with Mom. They didn't carry sweatpants with a 36-inch inseam, but all wasn't lost. Instead of being wheeled out, I walked out on my own this time.

I finished physical therapy four months ago. And as a result of the patience of my family, who has weathered many of my frustrated fits, my return to New York has become a permanent one. Contrary to the stereotype of the fractured black family, our foursome is so tight-knit, my friends have dubbed us "the Huxtables." And I can see why: we've reinstated our nuclear-family birthday dinners and break out the Scrabble board several nights a week. It's hard being an adult living with your parents, but I remind myself several times daily that I've been lucky to have them. It seems my injury and my return migration were more than mere coincidence: I needed them to hold me together, and, it turns out, they needed me, too.

Forbes lives in Valley Stream, N.Y.

© 2008