Monthly Archives: February 2017
On Valentines Day 2011, I rushed to the local drug store on my way home from work to purchase a hasty but heartfelt gift for my husband. I chose a few items from the dwindling inventory and stood in line with the other last-minute romantics.
I glanced back at the growing line behind me and spotted a familiar handsome blonde fellow: my better half. Our eyes met and we burst out laughing.
“What are you getting up there?” he asked over the curious folks between us.
“What are YOU getting?” I replied.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!”
Now the whole line was laughing along with us.
We stepped to the side and looked over the impersonal gifts we’d selected for each other.
“It really is the thought that counts,” one of us wisely concluded. “We don’t need any of this stuff. This was already the best part of the day.”
We put everything back and went home chuckling.
I had forgotten all about that incident but since I wrote about it on Facebook, it cane up this morning as a “Memory” update.
I read it aloud to my husband while we sipped our morning coffee together. He’d forgotten it also and we both laughed all over again as if hearing it for the first time.
Growing old isn’t so bad, especially together.
Happy Valentines Day.
I did it, I survived six weeks in a leg cast.
“You’re done,” said the specialist. “Go home and throw away the air cast. Enjoy. Any questions?”
“Can I ski?”
“Didn’t you break your leg skiing…? Anyway, no. Anything that could cause an uncontrolled fall should be avoided. 12 weeks minimum. Take the rest of the season off.”
Okay, fine. There’s still plenty of activities to enjoy – yoga, snow shoes, Costco….
I went home and quickly discovered Problem #1: we moved into our new house a few days earlier and some boxes had yet to be brought from the old place. The only shoe I had was the one shoe on my good foot when we moved. So back into the car with my aircast to reunite with my beloved footwear collection.
What to wear first…? Wait, my choices would be limited by the snowy conditions. So then, which boots to wear first? Black, definitely the black boots. Maybe the red. Or the tan.
I burst through the door and tore off the air cast, sitting on the step to pull on my go-to black boots.
Cue record scratch. Hello, Problem #2.
My newly freed foot is still so swollen and sore that it wouldn’t go into the boot. Not even maybe. No amount of butter, prayers, or stubbornness could get my Fred Flintsone foot into the lady boot of my choice. I then began working my way through the closet, realizing to my disappointment that the only shoe to fit was a leather high top, the mate to the one shoe I had worn on moving day. Le sigh.
Furthermore, I now walk like a zombie. My leg is squooshy and the ankle is tender. It turns out that a lower leg break is generally preceded by a bad sprain – a limb twisted bad enough to snap the bone is going to have a lot of soft tissue damage, which is slower to heal than the bone itself. So yoga and snow shoes and shopping will have to wait.
I’d looked forward to February 9th as THE day, the cast would come off and rainbows would shine and crowds would part as I sashayed through on two feet, but what I got was….pfffft.
I’ve spent the past two days drawing analogies between all this and recovery, shaping a blog post to capture the lesson but…more pffft. I’m sick of myself. I’m sick of my thoughts, I’m tired of the voices in my head. I’ve spent way too much time there lately and I just. can’t. even. anymore.
I’d rather hear what YOU think. What lesson do you see in this moment? What analogy can you draw between this scenario and recovery?
Please comment with your insight, I’d love to hear it.
Meanwhile I’ll get back to drawing the alphabet in the air with my toes, which is supposed to help bring my leg back to life, pausing only to read your comments and give thanks.
My daily blog posts got sidelined by life. We are building a new house which we move into TOMORROW (!!!) and yes, I am still in a leg cast with crutches and a splint in my hand. Then last week my dad took a turn for the worse and is in the hospital. My sisters and I are taking turns staying with him during visiting hours. My life has been a blur of packing boxes, rides to the hospital, hours at his bedside, and long slow transitions of crutch-walking in between.
What I’m not doing is thinking about drinking. However hard this particular chapter gets I have no urge to numb or escape. We can do hard things, right?
I was watching Melissa McCarthy’s hilarious SNL bit after a long day at the hospital and suddenly felt a flood of gratitude for my tea (in a nice mug, made in my kitchen and not in a plastic cup on a tray like the one on dad’s untouched lunch tray), for my bed with memory foam and nice blankets (compared to the yellow hospital sheets) and my cuddly puppy (oh how many people in care are missing their beloved pets?).
This is LIFE. The freedom to get up and go pee in my own (pretty) bathroom without ringing for help. The freedom to go to the fridge and choose what to eat. To go stand outside and catch a snowflake on my tongue, should the urge strike.
Visiting my kids and grandkids, even briefly, keeps me grounded and full. It puts things in perspective and balances the end-of-life reality that must be faced when I return to my dad’s room. Life has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Recovery has taught me to hold space for people that are hurting. I know how to give service without making the situation about me. I can respect that this is part of his journey, and do what I can to help him through.
It could be days, months, and God help us, years. It’s surprising how a heart can keep beating long after the body and mind are spent. A gentle end would be a gift. We’ve dreaded this stage and yet here it is; worrying did nothing to prevent it.
Life is busy and multilayered. I’m excited about our new house and busy with work and involved with my kids and in love with my husband and committed to my hours each day holding space for my dad. And the dog needs to be fed and let out to pee constantly, and my cast is stinky and annoying, and I miss grocery shopping, and I really need to get my nails done somehow but there’s no time. Little thing and big things. All the things….
I’m behind in responding to comments and emails. Please bare with me (bear with me? Do either or both) as posts and responses may be sparse until things settle. If you’d like to help me, the greatest thing you could possible do would be to answer other comments, especially if you see someone starting out or struggling. (You can do so anonymously by leaving the email address blank when you comment). Not only will you be helping each other, but it fills my heart when I read them.
Thanks all. Stay well.