The Art of Convalescence

Having an acute injury behave like a chronic injury sucks; it’s been 19 months since I broke my ankle and ruptured my ATFL ligament. I often find myself biting my cuticle, worrying about whether or not i’ll be able to dance full-out again, to experience the abandon of movement without worry.  It’s the closest thing to flying i’ve found in my very nearly 30 years and I am very much grounded.  In the spirit of AFGO (Another Fucking Growth Opportunity), however, i’ve learned some things about being injured, which just maybe translates to being human.

1. “My, that’s a big curb.”  Despite the buzz I was enjoying from a girls’ gathering earlier that evening, I was cognizant enough in the split second before I sustained my injury, to look down and think these words to myself.  If you ever say this to yourself and you have the presence of mind to do so, stop before you take that step. Consider taking a few steps to the left or right to where the curb is not so high. Seriously.  If you don’t have the presence of mind to do this, as soon as you are able, forgive yourself for knowing you were about to fall and stepping anyway.

2. Doctors are lame. Sorry, but they are.  I’m sure they have their reasons for being lame, but they are lame.  I’m on my third podiatrist and I still don’t feel like i’m really understood (or like my injury is, for that matter.)  It could be that, for a variety of subconscious reasons, I don’t want to be understood, but i’m pretty sure I do. I think that doctors are very busy and sciency and therefore aren’t really listening most of the time.

The only time i’ve left a doctor’s appointment feeling like the doctor had any appreciation of what I was feeling and how to effectively treat me was when I embraced being a bother.  This is not easy for me.  I am a people pleaser. I NEED you to like me, like right now.  But, seriously, the more annoying, redundant, eye-rolling questions I ask, the better I feel. And, the more capable I see the hands into which I’ve entrusted my doctoring.

3.  Shower seat. Really.  If you ever experience a lower extremity injury that necessitates your sitting down most of the time, get a shower seat. I was able to bathe 48 hours after my surgery and being clean never felt so good.  The only bummer (pun intended), is sitting down on it when you first get in and it’s still wet (but not warm) from someone’s previous shower.  Brrrr.

4. Ask people to visit you.  This one was extremely hard for me. I don’t really like to hostess because i’m a HUGE control freak and I need everyone to be having an awesome time. However, it was brought to my attention that my historical pattern of isolating when i’m not at my best and leaning only on those closest to me (read: Jess) was not going to work. Both Jess and my therapist vetoed this model with vehemence. She (my therapist), informed me that in fact, it is not OK to lean entirely on one’s partner during convalescence (or, really, ever).  Reinforcements must be retained. To my surprise and total delight, my friends really showed up for me and I had visitors about every 48 hours in the 10 days after my surgery.

5. Have patience with yourself. Yesterday, I ventured out of the house for the first time since my surgery (excepting for one trip to the doc’s). Jess and I went to Pacifica to stare at the ocean and get fried fish and beer. Before we left, I found myself thinking “I don’t know if I can do this!  It’s sooooo much easier to stay home in my 700 square feet. of familiar.”  This is not uncommon for me.  When I stay in the house for more than a day or so, I get scared about going out again.  I have always been annoyed with this, feeling like “what kind of a weirdo gets scared about leaving the house” (other than those individuals with agoraphobia)?  For the first time when I felt this way, however, I was able to say to myself, “You know what, it’s ok.  You’re not steady on your feet and you’ve been inside for 9 days.  Of course doing something different after that long is going to be daunting.”  Suddenly, with that compassion for myself, I was able to get up and out.  It’s so often not the feeling i’m having that’s the problem, but the reaction to that feeling.

I hope you never have to convalesce, but if you do I hope some part of this is helpful to you.  You’ve all been so helpful to me and I am humbled and grateful.

Doggy!

I. Want. A. Dog.  NOW.  In the past year I have been suddenly overcome by a visceral need to parent a dog.  I fantasize about big sad eyes and belly rubs and kisses and spooning....with a dog.  I go to the Noe Valley farmer's market on Saturdays just to pet the multitude of yuppie-owned dogs tied up outside. Sometimes it's all I can do not to steal one.

Children I can pass on the street with barely a glance.  But a dog?  No, even the gnarliest and most unfortunate looking of mutts melts my heart like butter on a porn star. In my experience, there is no love so unconditional as that of a dog.

This obsession is a problem for several reasons:
1. I live with my partner in an apartment that is somewhere between a studio and a 1 bedroom.
2. My partner outright refuses to live with any dog under 20 lbs.
3. Unexpected big expenses are a very common when you own a dog.
4. There isn't what you'd call a "yard" situation.
5. I'm afraid of becoming resentful of anyone who requires me to come home everyday right after work.

Sigh...I suppose this is why people have children.  They are so overwhelmed by this physical and emotional yen, that practicality sometimes goes by the wayside.  I must remember that we humans adapt to new situations, if begrudgingly, and the unknown becomes known.  For now, I will continue to fantasize, though.  Hopefully I will be able to hold out until my living/financial situation is better suited to having a pooch.  Or, until thoughts of new puppy breath get the best of me...

Like Flies

Everyone is getting married.  No, really, everyone.  Between my significant other and myself, we have five weddings to attend this summer. And I know other couples who have attended as many as seven per season. Aside from the obvious financial implications of being subject to this much matrimony, there is a psychological side, which I find inescapable at the moment.

I can't help but obsess about what it means that all of them are getting married and we aren't.  What's wrong with us that we aren't taking the plunge? And then I think about actually taking the plunge and my stomach clenches like the fist of a baby who just wrapped his fingers around something he ain't letting go of.  It's scary shit.

I'm told this reaction is normal.  My mother talks about "surviving" her twenties - making it to her thirties without joining the marriage club.  Maybe this is what my skepticism about marriage has its roots in.  Hmmm...

Anyway, I'm caught. Caught between feeling the pressure of doing what everyone else is doing (because I'm 27 and clueless and if it works for so many of them, well, it might work for me, right?) and remembering that my life is A-OK just the way it is and I still have a lot of questions about marriage, and, that there's nothing WRONG with me for not going with the flow. I have to repeat this over and over again.  The pressure is just that strong.

This is the problem with having so many choices.  My generation really is the first to have literally limitless options of what to do with our lives.  And, for women, it's even more complicated.  I once read an article in Forbes (that one time that I read Forbes...probably in a Dr.'s office), that today's woman can do anything she wants, but not everything.  Sure, you can have a career and be a bad ass and make lots of money, but if you pursue that, the family thing might not be so easy by the time you have time to do it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm profoundly grateful to the generations of women who went before and worked tirelessly to get us to this more liberated, wholly confusing place.  But, I feel like I have to choose a path and hope it's the right one.  In years past, you knew what your path was and it was the right one, because it was the only one.

But, then I think, maybe choice is all just an illusion. I mean, if we all have a destiny then we'll end up doing exactly what we're supposed to, right?  That's not good enough for today's 20-something, though.  We're too inundated with messages saying, "succeed!", "make the most of your life!," "always strive to be the best!" "Be proactive!"  When did we become so obsessed coming in first place?  We should be glad to be out of the kitchen and feeling the sunshine on our faces.

So it begins with matrimony and, quickly, spirals out of control until I am calling into question every choice in my life, examining it under a microscope, as if looking at each individual atom is going to help me "know" if it's right. Yeah, I know, not so sane.

When I get like this I'm pretty useless. I obsess and fixate until nothing makes sense anymore.  Only when I reach that desperate point, do I remember to ask for help from The Great Spirit (or higher power, or God, or Allah or whatever you want to call him/her/it.) I ask it to help me move in the right direction, just focus on taking the next right action.

Holy poop.  I'm listening to music on Pandora right now and The Beatle's "Let it Be," just came on.  Wow...um, that's f*ing awesome. I'm a little freaked out, but also totally grateful.

So, as my girlfriends get married and continue "dropping like flies" as I selfishly like to think of it, I suppose I'll take John Lennon's advice and just let it be. I'm told there will be an answer...it's just a matter of time.