Overhaulin
July 2013
After looking at the MRI, the technician, who isn’t supposed to tell you anything called it more of an explosion then a collapse, but at that moment it happened, I had a few images pop across my mind…a left handed diving catch of my favorite oldest daughter when she was two, a diving catch in the outfield of the softball game where Harold was kind enough to walk out to me and tell me he needed my glove in an infield (safer) position, raising a wall with dad at the lake, (we both thought it wouldn’t weigh as much as it seemed to), numerous impacts with the racquet court walls after hitting amazing (in my mind) backhanded line shots, lifting that bag of dirt out of the trunk so we might have some flowers planted for Ko’s arrival in Bryan, and the struggle to put on the heavy canvas coat I inherited from my grandpa each brisk Saturday fall afternoon to walk Dixie, our foxhound beagle.
All those items of wear and tear finally piled up and popped. The surgeon spoke about how much work it was going to be, but all I could think of was the memories…all good..I caught my daughter, looked good diving in the outfield, won a few racquetball games, and the flowers really do brighten the house.
Our bodies are timelines. We bear the scars, distortions, and pain that make up our lives. It sounds odd but I like that.
Our world moves pretty fast these days, and from time to time we get reminded to slow down and remember. It would probably be better if we could get the reminder without pain, but well the pain kind of emphasizes the point…slow down and remember…
I look at my hands and see scars from fish and lumber and tools, feel my knees and back wake up a bit slower each year, and remember…that catch, that tournament, that work done with Steve and Chuck and Dad…
Oddly as it may sound, these rebuilds and discomforts, shared with the one who holds my heart, keep me younger. Having meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes last night together, me, the ineffective sous chef, and her, the master cook, preparing this for me…I felt her love, and her love makes me feel young and foolish again.
Walking into the surgical center yesterday we held hands. We hold hands a lot to be connected, in the movies, in the car, walking here and there, while shopping; it’s a connection that helps each of us know more about how we are feeling right then. She’s a good hand-holder, and I’m learning the types of hand holds we share from the “I’m here, all is well” to the “omg” which happened when we picked out her engagement ring. Yesterday, on the way into the surgical center, I felt the “I’m worried” handhold which truth be told might have been coming from me, but we shared it with a few moments glance with damp eyes that told us how much we need each other.
Relationships have those moments; one person tries to be strong to let the other express their feelings. I was the one holding on tight this past fall when they separated us in the hall, wheeling her to the Cath lab, and pointing me to the waiting room.
Anyway it’s all working out: the doctor put in some drywall anchors, pulled the rubber bands back in place, and I start PT next week. In a year it’ll be all healed, but I’ll remember the handhold we shared just before.
I’ll be back at work next week I hope, weaning myself off the pain meds between now and then, and my advice to you all is get a grip…on the hands you love…and hold on.
Take care; be good to each other.
enough