On Being Disrupted (Blog #623)

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After twelve days of being on crutches, I’m officially over this one-legged life. Granted, at my parents’ house, it hasn’t been that bad; they’ve been awesome about helping me out. Dad, will you bring me breakfast? Mom, will you plug in my phone? But now that I’m house sitting for some friends, I’m all alone and have to do everything for myself. (Harrumph.) And whereas it’s going well–last night I managed to successfully get into and out of their hot tub AND shower AND navigate their stairs–everything from bringing in the morning paper to transporting my coffee cup from the counter to the kitchen table is a big damn effort. You should have seen me moving their trash can from the street to their garage this afternoon.

Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This afternoon I went to the hospital to get a copy of the MRI I had done earlier this week on my knee. This should probably be a daily requirement for me, to get out of the house, since it forces me to get dressed, interact with others, and not feel sorry for myself. And y’all, interacting with others is EASY when you’re on crutches that have been decorated with holiday tinsel. (The ones in the photo above are the ones I use INSIDE, since the decorated ones are kind of “messy.”) But seriously, all sorts of strangers talked to me today. Oh, I love your crutches. How festive! Now THAT’S making the best of a bad situation.

That’s me–always looking on the bright side.

Along with the MRI images (which came on a CD), I got a copy of the radiologist’s report, which described my ACL has having been “disrupted.” I assume this is the medical term for “fucked up,” and a quick Google search seems to confirm this. When I first read the report, I thought, Oh good, that’s better than a tear, but no–I don’t think so now. Disruption is apparently a serious separation. Like, think earthquake.

Think my life.

Here’s a random picture from the MRI images. Naturally, I have no idea what I’m looking at here, other than some part of my knee. But I picked this image to share because I think it looks like the face of an old man–see the two eyeballs? Also, I think it looks like something from outer space, like two black holes, an entire mysterious universe just below my left thigh. Granted, it’s an entire universe that’s currently–um–disrupted, but hopefully we can get things put back together soon.

Fingers crossed.

Another thing the report said was that I’d been experiencing constant pain since the time of my injury. This isn’t true at all, and I assume it’s just a medical “hiccup.” My chart at my primary care physician’s says I have “anxiety” even though I don’t, I guess because I see a therapist. Oh well, shit happens. But my point is–yippee–I haven’t actually been in pain. All this disruption, and yet it’s not AWFUL. Granted, it’s inconvenient, and earlier when I misstepped on the stairs and came “this close” to tumbling all the way down, it was terrifying. But mostly this ordeal is simply causing me to slow down, take better care of myself, and reconnect with the good humans around me (and that includes my parents). And that’s a good thing.

To be clear, I’m worn out by this disruption. The last fourteen months have been FILLED with sickness and disappointment, and my knee injury is just one more thing. But I do feel supported–if not by my leg, by my friends, family, and my therapist. The last time my therapist and I talked, she said, “Everyone who goes through this process of personal and spiritual growth walks through hell–and by that I mean every circle of Dante’s Inferno. But the reward for walking through hell is a level of generalized contentment that most people never experience.” And whereas I have some proof of this being true based on my personal experience, I’m largely trusting her experience that things are going to get better. (She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.) This, I think, is a reason to keep going, the idea that entire universes may fall apart, but they can also come back together again. Perhaps even better than before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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A Welcoming Prayer (Blog #621)

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Today I have felt overwhelmed. The dictionary describes feeling overwhelmed as feeling “buried or drowned beneath a huge mass.” (Accurate.) Synonyms for feeling overwhelmed include feeling swamped, deluged, flooded, inundated, and submerged. (Also accurate.)

Somebody send in a lifeboat.

My main gripe today is a rash on my skin, the cause of which is unknown. That is, it could be a simple irritation, eczema, or a fungus. (I’m not a doctor.) Being paranoid, I assume it’s all of the above, and I’m TRYING (trying) to not freak out and cover myself in unnecessary creams and ointments and thus further exacerbate the issue. But I don’t like sitting around doing nothing either.

Nothing except itching that is.

I grant this isn’t a HUGE problem in the grand scheme of things. People have skin issues MUCH worse. But in light of the fact that my left knee is currently FUBAR (that’s Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, Mom), it’s just another thing to deal with. This is a difficult thing for me to do, taking care of my skin while I’m worrying about my leg. I keep thinking, You’re kidding! I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Plus, not that I’m going to ignore this problem, but every time I put an anti-itch cream on my skin, I feel like I’m trying to comb my hair in the middle of a hurricane. That is, I’m not sure my efforts are doing any good.

This is part of feeling overwhelmed, the thought that nothing you try or do is ultimately helpful. Picture a hamster running around the inside of a wheel–absolutely working its ass off but going nowhere. My one sliver of hope today came from a dear friend of mine who said, “If an old lady like me can recover from knee surgery, so can you. You’re young and have strong muscles.” (So that’s nice–somebody thinks I’m young.) Oh–and–I guess one other thing gives me hope. I’ve had this small patch of dry skin on my elbow for a while now. My doctor said it’s psoriasis (so it probably is). Anyway, she gave me some stuff to use, and now my skin is actually getting better. So obviously my body is capable of healing and repairing itself given the right conditions.

I have one square inch of skin to prove it.

This afternoon I started working on a travel writing article about my recent trip to Tennessee. And whereas I made progress, I quit when my brain turned to mush. It was that feeling overwhelmed thing. My brain just couldn’t handle the stress. I kept thinking, I have to heal my skin, have surgery, learn to walk again, AND write this story? Anyway, figuring my body could use all the rest I could give it, I took a nap. The nap itself only lasted an hour, but I stayed in bed for two, maybe three, during which time I did my best to “breathe” and “relax.” This is difficult for me to do, to actually slow down and feel my feelings and whatever is going on in my body. I’m so used to tightening up and pushing through. But today while tuning in (or, turning inward), I sensed that my skin was “angry” and my lungs were “sad.”

Maybe this sounds weird. Oh well. I really do believe emotions get stored in our bodies and that our bodies have something to say to us if we’re willing to listen. That’s the part I’m working on, simply slowing down and listening. Because I honestly have no idea what to DO with my emotions. My first thought when I realized parts of me were angry and sad was, How do I get rid of these feelings? But upon reflection, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for years, to get rid of my feelings or, at the very least, shut them up. (You there, go sit in the corner.) So now I’m working on NOT doing that.

In certain spiritual traditions, there’s something called a welcoming prayer, which is a prayer that’s said in order to invite in those emotions or situations we’d normally push away. An example of a welcoming prayer would be Welcome, Anger, or Welcome, Sadness. Really, it’s that simple, and the idea is that by treating your feelings as you would an honored guest, you open yourself up to learning something from them. So I’m trying to do this, to welcome this feeling of being overwhelmed and see what it has to teach me, to let not knowing what to do sweep over me, to really sink into not being in control.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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Does Someone Up There Have a Bet Going? (Blog #620)

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For the last few days I’ve been struggling to use my blog editing software, which recently updated itself without asking me first. (How rude.) And whereas I was starting to understand it, it wasn’t playing nice with my “preview pictures,” the smaller-sized versions of each blog’s main photo that are used for the “related posts” section on my site. (Found at the bottom of each individual post, the “related posts” section recommends three–um–related posts). Anyway, when I noticed last night that a particular preview picture wasn’t being generated, it frustrated me to no end. So earlier I figured out a workaround, then later figured out how to get all my pictures, quotes, and everything else back to the way they’ve been for the last two years.

Up next: an explanation.

My blogging site’s new editing software is called Gutenberg, probably named after the man who invented the printing press. Regardless, I guess the people who invented Gutenberg saw this problem coming, curmudgeons like me getting frustrated by changes, so they created an option to blog using the “Classic Editor.” That’s the one I’m using now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it–classic? Almost makes me forget I’m a pissed off old fart with his arms folded across his chest who’s refusing to do things differently than he always has.

Classic: another word for set in your ways.

I’m telling myself it’s not that I absolutely won’t learn new things. I will. But these new things need to work at least as well as the old things did, or I’m out. (Done. Check please.) Ugh. I really didn’t intend to bitch for 250 words about this situation. The truth is I’m frustrated with my body. Earlier this year I battled a skin rash (where nobody wants a skin rash), but it’s been under control for months now. Then this morning–out of the not-so-clear blue sky, it showed back up. Maybe because since injuring my knee I’ve been showering in my parents’ bathroom and using a different soap. That’s the best theory my team of doctors came up with the first time, that it was an allergic reaction. “An inflammation whose cause is unknown” is what the lab report said. Anyway, it’s not pleasant. I feel like I have an entire extended family of mosquitoes living inside my pants.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

As if that weren’t enough, this afternoon I got an MRI of my knee, my first MRI ever. Y’all, that machine was SO FRICKING LOUD. It sounded like a woodpecker using a jack hammer combined with that awful screeching noise used in Psycho when Anthony Perkins stabs Janet Leigh to death in the shower. Even with earplugs in, all I could hear was THUD-THUD-THUD-REEK-REEK-REEK for twenty minutes straight.

It was not relaxing.

That being said, the MRI itself went well. “We got really good pictures,” the technician told me. But lest this post start to sound too cherry, let’s get back to the bad news, which my doctor called me with this evening. In short, I tore my ACL and lateral meniscus, which explains why my leg currently has all the inner strength of a blob of apricot jelly. (That is to say, I can’t stand on the damn thing.) Anyway, my doctor said that ACL tears are pretty common in sports (like dancing), and that mine can be repaired (with surgery), but will require “harvesting” ligaments (I think that’s what he said) from my hamstring. Harvesting–can you believe that’s an actual medical term? Sounds like something you should be doing in September in Iowa–gathering in the corn. Except in this situation, they’ll be gathering in my body parts.

Talk about macabre.

In terms of my lateral meniscus, my doctor said they don’t repair well, so he’ll probably end up shaving off the damaged section. (Doesn’t that sound pleasant?) I can’t tell you how disheartening all this is. Not that I haven’t been assuming I’d need surgery, but there’s something about hearing your doctor say it, about being told you’ll be in a big, awkward brace for six weeks, will be in some sort of brace or another for an entire year (an entire year!), and won’t be able to dance for three months.

As of now, surgery hasn’t been scheduled, but my attitude is “let’s do this.” Not that I’m looking forward to it–I’m not–but the sooner we get this ball rolling, the sooner it’s all behind me. Shit. I’m really in a state of disbelief. My stomach’s upset (it has been for months), my skin’s irritated and inflamed, and now this nonsense with my leg (which, by the way, I use to make a living). What else can go wrong? Don’t answer that.

I know, things could always be worse. I’m not alone. Plenty of people have upset stomachs, irritated skin, and knee caps that function like Slinkys. But seriously–God, life, the universe–something needs to give. Yesterday I said the juice was worth the squeeze, but I didn’t mean squeeze harder. I’m up for learning through suffering and all–I get that’s a thing down here–but back off a little. (Pretty please?) I mean, if I accidentally signed up for the advanced course before incarnating, I apologize. That was a mistake. I take it back. From now on, if you don’t mind, I’d like my “tests” a bit more spread out. Just one exam a semester should work, thank you.

Life sucks until it’s finished sucking.

I know life doesn’t work this way. Sure, you can ask the heavens to back off, but you see how well that worked for Job. In other words, sometimes life sucks, it sucks hard, and it sucks hard until it’s finished sucking. And good luck ever getting an explanation. It’s not like the deity ever bothered telling Job, “You see, I had this wager–.”  And even if he had told him, it’s not like that tidbit of information would have made Job feel any better about losing–um–everything he ever loved. It’s not like, after being told that he was the subject of a big cosmic crap game, he would have scraped a piece of broken pottery across his leprosy boils and said, “Makes sense to me, God; feel free to double down next time!” No, explanations don’t help us when we’re suffering. Nor do we get to boss the heavens about or decide when we’re “done.” What we can do, however, is pray for the grace to accept this moment for what it is. For in acceptance, it seems, there’s relief.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes you have to give up wanting something before you can have it.

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The Juice Was Worth the Squeeze (Blog #619)

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I spent this afternoon at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Today was the final performance of our holiday variety show, for a private group that bought out the entire theater. The show went really well, and the best part was that the vast majority of the audience members were elderly. What I mean is that since I’ve been on crutches this last week, I’ve felt a tiny bit conspicuous, like the odd man out, the only guy in the room with just one working kneecap. But y’all, today the AVERAGE person in the audience was in a wheelchair. Talk about feeling at home. There were broken knees and hips on every aisle. Hell, by comparison, I looked SPRY.

As they say, everything is relative.

After last night’s show (which also went well), we had a cast party, and some of my friends had to carry my food from the buffet line to where I was sitting, since I couldn’t carry it for myself (what with the crutches and all). I say they “had to,” but of course they volunteered to. No one held a gun to their heads. Indeed, they assisted quite willingly. This is the thing I’m still processing, that so many people seem eager to lend me a hand, grab me a drink of water, or help me get to my car. It really is humbling. And good for me, I think. I’ve been SO independent for so long, I’ve needed this reminder. No man is an island.

When today’s show was over, most of the cast stayed to tear down the set and clean up the theater. However, since I’m grossly immobile, the only thing I could help clean was the kitchen. That is to say, I ate all the leftover cheese from last night’s party. (You’re welcome.) But seriously, I threw a few things away, then left the work to those who were more able and agile. For a “do-er” like me, this wasn’t exactly easy, walking away from “a project.” Well, LIMPING away from a project. But I think it’s important to realize–there are times to show up and rise to the occasion, and there are times to bow out and walk/limp away, and it’s good to know the difference.

I spent this evening with my friends and former roommates Justin and Ashley at their house. We talked for hours and hours. (We laughed, we cried, lives were changed.) At one point Justin used a phrase I hadn’t heard before–“the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze.” I don’t remember what he was referring to, but isn’t that the perfect saying? Personally, I’m going to start using it anytime I get asked about one of my exes.

Yuck, yuck, yuck.

As I was at Justin and Ashley’s until after midnight, it’s now almost two in the morning. No kidding, I really did try to get away sooner, but Justin and I don’t do short conversations. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that phrase in reverse. What I mean is that when I was visiting with Justin, I KNEW I’d come home late and be blogging during the wee hours (and that my brain and body would want to be in bed instead). But I’m okay with being tired and a little frustrated (that I can’t rub two thoughts together in this moment) because I got a huge amount of joy and satisfaction from hanging out with my dear friends. In other words, the juice WAS WORTH the squeeze.

Likewise, being involved at the theater this last week has been physically challenging. Every day for the last eight days–every day since my knee injury–I’ve had to get dressed (not the easiest thing with a bum leg), crawl into my car, and slowly crutch my way on and off stage, even though I could have easily stayed home. But this morning my dad said, “I imagine this has been good for you, that it’s distracted you from your problems and helped the week go faster.” He was right–it has. And despite how difficult it’s been at times, this experience has given more than it’s taken–I’ve learned new things, made new friends, laughed my butt off, and come to see the world as a kinder place.

So that’s big.

Use your challenges as a vehicle for transformation, not consternation.

I guess what I’m getting at is that this knee problem is not something I’d choose to have happen again. My life turned upside down in an unfortunate instant. But already it’s taught me so much that again I’d have to say–the juice was worth the squeeze. I say that and realize this ordeal isn’t over. I mean, I’m probably looking at surgery and rehab, and I’m sure those things will be a serious drag. I’ll probably curse a lot. But this is a choice I think we all have to make either before, during, or even long after the “squeezes” in our lives–whether or not the are going to be “worth it” to us. For me, it comes down to looking for the good instead of the bad, to using my challenges as a vehicle for transformation, not consternation.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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On Improv-ing and Improving (Blog #617)

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What the frick? Apparently my online blog editing software has been updated and is now different than it’s been for the last two years. Ugh. So far I’m not impressed, having to learn new things for Christmas. Seriously, nothing is where it used to be. It’s like someone’s rearranged my entire bedroom. Whose bright idea was this? (I can’t find my underwear!) And where the hell did the spell checker go?

Bah humbug!

Okay. This morning I went to see my primary care physician, and I’m guess I’m a little upset about that. Not that the visit didn’t go well–my doctor is awesome. But she looked at my recently injured knee and started talking about surgery and rehab, so it looks like that’s going to be a thing. And whereas I’ve been assuming it would be, there’s just something about hearing someone in a white lab coat say so.

Like, “Better get used to those crutches, kid.”

In other personal medical news, I’ve been short of breath lately, and my doctor mentioned the word “asthma.” Seriously, is this what growing older is about–daily adding to your number of problems? One day you’re fine and the next you have a list of ailments as long as your arm? (Don’t answer that.) Anyway, I took a (short) breath, then my doctor said, “WELL–since this started AFTER your upset stomach [another problem of mine], it’s possible that the two things are tied together; your reflux could be affecting your airways.”

So that sounds–um–promising.

In other news, I may have psoriasis–but only on one elbow!–and it would probably help my stomach if I started a new diet. Ugh. This sounds like a lot of work. I mean, when you hop around on one leg, you eat what anyone (that is, your parents) are willing to feed you. Anyway, I’m telling myself I don’t have to do anything this red hot minute; I have time to figure things out. Plus, my doctor said people usually fall into one of two categories–healthy or not-healthy (there’s no real middle ground, she said), and being healthy is simply about 1) not smoking, 2) getting enough rest, 3) eating more greens and less processed foods, and 4) exercising. “That sounds simple enough,” I said.

“In theory it is,” she said, “but we live in a world where there are Whataburgers.”

So you know what I immediately started craving for lunch.

Okay, phew. I apparently “found” the spell checker when I typed “Whataburgers.” It’s invisible. That is, there’s no button for it because it’s always on.

Like me. (Ba-dum.)

When I got home from the doctor’s, I took a nap, but it didn’t do anything to improve my mood. I just can’t even right now. (Wake me up when December ends.)

Now it’s five in the evening, and I need to eat dinner and get around to go to the Fort Smith Little Theater. Last night was opening night for our holiday variety show, and everything went really well, including the two improv skits I was in.

Here’s a link to the first skit, a musical improv number that involved everyone in the pictures I’ve included in tonight’s blog. (The pictures were from dress rehearsal a couple nights ago.) The skit has it’s highs and lows, which is the case when you’re making stuff up on the spot (all of us) and don’t fancy yourself a singer (me). That being said, I’m super proud of the first “mini-skit,” which involves me and a high school student I’d never worked with one-on-one before last night. The setup is we’re at Walmart for Christmas, and he decides we’ll be father and son. (Guess who the father was.) He starts by saying, “Dad, how long are we going to be here?!” and I say, “Well, we’ve been here for six hours, and we’re halfway through the line–you do the math.” So he starts doing the human calculator thing–“6 times 24, carry the 2, divide by 12” and keeps scratching his head. Finally I look at him and say, “This is why we don’t have a bumper sticker about you on the back of our car.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKpVGSX5rWM

We’ll see how things go tonight. In last night’s second improv number, my friend Wesley and I were pretending to be siblings outside in the snow, and we were “filling in” our lines with random Christmas carol lyrics we pulled out of our pockets. At one point I got mad and said, “Do you know what I’m gonna do?” and pulled out a slip of paper that said, “Santa Baby.” Well, it took a second, but the audience just died laughing, at which point Wesley said, “I guess we all have our preferences!”

Having been asked to keep the show PG, I wasn’t sure if we’d crossed a line. But what do you do in a moment like that–how could it have been avoided, exactly? Plus, considering the fact that my mom didn’t “get it” when I told her about it later, it’s not like a kid in the audience would have “gone there.” But this is my point–there are certain things in life that you can’t prepare for. Words come out of your mouth, and problems show up in your body just like that. So we do the best we can. We improv. With any luck, we IMPROVE.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

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On Moving Forward (Blog #615)

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[Photo credit: Joel Culberson]

This afternoon I took a shower and put on a pair of stretchy jeans. I normally wouldn’t brag about such things, but after injuring my knee this last weekend, both showering and dressing myself have become activities worthy of praise. (Way to go, Marcus!) No kidding, it’s hard enough to squeeze myself into my jeans standing up, let alone lying on the ground while trying to hold my left leg completely still. And you should have seen me trying to put on my dress shoes; I had to get my dad involved. “Don’t you have a shoe horn?!” he said.

“No I don’t have shoe horn; I’m not eighty!”

Anyway, Dad ended up slipping my shoes on with a spoon he found–I assume–in our dishwasher. Talk about being creative AND helpful. That being said, I know my dependence is wearing on both me and my parents. After I got dressed and got into my car to run errands in Fort Smith, I honked my horn because I remembered I’d forgotten to brush my teeth and was hoping Dad could bring me my toothbrush–and toothpaste–and maybe a glass of water. (Getting out of car and crutching my way to bathroom would have taken forever.) Anyway, when Dad came into the garage and I told him what as going on, he said, “Oh no you didn’t forget to brush your teeth–your teeth are just fine–they’re very pretty.”

But then he went inside and brought me my toothbrush and toothpaste, and Mom brought the glass of water. What a team!

This afternoon my friend Bonnie and I went to four different stores in search of an outfit for me to wear for the holiday production I’m in at the Fort Smith Little Theater this week, since I decided I felt “frumpy” in the elf costume the theater gave me a couple days ago. Y’all, this is not an experience I care to repeat on crutches ever again–getting in and out of the car, going from store to store, perusing up and down the aisles. Seriously, I’m ready for this ordeal to be over. Ugh. My parents reminded me that when my sister hurt her knee and had to have surgery (and go through physical rehab), they lived with and helped her out for nine weeks. Nine weeks! I’m trying to let that possibility sink in. “Just be grateful you don’t have two little kids running around,” Mom said.

“Yes, that would be quite the challenge,” I replied. “Thank you for making me gay.”

At our third stop, Bonnie and I found an ugly Christmas sweater for me, and at our fourth stop, we found red and silver tinsel (and other supplies) for decorating my crutches. This was Bonnie’s idea, to make my crutches part of my holiday costume. “They can be your candy CANES,” Bonnie said. Talk about clever. Anyway, then we went back to Bonnie’s house, and I changed shirts (and put on a holiday hat that Bonnie had), then Bonnie and I wrapped my crutches in tinsel and added a stocking to one crutch and a stuffed elf to the other. Check out the finished products. (I’m in love.)

As I’m only in two skits for the show, I spent most of my time at the theater tonight on a couch in the green room with my leg propped up. While waiting for my first skit, I got a text message from a friend who’d heard about my dance injury, and he suggested a new nickname for me–GRACE. Isn’t that perfect? Anyway, tonight’s show was a dress rehearsal, and it went well. Actually, our musical improv group did as well as ever. Maybe a few dozen people were there as a test audience, and it really made the biggest difference, having that added bit of pressure.

[Photo credit: Joel Culberson]

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m in the living room with Mom and Dad. Earlier they made me dinner, helped me get my shoes off, and brought me some ice packs. Also, they switched out my tinsel-clad crutches for a walker so I don’t spread little strips of glitter all over the house. A walker! Now I really feel like an old person. (I should probably just break down and buy that shoehorn.)

So this is my reality. This is my holiday season. Mostly likely, this is my new year. And whereas I hate having lost my normal mobility, I’ve realized that I’ve taken “two working knees” for granted my entire life. Watching people run around the shops and the theater tonight, I thought, You probably have no idea how good you’ve got it. Or maybe they do. One of my friends at the theater tonight said she’s been on crutches A NUMBER of times. For me, I’m reminded how persistent the human spirit is, since it’s willing to crawl, scoot, crutch, or even walker around in order to get from here to there. To buy an ugly Christmas sweater! I guess we all do what we must in order to keep moving forward. Hopefully we do so with grace.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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On Pulling Taffy and Cracking Nuts (Blog #614)

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This morning, on crutches, I went to see my chiropractor and my massage therapist. (It’s a two-for-one deal.) And whereas it took all the energy I had, I’m glad I went, since they focused on my shoulder that’s been bothering me for over a month now. Plus, my chiropractor adjusted my hips and back, which he said were out of whack because my right side has been compensating for my left side, which makes sense, we both agreed, since I jacked up my left knee this last weekend and haven’t been able to walk on two legs since.

Just call me Hop-along Cassidy.

This is always a challenge for me, taking care of one part of me when another part of me isn’t working. I’m such an all-or-nothing person that I either want to be “all engines go” or give up completely. Like, if my leg doesn’t work, then screw my shoulder, my sinuses, and the dry skin on my elbow. Perhaps this is a childish inclination. I just get so overwhelmed, paralyzed. Of course, it’s not logical to stop attending to every little problem simply because a bigger one comes along, so, despite my limited mobility, I’m trying to continue initiating acts of self-care.

For example, I saw my chiropractor and my massage therapist today, and I’m still brushing my teeth twice a day.

After my appointment was over, I got a call about scheduling my MRI. And whereas I was hoping it would be this week, it’s going to be next week on Monday. My mom said she had to wait a full two weeks for her MRI when she was first diagnosed with cancer, so I guess six days isn’t that long.

This afternoon I started reading a book about time. So far, it’s mostly about one’s personal and subjective experience of time, which our brains keep track of based on MOTION and CHANGE. Along these lines, research shows that time seems to fly by when we’re having a good time because we’re so focused on what we’re doing (or whom we’re doing) that our brains AREN’T keeping track of what’s moving and changing outside of our field of focus. The idea is that if we don’t perceive many things or events as having happened, we feel like not much time has passed. Conversely, the book says, time seems to drag on when we’re in pain or a miserable location (like a prison cell or the Department of Motor Vehicles) because, since they have nothing better to do, our brains are hyper-focused on every little movement and change that’s happening in and around us. We think, He stood up, I scratched my nose, she moved her finger. Oh my god! I’ve been here FOREVER.

When it’s only been six seconds.

After reading for a while, I took a nap. And whereas I wanted it to last three hours, it only lasted one. (Today, class, we’re going to learn about lowering your expectations.) Anyway, it’s weird how your body does that, acts absolutely exhausted, tells you it could sleep for days, but then won’t even take a decent nap when given the chance. What the hell? Ugh. I wish I could sleep until next week. Actually, I wish I could sleep until my body heals and I feel like a normal human being again. Whatever normal is. Last night on social media I saw a picture of me at the Little Theater, and I didn’t even recognize myself at first. What with the crutches and all. Plus, I WAS wearing an elf costume. But my point is, I thought, WHEN did this become my life?!

Whatever. This is my life–tired, in pain, on crutches. At least part of my life anyway. At least for now. And whereas I don’t want to IGNORE my problems, I also don’t want to DWELL on them. Rather, I want to read a book, go to the Little Theater–um–give myself ANYTHING POSITIVE to focus on, so that my personal unpleasantries won’t seem to drag on in my subjective reality any longer than they actually drag on in my objective reality. This, I think, is the power of our minds and our attention, that we can take an experience and stretch it out like a piece of taffy (That took FOREVER) or compress it down like–what’s a good analogy?–a nutcracker (There, that was quick and relatively painless).

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

"

Oh Boy (Blog #613)

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Two days ago I injured my left knee during a dance routine, and this afternoon I saw a friend of mine who’s an orthopedic surgeon about the matter. Y’all, he took one look at my swollen leg, and these were his exact words–“Oh boy.” Talk about bad news. Later, after his staff took x-rays, he said there was “a small fragment of bone” floating unattached–toward either the front or back of my kneecap. (I’m assuming this isn’t normal and was also bad news.) “We really need to get an MRI,” he said. “That will tell the whole story, then we can go from there.”

So now we have a plan–wait for the hospital to call and schedule the MRI, get the MRI, then go back to see my friend the doctor. In the meantime, he gave me a knee immobilizer, this fancy situation with three steel rods in it to stabilize my leg and protect it from further damage. As for how to take care of my knee, he said I could use ice or heat or “whatever makes you feel comfortable,” but that nothing would really increase or decrease the rate at which I heal. Ugh, healing. The topic of surgery has already been brought up. In other words, this could take a damn while.

Merry Christmas, Marcus.

I spent this afternoon and evening at the Fort Smith Little Theater getting ready for our holiday variety show, which is this coming weekend. I’ll be in two skits–a musical improv skit, which I discussed yesterday, and a two-man improv game called What’s My Line, during which a friend of mine and I will make up a skit on the spot and have to work in audience-provided lines that we pull out of a hat mid-performance. In tonight’s practice game we were two siblings in the backseat of a car (on the way to grandma’s), but our relationship and location will change based on audience suggestions each night. If this sounds terrifying, just rolling with whatever’s thrown at you, IT IS.

Here’s a picture of our set and two of the other musical improv actors.

In both the musical improv and regular improv numbers, there were hits and misses tonight. That’s the deal with improv. It’s like a box of chocolates. Sometimes you hit on something really super–a great character, a delightful relationship, a wonderful line. At one point this evening, I became a four-year-old named Walter, and everything just clicked. Probably because my emotions lately have been about as stable as a toddler’s. But then other times you fall flat on your face. In my last musical number, I was a dad who took his daughter to Disney World and ended up saying, “The holidays are awkward. That’s why your grandma drinks. Also, your mother and I are getting a divorce. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear at Christmas.” At which point our musical director said, “Well THAT took a dark turn.”

I mean, sometimes life takes a dark turn.

I guess it keeps things interesting.

Personally, I’m fed up with “interesting” in my life. Lately my energy levels have been low, and now that everything from going to the bathroom to plugging in my phone is has become a major production, I’m more physically worn out than ever. But you know–I’m trying to be pleasant, to not totally withdraw and feel sorry for myself. This is why I didn’t bail on my commitment to the Little Theater, why I’m slowly dragging my ass out on stage every night despite the fact that I’m embarrassed by my crutches and–I realized tonight–wholly jealous of the other cast members, who get to dance, jump about, and otherwise make use of both the knees God gave them.

That is, I’m trying to roll with what’s been thrown at me.

(Tonight this costume was thrown at me.)

This is definitely a challenge, going with the flow, or, as Teresa of Avila says, breasting life’s rough waves joyfully. Personally, I’m so tired of “soldiering on.” This afternoon while listening to Neil Diamond sing, “Money talks, but it don’t sing and dance, and it don’t walk,” I started crying because I thought, I don’t dance or walk either!

Seriously, life can a lot sometimes.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I need to get to bed because I have an appointment in the morning and need to wake up early enough to shower. Granted, I’m not sure HOW I’m going to shower, but after three days of NOT showering, I feel like I should. This afternoon I stood on one foot at the sink and took a “whore’s bath” with a washcloth, and that just didn’t get the job done, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we’ll see what happens; we’ll see what life throws at me tomorrow.

Oh boy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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And Now for My Next Trick (Blog #612)

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After injuring my knee yesterday while performing a dance routine, I spent last night in my mom’s recliner. Since I tend to toss and turn in the middle of the night, I was afraid I’d make things worse if I were in my bed. Plus, my bed’s a waterbed, and I imagined getting in and out of it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world. Ugh, it’s amazing what you take for granted when you’re well and healthy. Last night and today my parents have had to do everything for me–get me my toothbrush and medications, plug in my phone and laptop, hand me my pillows, make my breakfast. And whereas I did manage to dress myself for the day, I had to lie down on the floor to do so, and my parents had to tie my shoes.

This afternoon, with the aid of crutches I borrowed from my aunt, I made my way to The Fort Smith Little Theater to rehearse for an upcoming holiday variety show that I committed to being in a few weeks ago. And whereas the original plan was for the entire improv comedy group I’m in to perform in the show, it ended up being just me. So today I joined with several junior high and high school students to prepare for a musical improv sketch–you know, the kind where we sing songs about random situations the audience suggests. Anyway, other than my having to sit for most of the rehearsal, or simply stand there on crutches while the others danced about, it was great fun. Not only did I learn some new things (I’ve never done MUSICAL improv before), it was good to get out of the house and be around the young and vivacious.

That being said, I kept looking at those teenagers thinking, Be CAREFUL with your legs! Don’t take your knees for granted!

After working at the theater, I drove to a friend’s house in Fort Smith to pick up another pair of crutches, since the ones I got from my aunt were a couple inches too short for me. My friend’s husband handed me the crutches and said, “And now for my next trick!” Hum. I’m not sure if that’s as funny on paper as it was in person, but it really did make me laugh out loud. I got this image of me about to do the stunt I did last night and saying, “Hey, y’all, watch this.” Whatever. As I told someone at the theater today, the part where I jumped over my friend’s head went really well, I just didn’t stick the landing.

This evening I’ve been planted in a comfy chair in the corner of our living room with my legs propped up on an ottoman. Mostly I’ve been scrolling through social media or reading a book. I think I fell asleep at one point. I really haven’t felt that great today. I’ve been tired, worn out, and slightly nauseated. Emotionally, I keep bouncing back and forth between Everything will be all right and If one more frickin’ thing goes wrong, I’m going to absolutely snap. In this moment, I’m leaning toward the second viewpoint, and I’m okay with that. What I mean is that so often when life throws me a curve ball, I immediately put up my defenses and formulate “a plan.” For instance, in my current situation I’m already thinking about going to doctors, doing physical rehab, and coming out of this thing “better than ever.” But THAT thought is honestly more exhausting than my knee injury, and what actually feels good in this moment is to simply sit with this feeling of overwhelm, to really get okay with not being in control or having all the answers.

But back to the theater. Improv comedy is hard enough, but musical improv is even harder. I mean, you’ve got this guy playing the piano, and when it’s your time to make up a verse, you really can’t stall for more than four bars. If you do, it gets awkward. But the advice that was given to us today was 1) your verses don’t HAVE to rhyme and 2) if you can’t come up with a good story, just state the facts. For example, we sang a song about stars, so my “just the facts, ma’am” verse went like this: “Stars are bright / Stars do twinkle / Stars are far, far away / They make me smile.” My point is that often I try to take my difficult circumstances and turn them into poetry, like this isn’t so bad because look at what I learned. However, sometimes this is simply too difficult to do, especially when the shit has seriously hit the fan within the last twenty-four hours.

So if I were to sing a song about what’s going on with my leg, my first verse would go–

My body’s tired
My knee is throbbing
I’m oh-so-very frustrated
I feel like I could cry (if only I knew how)

Then the chorus would go–

This camel’s back is broken
This camel’s back is broken
This camel’s back is broken
No more straws for me

I know this “woe-is-me” tune isn’t profound, but as our musical improv teacher said, “It’s the truth, and the truth is interesting, compelling, and beautiful, and it certainly gets the job done.” That is, saying something simple yet truthful is better than standing there with your thumb up your butt and not saying (or singing) anything at all. Of course, staying silent is tempting; it’s terrifying to create on the fly, to have NO IDEA what’s going to come out of your mouth at the moment you open it. But that’s the darling thing about improv. Sometimes you hit on something really lovely. So I’m trying to remember this, that I don’t have to have a plan for healing (or even my life), that I don’t have to know what my next trick will be. Rather, I can simply start with the facts–I’m hurting, I’m overwhelmed–and see where this truth takes me and how it sets me free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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Life Is a Contact Sport (Blog #611)

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Well shit. About an hour ago my friend Matt and I performed the dance routine we’ve been practicing the last two weeks. And whereas it WAS going REALLY WELL, when I jumped over his head I twisted my left knee when I landed and ended up hobbling like a freshly born foal through the rest of the number. Yowza. Now I’m leaning against a wall in the back of the room, my knee encased in compression bandages and ice packs. Friends have been coming by to check on me. As this is my first time injuring my knee in all my years of dancing, several of them have pointed out, “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

I mean, they didn’t have to go and bring my age into this.

It’s funny, and by that I mean it’s not funny, that Matt and I have been working on jumps and tricks for the last two weeks without any MAJOR problems. Then this happened during a jump that I’ve done a hundred times before. I don’t know–I must have favored my left side as I landed. It all happened so fast. Thankfully, I’m not sitting here writhing in agony. Mostly I’m emotional, frustrated. This last year has been SUCH A BITCH, one sickness or disappointment after another, so this is just ONE MORE THING. And for the record, I’m done. Whoever’s listening up there, I’ve had enough.

This is me crying uncle. (You win.)

(Note: About this point in the blog, I left the dance studio and drove home, where I am now. Don’t worry–I used my right leg to drive.)

To be clear, I’m not in pain currently. I wasn’t even in pain when I injured myself and during the last part of the routine, which I had to hop my way through. Granted, if I rotate my leg a certain way, something feels “off,” but it’s not this shooting, awful thing. The worse part is that I can’t stand on it.

Immediately following The Great Knee Screwup of 2018, I sat on the floor and scooted my way to the wall. Then Matt got a compression bandage out of my car, and a nurse who was at the event wrapped my leg with it, and my friend the studio owner gave me ice packs to put around it. (Apparently I’m not the first dancer this has happened to, as her freezer was FILLED with ice packs.) Then another dancer, who was wearing a brace on their knee, came over to talk to me about care and “what possibly happened.” Later I called a friend who’s an orthopedic surgeon, and he said, “Come by my office on Monday.” When I thank his wife for taking my call so late, she said, “You’re like family.” Later another dancer friend came over and sat on the floor with me for nearly an hour so I wouldn’t be alone. Then a guy I barely knew came over to give me a hug, and another guy I just met tonight let me lean on him while I hobbled to my car.

My point being, in the midst of a less-than-ideal situation, I was well cared for. Fawned over, really. Plus, I’ve already had multiple offers from friends for me to borrow their crutches starting tomorrow. One friend said, “I have TWO PAIRS you can choose from.” Then they added, “I’m a total klutz.” So that’s huge, knowing that I’m not alone in this incident, either specifically or generally. You know, because sometimes it can feel like the universe is picking on you personally. But the truth is, I’m not the only one whose body or soul is or has been overwhelmed. One dancer tonight said, “This is a contact sport,” and I think it would be just as true to say that LIFE is a contact sport. In other words, it really doesn’t matter how old you are or whatever you want to blame it on–and it’s certainly tempting for me to blame myself, blame my shoes, or blame the floor–but no one gets through this thing without their fair share of challenges.

And yes, I hate that, but I didn’t make the rules down here.

Matt said someone sent him a video of our routine, and that–with one notable exception he described as “like a sports injury you’d see on television”–it really looks great, even the part after the injury. He said, “I don’t know how you kept going.” (My answer: “Adrenaline.”) Honestly, I’m afraid to watch the video. Despite the fact that I was there and lived through it, I’m not sure I can bring myself to SEE my leg contort and bend in ways God never intended it to. Feeling it was bad enough. But alas, I probably will watch the video before I see the doctor on Monday, since it might give us a clue as to what exactly happened.

Ugh. There’s a lot that I don’t like about this situation. I hate that I’m propped up in my mom’s recliner and that my knee is throbbing. I hate that the routine we worked so hard on wasn’t “perfect,” I hate that it’s going to take me five minutes to get to the bathroom when I wake up in the middle of the night to pee, and I hate that my list of trials and tribulations from this last year keeps getting longer and longer. Honestly, I’m trying not to bitch, I’m just tired of “being strong” and saying, “It’ll be all right.” I’m worn out. On the inside. Also, I’m scared that my injured knee will become “a thing,” like that I’ll be afraid to use it for the rest of my life and that I’ll end up walking around like Quasimodo in order to avoid hurting it again. I realize that’s a dramatic image, but this is a big deal for me. First, I use my legs to make a living. Second, I want so badly for my body and me to trust each other. Because fundamentally I think we’re on the same side, and I really have been trying to listen to it lately. And then this.

Phew.

It’s been a long day. Now it’s two in the morning, and I should get some rest. In this moment, that’s all I can do–rest, ice, compression, and elevate (RICE). Sure, I’m worried about what will happen next, but that doesn’t make THIS MOMENT better. So in this moment, I’m choosing to be grateful for the goodness that’s manifested itself all around me this evening, take a deep breath, and take all of this one day–one moment–at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."