The Ten-Cent Turnaround (Blog #653)

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A couple weeks ago I started a new medication for my upset stomach. However, I forgot to pack it (the medication, not my stomach) for my trip to Nashville, where I am now. No big deal, I thought, I don’t think it’s done much good anyway. Well, I was wrong. Last night (after eating pizza), I got the worst case of acid reflux, and it woke me up several times during the night. Between that and my knee that I recently had surgery on, I slept like shit. I was achy, nauseated, all the things. Still, I made it through the night.

This morning I got up early to do my knee rehab exercises. I’m seriously sick of them. It’s not a big deal to do them two or three times, but two or three times a day for two weeks has begun to take its toll. And it’s not like this routine is going to get any better. It’s going to be my life for a while–sleep (sort of), eat, rehab. Rinse and repeat.

I realize I’m whining.

A big part of my problem is not the fact that my life has been turned up side down. I’m perfectly capable of doing knee rehab two or three times a day for the foreseeable future. However, doing so takes almost all the energy I have. Almost everything does. Yesterday after I packed for Nashville and this morning after I got dressed, I felt like I’d run a marathon. And the day had just started. Today my friend Bonnie, her son Tim, and I met their family for brunch (today is Bonnie’s daughter-in-law Mallory’s birthday), and whereas I really wanted to be awake, alert, and lively, it was all I could do to just be present. I hate that, not being able to focus on anything other than my aching leg, my sore tummy.

Every party has a pooper, that’s why they invited me?

When we got to the restaurant, our party of seven was seated in a booth made for six. I was on the end, my left leg (and butt cheek) hanging off the side. But then the folks at the larger booth next to us left and suggested we take their table. So we did. And whereas it confused the hell out of the hostess and our waitress, we used my leg as an excuse. “He just had surgery,” one of Bonnie’s in-laws said. So that’s one good thing that came out of this damn situation. We got a bigger table. Happy Birthday, Mallory!

After brunch, Bonnie, Tim, and I came back to Tim’s place and all fell asleep. Talk about a good idea. Y’all, I crashed hard for a couple hours. Then I woke up and had a talk with myself. Okay, I said, it’s time to do rehab exercises. “Again?!” I replied. Yes, again, I said. This is the deal, I’m just working off willpower right now, trusting that as I do as I’ve been instructed, things will eventually improve.

I repeat–things will eventually improve.

Now I’m obviously blogging. I need to wrap up, since in an hour we’re going out to eat (again) for Mallory’s birthday. This time, I believe, there will be a big crowd, forty of fifty people, so I’m going to try to turn it on. Also, I’m going to try to get some antacids or something to hold me over until I get back to Arkansas. Anyway, I don’t mean to be a gloom merchant. It wasn’t my intent to kvetch. But sometimes life is an uphill climb, and that’s the truth. Recently my therapist said, “Given your background, I know it’s really difficult for you to believe that things can get better, but I’m telling you they can. Things can turn around on a dime.” So I’m trying to believe her and I’m trying to hope. I’m trying to hang in for the ten-cent turnaround.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes life can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees.

"

On Tumbling Down the Hill (Blog #647)

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It’s after midnight, and I just finished my third set of rehab exercises for the day. Phew. It was a little tough to squeeze all three sets in today, since I did a lot of running around. Well, limping around. My left knee still doesn’t allow me to do a lot. I can walk, but not fast. Still, people keep saying it really is amazing that I’m no longer on crutches. Personally, I’m over it, ready for this nightmare to be finished. Every day I wake up, slog my way through my rehab routine, and pretend this isn’t my life. Then I go to bed, wake up the next day, and discover it still is.

This afternoon I helped a friend take down their outdoor Christmas lights, and you should have seen us. A senior citizen and a crippled trying to bend down and unwrap a string a of lights from around a tree trunk. We used every curse word we knew. But we did it–we did it! We even made a trip to Walmart for a storage bin, and I managed to not only get in and out of their low-riding car, but also drag my bum leg halfway across the store and back. My friend suggested I use one of those little scooters, and I said, “I do have SOME pride left.”

On the way home from Walmart, my friend and I stopped at Walgreens to pick up anti-inflammatories for me. (I forgot them at Walmart.) Then we grabbed some fried chicken and took it back to their house for dinner. There we laughed and laughed. I don’t even remember about what. I just remember that for a while, I didn’t remember any of my problems.

That was nice.

When I left my friend’s, I met my other friend Bonnie, and we went to see a movie–Mary Poppins Returns. Ugh. Talk about a delightful show. I laughed, I cried, my life was changed. Stop everything you’re doing and go see it now.

There’s a big dance number in the show called Trip a Little Light Fantastic. And whereas I spent the entire song jealous of all the dancers with working knees (that bend and everything), it really was glorious, about how things are always darkest before the dawn and how “if a spark can start inside your heart, then you can always find the way.” This is honestly the hardest thing, hanging on to hope when all the evidence in your life would suggest you do otherwise, keeping your chin up when you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.

I don’t mean to sound glum. At last night’s theater party, I congratulated a friend on their good year (they’d said they’d had one on Facebook), and they asked how mine was. “Terrible,” I said. Later I thought, It wasn’t all bad. Some really lovely things happened. Funny how we classify our days years as good and bad when they’re really a mixture of both. Still, it’s obvious that some days and some years are easier than others. Maybe we fall in love, get a new job. Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Or maybe we have our heart broken, lose our job. Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.

Personally, I don’t mind saying that last year sucked. I was sicker than I’ve ever been, broker than I’ve ever been, and alone as I’ve ever been. Oh, and just before Christmas, I fucked up my knee. And whereas I really wish I could tell you that I’m now on the other side of all this terror, I can’t. Am I making progress? Yes. Is it over? Not at all.

In my Facebook memories today, there was a quote by Stephen R. Covey I shared years ago–“You can’t have the fruits without the roots.” And that’s one thing I can say about this piece-of-shit last year. I grew some serious roots. Despite all the above-ground nonsense, maybe because of it, I now feel more grounded than I ever have. I’ve confronted everything that terrifies the crap out of me, and I’m still standing. Mostly on one leg, but still. And sure, I want the fruits, the outward signs that things are going my way, that this is my year. But roots first, fruits second, that’s what Stephen said. Plus, in the movie tonight–and I don’t think I’m giving anything away here–the day was saved literally at the last-minute. So you never know what life has up its sleeve. You never know when help is on the way. At some point, the dawn has to break. Jack and Jill can’t tumble down the hill forever.

[As an interesting aside, according to Wikipedia, apparently some of the earliest versions of the Jack and Jill nursery rhyme were actually about Jack and Gill, two boys.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

"

This Is Your Year (Blog #646)

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Last night I didn’t sleep well again. Achy leg and all that. Ugh, this injured leg of mine is really becoming an around-the-clock nuisance. Still, things are improving. I’m experiencing less pain whenever I stand up now, and it’s easier to bend my left knee than it was even a few days ago. This means that it’s easier to change pants, put on my shoes, and get in and out of the shower. Huge. Of course, I’m still walking like someone with a war injury, but everyone keeps telling me that will get better. “You’re doing great,” they say. “You’ll heal quickly,” they say. “You’re young,” they say.

“Could you repeat that last part?” I say.

This afternoon I ran an errand in Northwest Arkansas and came across a random sign that said, “This is your year.” And whereas I know the sign was put there for thousands of random shoppers and onlookers, it felt like it was put there just for me. Or rather, since I only went to that part of town on a hunch, for fun, maybe I was put there for it. Either way, I hope it’s right. God, I hope it’s right.

After my errand this afternoon, I came home, did my rehab exercises, and got stuck in my head. You know how sometimes a cloud surrounds you. Well, I’d planned to go to a party at the little theater (for anyone who’s been in or worked a show there this last year) and seriously considered ditching it. I thought, I don’t want to take a shower; I’d rather stay here and mope. But then I thought, Get out of the house, Marcus. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This ended up being the best thing, cleaning up and putting on my suit. Hell, I even blow-dried my hair. Talk about feeling good.

The party tonight’s theme was “casino royale,” thus the giant playing card in tonight’s main photo. Anyway, it was absolutely fabulous. First of all, there was food. Second of all, there were dozens of friendly faces, all my favorite theater folks. Plus, all the members of our improv comedy group–The Razorlaughs–were there. All this to say that there was a lot of neck-hugging, catching up, and laughing. It was the perfect thing.

When I left tonight’s party, I walked out with friends and made tentative plans to hang out later this week. Then another (new) friend said, “We should get together sometime,” and I said, “I’d love that.” I don’t know, it was the weirdest thing, how I’ve had this cloud hanging around me the last few days (or weeks), and at some point this evening, it lifted. Maybe not completely, but a lot. And it’s not that any of my problems have changed or magically solved themselves. I still have a bum leg, still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, etc. But I was reminded tonight multiple times that I’m not alone, and that really does go a long way. Yes, a little friendship and a little encouragement are just the thing for cloud-parting.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

"

The Universe Is Upside Down (Blog #645)

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Two good things that happened today–

1. I got rich, bitch

Well, sort of. Just before Christmas and my knee surgery, I made at a cash deposit through my bank’s night-time drop box. And whereas the deposit showed up online the day after Christmas, it was for MORE than what I’d written down. A hundred dollars more. For the last week, I’ve continued to check online thinking someone had made a mistake, but nothing’s changed. Maybe I miscounted, I thought, grabbed an extra hundred.

Like I had an extra hundred to grab.

Anyway, now that I’m semi-mobile, I went to the bank today to inquire about the matter. For twenty to thirty minutes, I watched a very kind teller run back and forth, checking his computer, pulling out deposit slips, asking people questions. Finally, he came back and said that yes, there’d been a mistake. “However,” he said, “our books still balance.”

“So what are you saying?” I said.

“I’m saying don’t worry about,” he said. “You can keep it. Merry Christmas.”

Merry Christmas indeed.

Thanks, universe!

2. Someone was kind

After going to the bank, I went to Walmart for knee Bandaids and foods rich in potassium, since my legs have been achy and restless at night and I’m thinking it might have something to do with my electrolytes. (Or maybe the fact that one of my legs was recently cut open and severely traumatized.) Anyway, this was a serious chore, walking all around a damn warehouse, since I move with all the agility and speed of a slug. Everyone was passing me–people with canes, people in wheelchairs–everyone. Talk about being self-conscious. But then at the checkout line an old man, with a beard like Moses, step backed and waved me ahead. “You go first,” he said.

I think the phrase for what I immediately experienced is “cognitive dissonance,” that feeling that something is out of order. An old man making concessions for a whippersnapper like me. But I’m learning that the universe is out of order. The universe is upside down. At least from how we think about it. We think we don’t deserve something, that we’re not worthy of all the good in the world, and yet there the world is, offering all its goodness to us constantly.

Well, at least a couple times a day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

"

On Being Decapitated (Blog #644)

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It’s 11:17, and this needs to be quick, since I didn’t sleep so hot last night and need to get some rest. Well, wait, I did sleep hot. That’s part of the problem. Not only did I keep waking up in the middle of the night half-terrorized by crazy dreams, but I also woke up hot. That is, sweating. Granted, I don’t think I had a fever, but my hair and shirt were soaked. This happens sometimes when my body is under stress or something is “off.” Anyway, I need to turn in earlier tonight, and I still need to blog and do one more set of rehab exercises.

The rehab exercises, I think, are definitely paying off. Today I’ve been getting around pretty well and have even been able to carry semi-large items from here to there. Earlier when I took tonight’s picture, I even got my left leg to bend a little more than 90 degrees, 90 degrees being my goal. (In the picture it looks like it’s my right leg that’s bent, but it’s actually my left. Camera flip or whatever.) Anyway, this is progress. Earlier tonight a couple called about dance lessons starting later this month, and I didn’t even mention my knee surgery. Sure, I’ll have limitations in what I can demonstrate, but they’re beginners. Plus, just to be sure, I “walked” through a basic dance step a few hours ago. And get this shit. I did it.

This afternoon I took a shower. Not to be gross, but that’s only happening about every two or three days. Hell, that was the case BEFORE surgery, but especially now. It really does take a lot of effort with a stiff knee–getting in and out of the tub, carefully standing up or sitting down. Thankfully, I’m getting to the point where my left leg can bend and actually help me stand or lower. Before that job belonged solely to “righty,” and “lefty” was simply dead weight. I noticed in the shower today that my left leg is distinctly yellow. I knew it was bruised before but realized this afternoon that the bruising extends further than I realized. Ugh. This is a big damn deal. The whole thing, I mean. As if the seventeen staples in my knee weren’t enough to convince me of that fact.

But back to my keeping this short so I can get some rest. Last night I dreamed that I was in an old church (a common dream place for me), and there was a group of athletic students jumping from one set of tall scaffolding to another. There was one student, a girl, who made the jump successfully a couple times, but then felt hesitant and fell to her death. No shit, there she was on the floor, decapitated. Talk about gross. No wonder I didn’t sleep well. Anyway, I’ve been chewing on this all day, and here’s what I’ve come up with. First, girls represent one’s intuitive or feeling side, and the girl’s feelings of hesitation and failure (I’m assuming she felt failure on the way to her death) mimic my own feelings regarding my dance jump that went seriously wrong and resulted in my having to have surgery. Second, I think the fact that the girl “lost her head” has something to do with keeping one’s head and heart together.

I’ll explain.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend about integrity. Not integrity in a moral sense, although I guess that would apply. Rather, integrity as I see it is concerned with having one’s head and heart lined up. Or, said another way, having all parts of your body and soul on the same page and working together. In the dream, the girl was hesitant, meaning her head was saying one thing and her heart was saying another. I can think of a number of situations in my life where my head and heart are likewise conflicted. For example, my body (as I see it, my heart) is currently asking me to slow down and take care of myself. My head, however, is set on being “productive.” This, of course, is a conflict and amounts to my being “separated” or “decapitated” in dream terms. So I’m working on it, on listening to my heart and getting all parts of myself on the same page. This is no small task.

That’s okay. I have time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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Starting on the Right Foot (Blog #641)

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[Photo credit: Tom Wilmer]

It’s 9:36 PM on New Year’s Eve, there are fireworks going off outside, and I’m celebrating alone. This is somewhat by choice, somewhat just the way the cookie crumbled. This morning I had an offer to join some friends tonight, but the party was out-of-town, and attending would have required more in terms of time and effort than I could have given considering my present condition. (I had knee surgery last week.) So instead I’m here, alone, in front of my laptop, listening to Eva Cassidy. Eva’s always my go-to choice whenever I’m feeling sad/lonely/thoughtful/hopeful.

I guess today has been all right. Honestly, I hate the fact that there’s all this pressure to make holidays special. Because if you spend the day binge watching your latest favorite television series and eating pizza any other day of the year, well, that’s kind of fabulous. But do those things alone on a night when practically the entire world is out getting turnt, and–hum–that kind of sucks.

Oh well.

Of course, the big thing lately that has me down is my jacked-up knee. Tonight’s main photo came in on my email earlier from my friend and fellow travel writer Tom and was taken a couple months ago in Tennessee, back when I could bend both knees and didn’t think anything about it. Now I couldn’t squat like that to save my life. Hopefully no one puts a gun to my head and says, “CROUCH, asshole!” anytime soon. Anyway, today I noticed that my left knee (the one that was operated on) is quite bruised both above and below my kneecap. I don’t know, maybe the bruise is just coming to the surface. Or maybe today was the first time I got away from the yellow-tinted bulbs in my room and stood close enough to a sunlit window to notice it. Either way, it’s gross.

And it’s still difficult to stand up.

I know this will be the case for a while. This afternoon I went through my physical rehab exercises twice, and they’re quickly becoming part of my routine. (Who am I kidding? I don’t have a routine.) Anyway, I really don’t intend this blog to become The All About My Knee Report, but this is still fresh and has a lot of my emotional attention.

Like, all of it.

Earlier after finishing the Amazon Prime series Sneaky Pete (Season 2), I started to take a shower and do my final set of exercises. But then I figured that would put me blogging as the new year begins, and for whatever reason, I’d rather be doing something else. Granted, I do enjoy this–writing, blogging–most the time. But today marks one year and nine months of daily blogging (I started March 31, 2017), so I’m not even going to pretend that this isn’t work, sitting down every day, every damn day, and hacking away at the keyboard, soul-searching.

Come out, come out, wherever I am.

Since it’s been one year and nine months since I started this thing, today does indeed feel like a milestone worthy of fireworks. This project is something I’m profoundly proud of. Mostly because of how it’s changed me. Seriously, I could do without all the “first day of the new year” fanfare, but the fact that today is three months shy of two years of straight (well, continuous) blogging, that’s a big deal for me. In this light, I’m reminded that the things in our lives that impact us the most rarely happen at the stroke of midnight. Rather, they are the things we show up to and sit with day after day after day. So whether it’s this blog or my knee rehab, I’m telling myself that all I have to do is keep showing up in order to get the results I want.

Somehow, The Mystery will work its magic.

Now it’s 10:33 PM, and chances are if I finish this up and get right to the shower, I’ll either be doing my rehab exercises or brushing my teeth as 2018 comes to a close. And whereas I know I just said I don’t make a big deal out of these moments, clearly a part of me does. A part of me wishes I were at some lovely party, holding hands with my dear one. But that’s simply not the case this year, and I don’t have a dear one anyway. The last time I did on new year’s, we were at home hanging tile and–as I recall–fighting. We were always fighting, so surely we were that night too. Anyway, I’ll take rehab exercises or my toothbrush over that hell any day.

Everything’s relative.

As The Final Hour closes in, I’m glad that I’m alone. If this project has taught me anything, it’s that–at least most the time–I’m my own best company. I mean, I’m pretty funny. But seriously, I’ve learned that even when my feelings aren’t comfortable, I can sit with them, I can listen to them, and we can figure things out. Plus, I’m hoping for some wonderful things this coming year, so good that I have this time to reflect on what those things are and what my “next steps” could be. What are those things that I want to start or keep showing up to? What are those things I need to STOP showing up to? Yes, I’m starting this year on the right foot. I have to.

My left one doesn’t work anyway.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

"

On Looking for Silver Linings (Blog #640)

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It’s day four after knee surgery, and–believe it or not–I’m walking. Well, sort of. Sometimes it looks like walking, sometimes it looks like lurching. Still, for the most part, I’m not using a walker or crutches. The doctor said I could get around without them after I could do twenty to thirty straight-leg lifts without assistance. And whereas he said most people could do that seven days after surgery, I’ve been doing that since yesterday (day three). So basically I’m a rock star.

No autographs, please.

I’m making jokes, but personally, I’m not celebrating my slightly ahead-of-schedule recovery because this isn’t fun and this isn’t pretty. Seriously, walking to the refrigerator shouldn’t require every ounce of willpower a person has and three Hail Marys. I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing–sometimes I feel really solid, and other times I feel like I’m putting my weight down on a piece of boiled spaghetti. (Whoa!) Then there’s the pain. The vast majority of the time, it’s not that bad. But if I’ve been in bed or had my leg propped up on the couch for a while and then stand up, well, that makes me want to cuss. And usually I do.

But then I give it a minute, and the pain goes away.

For the last few days, I’ve survived on only Tylenol. Sometimes Ibuprofen. Granted, I’m glad to have the prescription heavy hitters if I need them, but they sort of made me loopy, and I’ve heard they can make you constipated. (Like I’m not already full of shit.) But really, I don’t need anything else to go wrong.

God, I need something to go right.

It’s simply one of those days. Fuck, it’s one of those years. Hard, difficult, and kick-you-in-your-gut challenging. And I’m tired of it. I’ve said this before, but I cry uncle. Go pick on someone else, universe. Earlier I saw one of those stupid, feel-good memes with a picture of a daisy that said, “When everything seems dark, maybe you haven’t been buried; maybe you’ve been PLANTED. Bloom!” I seriously wanted to barf. If you ever come to me when you’re in the midst of The Dark Night of the Soul, and I look at you and not only compare you to a flower but also suggest that you immediately spring forth and open up your petals for me (and no, that’s not a sexual reference), you have my permission to punch me in the ass.

It’s not that I don’t see all the silver linings in this situation. I’m making progress every day. I’m supported by a lot of people. I have good friends. And despite the fact that this last year has been filled with health challenges, I’ve made headway on a number of fronts. But here’s the deal. I’m TIRED of looking for silver linings. I’m tired of waking up every day (almost every day) and staring at clouds. I need a sunny day. I need a string of sunny days.

Uncle.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

"

Grasping for Door Knobs (Blog #639)

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Last night I slept badly again–tossed and turned, had weird dreams, woke up with a headache. When I finally stumbled out of bed and used my walker to make my way into the living room this morning and my dad asked how I was, I said not so great. “Still,” I said, “I’m going to have an attitude of gratitude.” Then, since we both speak sarcasm, we laughed, and I ate chocolate cake for breakfast while I propped my injured leg up on the coffee table to help straighten it out. Honestly, this is the most painful thing I do–try to fully straighten or fully bend my knee. And whereas I’m making progress, it’s slight.

A little bit here, a little bit there.

After breakfast I did my first set of rehab exercises for the day, then iced my leg. Then I read, took a nap, ate a snack, and did the exercises/ice thing again. Then I ate dinner, and now I’m blogging while drinking a chocolate shake, which I’m assuming is what my post-operation directions had in mind when they told me to “eat nutritious foods because they help you heal.” After this, it’ll be the exercises/ice thing again, then back to bed for HOPEFULLY a good night’s rest.

Clearly, my days after surgery are revolving around physical therapy and ice packs, and I hate that. I hate that a month ago it was easy to get in and out of bed, in and out of a chair, and in and out of shower, and now I have to think like MacGyver to do any of those things. I hate that everything from getting a Q-Tip to changing my underwear now has to be “thought out.” Last night during The Great Sleep Disaster of 2018, I woke up at four in the morning sweating; my shirt was soaked. Not like I had a fever, but it was definitely damp. Anyway, I got up to change shirts, and despite the fact that my closet is only five feet from the end of my bed, I had to think about things. What am I going to hold on to? What am I going to lean against?

I think it’s the leaning against thing that pisses me off the most. I guess it’d be more accurate to say “that I have the hardest time accepting.” For so long I’ve done everything on my own. Easily flitted from here to there. And now I’m finding myself in countless awkward positions–hopping on one leg, using crutches, grasping for door knobs–just to change a shirt. Byron Katie says that we’re always supported. By life or whatever. Like, if you’re sitting in a chair, the chair’s holding you, and the ground’s holding the chair. And if you trip and fall, well, there’s the ground again, holding you. Most people, of course, would be mad about the trip, but her point (I think) is that in this moment–right here, right now–the trip is over.

From this perspective, I can’t do anything about that dance accident I had four weeks ago. It’s over. But I can recognize that I’m currently in a warm bed and my leg is resting on a pillow. Supported. And I can try–try–to be grateful for my one good leg, for crutches, and for door knobs. For anything I need to lean against.

Since it’s day three after surgery and my directions said I could, this evening (after dinner) I removed the gauze and bandages around my knee. Ugh. There was a lot of dried blood. Also, there were staples, which I wasn’t completely prepared for. You know, sometimes they do things laparoscopically. And whereas there were two such incision points, there were also two “cuts,” one with five staples, and one with twelve. (Prepare yourself, since I’m going to post a picture.) Honestly, I can’t figure out how I feel about these incisions. I mean, I’m grateful that I’ve been repaired, but my knee looks like the side of Frankenstein’s face. I don’t know, I guess it’s the finality of the whole thing. This really happened. I’m going to have a scar.

All things considered, it could be worse. After I took the bandages off, I carefully navigated my way into the bathtub and cleaned up for the first time in four days. Phew, did that feel good. Also, it was exhausting, getting in and out of the tub. Seriously, this is a lot of emotional back and forth–feeling grateful, feeling pissed. But this is life. It’s never just one thing.

Whenever I finish blogging, I’m going to cover my staples with bandages as instructed. However, for now, my view is essentially your view in the picture. 17 shiny staples staring back at me. Earlier today while trying to climb into bed, my left knee gave out–er, faltered–and I fell back into the bed. Now I see why. It’s been though a lot. But this has happened a few times, when all my strength wasn’t there, and I’ve had to catch myself. My point is, there’s always that uncertainty–Am I going to be able to hold myself up? This is something I thought a lot about during the night last night, the applicable metaphors regarding this injury. Because these are some of my greatest fears–Can I walk tall and move confidently forward in the world? Can I support myself?

A few times since starting tonight’s blog, I’ve reached down with my left hand to simply feel my knee. Physically, it’s a little swollen, tender, and–um–leaky. (That’s gross, I know, but this is real life and facts are facts.) When I put my hand on my knee, I can’t help but cry. It’s like I’m putting my hand on the shoulder of a dear friend who feels sad and tired. Oh so tired. Like it’s been though a lot, and not just this last month. At the same time, it feels willing to heal, willing to try again, willing to support me like it has for all these years, despite my never having given it any credit for all its hard work until now. It seems to say, We’ve got this. Be patient. Grasping for door knobs is only temporary. I hope this makes sense. More and more, I really do believe our bodies are trying to communicate with us.

More and more, I’m trying to listen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

Anything but Unremarkable (Blog #638)

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It’s day two after knee surgery, and last night I slept for shit. At five in the morning, I woke up with a headache, I guess because I’m having to sleep in an awkward/unfamiliar position to baby my leg. Anyway, it’s the weirdest thing when you wake up in pain and can’t easily move to do anything about it. First you lie there hoping it will go away. Then you slowly wake up, realize the pain’s not going anyway, and try to formulate a plan–because when you’re knee doesn’t work, everything including getting out of bed, going the bathroom, and taking a Tylenol requires a strategy. But I did it–got up, used the bathroom, popped some pills, and went back to bed.

All by myself.

Today itself has been unremarkable. This afternoon I got a package in the mail–some herbs I ordered on Amazon–and the package was empty. No kidding; not a damn thing was inside. Go figure. Anyway, that’s how the day’s felt–blah. I haven’t taken any high-grade pain medicine since last night. The good news is I’m not hurting. The bad news is I’m uncomfortable. That’s the best way I can describe it. Like I want to jump out of my skin. Plus, my throat is scratchy from the breathing tube the anesthesiologist used, and I haven’t showered in three days (I can’t until tomorrow). I smell gross, I feel gross, I have gross all over me.

Ick.

So far I’ve done my rehab exercises five times–three times yesterday, two today. Three times a day is what’s “required.” By the time I get myself down on the floor, curse my way through the exercises, and stop a few times for breaks, each session takes about an hour. This seems like a long time, but–hell–what else am I doing? Getting better, I’m telling myself, is now my full-time job.

The exciting thing–if that’s the right word–about doing the exercises is that I can already see progress. Like, how my knee can bend a little bit more (with encouragement) or how I can lift my leg off the ground more easily (without having to wrap a towel around my foot and pull it up). Also, I’ve been scooting around the house using a walker rather than crutches, and that’s helping me practice picking up my left leg, putting a little weight on it, and going through the motions of walking. I assume this is how progress is going to come–a little at a time–so I’m trying to embrace the process.

Woo.

This afternoon I read a book for about an hour, which means my concentration is returning. That was a thing for a minute, not being able to concentrate, either because of the anesthesia or the pain medicine. However, after reading, despite the fact that I’d only been up a few hours, I took a two-hour nap. So that’s still a thing, being easily worn out and needing to rest.

Okay, I’m frustrated. Anyway I look at it, this is simply a pain in my ass. Well, my knee, which is possibly worse. Do you know how hard it is to walk to the kitchen for a piece of chocolate cake or sit on a toilet seat when your knee doesn’t work? As I said yesterday, I’m over it. However, while doing my rehab exercises, I listened to a lecture by Caroline Myss and was reminded that each of us wields a great amount of power that not only affects our own personal lives, but also the lives of others. This power, she says, starts with the thoughts we think, which are indeed acts of creation. And since one thought leads to another (and another and another), she suggests imagining the potential different outcomes that could arise from waking up and saying, “Today is a good day,” versus saying, “Today is a disaster.”

So despite today’s challenges and frustrations, I’m choosing to say, “Today is a good day,” anything but unremarkable, a day for a progress, a day for healing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

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I’m Over This (Blog #637)

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Yesterday I had surgery on my left knee to reconstruct my ACL. My dad drove me. Arriving at the surgery center, I was immediately stripped of my dignity. That is, my clothes. “You can leave your underwear on,” the nurse said (the same way my last date did), as she handed me a gown to wear. Later I told my friend Bonnie, “Those things are so unflattering.” Her response: “You’re so gay.”

For the last few weeks I’ve been fighting a skin rash, so in addition to a change of clothes and my wallet, I loaded up my “surgery backpack” with various creams. Anyway, before surgery, I told the nurse I needed to use the restroom, and when she pointed me in the right direction, I grabbed my bag so I could take care of business. “DO YOU NEED YOUR BAG?” she said. I guess she thought I was gonna take a swig of whiskey or snort a line of coke in the john. Not bothering to explain myself, I said, “Yep!” and kept walking.

When I got back from the restroom, the nurse shaved my knee and hooked me up to an IV, which was used to pump me full of saline and antibiotics. Then the anesthesiologist came to explain about putting me under and the option of giving me a nerve block, which is sort of like an epidural, to numb pain.

“I want it all,” I said.

The surgery itself went well. When I woke up in recovery I was in a fancy brace, which the doctor said was mainly for my comfort. “Take it off if you like,” he said. “You’re not gonna pull anything loose.” Ugh. My surgeon is real aggressive. Those are his words. I got the day off yesterday, but at-home rehab exercises started today. So far I’ve done them once (out of three times). And whereas they weren’t fun, they weren’t as painful or as difficult as I thought they’d be.

That being said, I am on drugs, and I can tell when they start to wear off. The nerve block definitely has. But whatever I’m taking keeps me groggy and–when I’m standing–nauseated. I’m sure the nauseated part has something to do with the anesthesia and pain, the consequence of my knee having been cut into like the piece of chicken I just ate for dinner.

Mostly, I’m hanging out in a chair or resting in bed. Changing positions, going to the bathroom, and walking on crutches is awkward. My neck is sore. My sister, brother-in-law, and their kids are sick with cold/stomach stuff, so that terrifies me, being surrounded by germs. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about it. Just because they’re sick doesn’t mean I have to be. But it’s not like the universe hasn’t kicked me when I’ve been down before.

We’ll see what happens.

Okay, I’m over this. The knee injury, of course, but especially the writing. Between the pain and the drugs, it’s difficult to concentrate. I keep thinking I’ll spend the day reading it watching TV, but I can’t focus and end up nodding off. So I’m shutting this down and going to grunt through my exercises again.

You can do this, Marcus. You can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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