On Being In Process (Blog #775)

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This morning I went to therapy. When talking about something in her personal life she’s working on, my therapist said, “I can see it’s going to be a process. I’m just so impatient.” So this is a universal experience, wanting things to happen faster than they do. At least me and my therapist feel this way. Still, I’m learning to trust life’s pace. Recently I’ve been learning things about thoughts, emotions, and the physical body and have thought, It sure would have been nice to have known this twenty years ago! But would it have? I can’t say with any assurance that I would have even been ready for the knowledge (or experience) then.

Lately I’ve written a lot about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/spiritual perspective that proposes that our minds aren’t unified, but rather “multiple.” The idea is that we have many sub-personalities instead of one big one. This explains why one “part” of you, say, wants to eat cake and another “part” of you wants to go to the gym. Anyway, I’ve been all about this theory and listened to an audio program about it today. But apparently–I’d forgotten–I first read about Internal Family Systems several years ago in a book about trauma (which is excellent) called The Body Keeps the Score. Then I just skimmed over it, yet now I’m blabbing about it on the internet. All I can say is that I must not have been ready then. Now I am.

In other words, it wasn’t time.

I don’t know why things happen when they do. I mean, that’s a big question people have been asking for centuries, and I don’t intend to solve it tonight. That being said, earlier this evening I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s about to be married (to each other), and I know that as a teacher I go in a particular order for a particular reason. There’s a saying that when the student is ready, the teacher appears, and it’s basically the same in dance. When the student is ready, the step will be taught. Anyway, I can only assume that God, life, or the universe educates all of us in the same manner. That is, when it’s time, it’s time.

Why? Because it’s time.

This afternoon I met with my physical therapist and was given a number of new exercises to rehab my left knee, which I had surgery on over four months ago. One of the exercises was jumping on one leg (the one I had surgery on). Y’all, this was anything but pretty. You think you know how to hop. Like, in your mind it goes well. But in your physical body, not so much. My therapist said, “Right now you can barely jump over a sheet of paper.” But then he added, “Don’t worry. It will get better.” Later when I was trying to balance on one leg (the one I had surgery on) and bend over at the same time, it was the same deal. I was shaky, unstable. My foot cramped. Still, my therapist seemed unconcerned. “Don’t worry. It will get better.”

My surgeon has said that it will take a full year to get my strength back. Until then, maybe even after, it’s just going to be a challenge–to stand one one leg, to hop, to go down stairs. Once again, we’re back to things being a process. We’re back to being patient. One (dance) step at a time. This afternoon I had a few spare hours, and The Learner in me really wanted to read. But the rest of me was physically exhausted, so I took a nap. You do what you have to do. They’ll be time for learning later. Or I guess you could say that I did learn something–how to rest and better take care of myself.

Besides, you can’t do everything in one day.

Recently I read that everything in the universe is moving. Even solid objects, though they appear stable, are made up of vibrating atoms. Even if this weren’t the case with, say, your coffee table, it’s still hurtling through space at a (literally) astronomical speed. The point is that nothing in life stands still. Everything has been, is, and forever will be “in process.” Sure, one day I’ll be able to say that I can hop on one leg, but then there will be some other goal to focus on, some other thing I’d like to do with my new, fan-dangled knee. One day I’ll be able to say I’m “done” with the book I’m currently reading, but then there will be another book and another. And even with books I’ve “finished,” the ideas in them will still be with me, most likely growing and changing into other ideas. One thing leads to the next. Nothing is ever truly done.

Patience, it seems, is accepting this fact, accepting life as it is right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

"

 

Hopscotch (Blog #747)

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Today’s things–

1. I hopped

This morning I got up early to go to physical therapy. Normally I go in the afternoon, but today I had conflicts. (Don’t we all?) When I saw my knee surgeon last week, he said I could start jumping, so today my therapist said, “Let’s get to it.” Oh my gosh, y’all, talk about scary. The task was to jump over a little line of tape on the floor–forward, back, forward, back–but the thought of doing so was terrifying. I simply wasn’t sure my body could do it. But then, just like that, it did. I did. After I did it several more times, my physical therapist gave me a thumbs up. A thumbs up! Maybe in another week or two, I can win a hopscotch contest.

You know, against an eight-year-old.

2. I cried

Later this morning I saw my therapist, and when I told her I’d recently cried while going through some exercises in a self-help book (and cried some more while telling her about me crying), she told me to keep that shit up. “I remember when you never cried,” she said “and since there were plenty of times in your life when you should have, you owe back taxes.” Emotional back taxes. Ugh. This is a thing. Deal with your emotions now, or deal with them later. Not that this is easy to do, to feel your feelings. It’s not. I hate it. I’d much rather eat chocolate and usually do. Still, the benefit I feel every time I have an emotional release far outweighs the fuss I put up about not wanting to have one. So I try to stay open to my emotions. I say “try to stay open” because although I’m great at shoving down my emotions, I’ve never been able to purposefully make them come up. They either do or they don’t.

3. I got irritated

This afternoon I saw someone new at my chiropractor’s office who gave me some exercises to help my right shoulder, which has been bothering me. And whereas the person was helpful and kind, I found myself being annoyed by them. Maybe this is because they felt like chatting (“Where do you go to church? Do you have kids?”), and I didn’t (I’d just left therapy and had been crying). Plus, we’d just met. Some boundaries please.

4. I got un-irritated

Later I had a dental appointment (today I had a lot of appointments), and as much as I was irritated with the person at my chiropractor’s office, I was delighted with my dental hygienist. Granted, she’s cleaned my teeth before and we have a rapport, but she was the perfect mix of professional and friendly. Plus she was funny. Funny always helps. My therapist says humor really can be the most healing thing. She must be right–I left the dentist’s office with not only no cavities, but also with a better mood.

5. I helped pick out colors

This evening I helped my friend Bonnie pick out possible colors to paint her house, which is currently being remodeled in order to sell. It took forever, but we finally came up with several options that would compliment not only each other, but also what’s already there. Several times I thought, We’re getting nowhere, but then it happened. “What about THAT ONE?” one of us said, and we were off to the races.

Healing, I’m finding, is like this. You spend a lot of time thinking that none of your efforts are working. Your emotions are all over the place, like hopscotch. You can’t see how everything, how you, fit together. And yet it does. You do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

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On Swerving (Blog #733)

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It’s five-thirty in the evening, and I’m house sitting/dog sitting for a friend who lives slightly off the beaten path. It’s gorgeous here–quiet, peaceful. When I arrived over an hour ago, I was still in GO mode. I thought, I need to DO something, so I unpacked, made sure I knew where to find the dog food. But then I thought, Shit, I’m free. I can relax. So I turned on my music, poured a cup of hot tea, and moved my ass to the front porch. Thats’ where I am now. The sun is going down. There’s a slight breeze. There’s less tension than before.

This morning I saw my therapist. She’s just about the only person I’d wake up before noon for. To start our session, I read her blog #730, which I wrote this last Saturday and was the final blog for year number two of Me and My Therapist. In short, it’s about my beginning to own my strengths, give myself credit, and go easier on myself. My therapist acknowledged my progress. “It’s like your learning to ride a bike,” she said. “You’re up for sure, just swerving a little, finding your balance.” Yes, finding my balance.

I can do this.

This afternoon I saw my physical therapist. I use that as a generic term, since there are several therapists who work together in the office I go to, and they all switch off. It’s like tag-team healing. Anyway, today I got a new girl, an intern. I guess she’s currently in physical therapy school and will graduate next month. And whereas I’ve been impressed with the other therapists I’ve worked with since having knee surgery last December, I was completely impressed with her. Y’all, she was a total hard ass, constantly correcting my form and making me do things the correct way. “I’m picky,” she said, half apologizing. (Sorry, not sorry.) “It’s okay,” I said, thinking of how absolutely picky I can be with my dance students. “I need to do this right, so I can do what I want to do later.”

One of the things she corrected was how I both climb and descend stairs using my left leg (the injured one). As it turns out, in both cases, I was using my right leg A LOT to compensate without realizing it. This, of course, has been creating imbalances and keeping my left leg weak. No more of that. “I’d rather you not use that leg when going up or down stairs than use it and do it wrong,” she said. So now I have homework, which includes some new stretches to loosen up my quads and an exercise where I have to get myself out of a chair using only mostly my left leg (without pushing with my right leg or my arms–much). You should see me try this.

It’s that swerving thing again.

Honestly, despite the fact that I’m glad this girl was picky, this news about my doing things wrong for the last three months was frustrating. Why didn’t someone tell me sooner? My therapist says, unfortunately, a lot of people “phone it in” at work. Maybe they got lazy. Or maybe they didn’t have the knowledge. But you’d think they should have the knowledge, considering what they charge. What the hell ever, at least I know now. We press on.

The visible mirrors the invisible.

It seems that in both my internal and external lives, I’m serving, working to find balance. Funny how the visible mirrors the invisible. I imagine this is often the case, that our bodies and even the entire universe conspire to heal us, to keep us from swerving all over the road of life and find that sweet, steady, balanced spot that feels like home. And perhaps swerving and even falling down now and then are necessary. After all, life’s road is anything but smooth. We’re bound to hit some bumps along the way. And surely these bumps create contrast and remind us that we can rebuild ourselves, that we can fall down and stand back up again stronger, freer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

"

An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

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I know I keep going back and forth on this topic, but after a week of sinus infection ups and downs, I woke up dramatically better this morning. Actually, as it they are wont to do, my sinuses improved in the middle of the night. That is, I received a sudden jolt of energy just as I was going to bed, so I lay wide-awake for three hours, just twiddling my thumbs. Later when I told my dad about this he said, “You could have gotten up and cleaned the house.”

“Well, I might have woken you up,” I said.

“Oh, don’t ever worry about that,” he replied.

I think I finally fell asleep about four, which means I got about four hours of sleep, since my alarm went off at eight. And whereas I’d normally be ever-not-so happy about my lack of rest, it hasn’t bothered me today because my health has been so much better than it was yesterday. Seriously, I still can’t get over how quickly the body can turn something around when it either has a mind to or gets the right support (or both). I’ve been in the best mood all day. Even my other health concerns (which, on the grand scale of things, aren’t that concerning) haven’t brought me down today. I have too much hope that they too will–one day–disappear.

Our imperfections make us relatable.

Today really has been the best day. This morning I saw my therapist, and she’s always encouraging (it’s kind of her gig) and makes me laugh. Why somebody wouldn’t want this type of relationship, I’ll never know. Talk about a shot in the arm. Later this week marks five years since my first appointment with my therapist, and I’m eternally grateful for the path my life has taken since that fateful day. Anyway, to “celebrate,” I read my therapist a post I wrote last year called “Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful,” in which I talked about–in part–the fact that my therapist is a normal damn human being like anyone else. My therapist said this was important, for me (or any client) to recognize that she’s a flawed person. “But that doesn’t mean healing can’t happen,” she said. “In fact, it means I can better understand and help someone else–because I’ve been there.” This is huge, that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. Indeed, our imperfections make us relatable.

One of the things I mentioned in that previous post is that–I think–my therapist and I are a good match. Again, my therapist said this was important. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said. “I offend a lot of people.” (This next part is simply for your consideration.) Then she said, “Well, I don’t really offend them; they offend themselves. They choose to be offended.”

Before she’s said, “People choose their reactions.”

One of the big topics my therapist and I have circled back to over and over these last five years is abundance. Or, if you want to look at the other side of the coin, scarcity. That’s my problem, apparently, is that I often want to (or have a least had a lot of practice at) looking at the scarcity side of the coin. That is, I’m plagued with feelings of I’m not enough, my knowledge and abilities aren’t enough, there’s not enough money, and the world’s not enough (to support me). Well, today my therapist said this was IRONIC, one of the universe’s little ha-ha’s, since I actually have an ABUNDANCE of talent, even if I don’t always recognize it. It reminded me of that story of the guy who searched the world over for riches and eventually discovered one of the world’s largest diamond mines on his own property. Like, Whoops, I forgot to look right here. So I’m going to keep working at recognizing those places in my life where good is overflowing this very moment.

The last two things I’m sharing from today’s therapy session are just for fun. First, at one point my therapist referred to someone as “gayer than a Judy Garland matinée.” I almost fell out of my chair. Then later when she mentioned a(n apparently fabulous) song called Carry On by Martha Wash and I said I hadn’t heard of it, she said, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your homosexual card revoked.” Then she paused and added, “But don’t worry; I won’t report you to the gay mafia.” Is that hilarious or what? A Judy Garland matinée. The gay mafia.

The rest of the day has been just as delightful. This afternoon I had physical therapy, and I continue to be (abundantly) taken care of and see (abundant) progress. Then I spent this evening with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and we ate (an abundance of) ice cream. But we also walked a(n abundantly) long distance to get it, so I figure it all evened out. (Balance is important.) Now it’s eleven at night, and I’m ready to call it a(n abundantly good) day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

"

Boys, Frosting, Food, and Clothing (Blog #705)

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Today has been fabulous and makes me glad to be alive. I can’t say why it’s been fabulous exactly, but I’ll try. This morning I woke up early, like eight-thirty, and began the day in quiet and solitude. This suites my personality, a slow, hushed start and a healthy breakfast. The menu today: scrambled eggs with turkey, spinach, and green onions; a side of pineapple; and hot lungwort tea. Lungwort’s supposed to be good for your lungs and decreasing mucus. Personally, I just like the way it sounds–lungwort. It’s so–medieval. I feel like a wizard every time I say it.

The reason I got up early was to see my therapists. Yes, I have more than one. It takes a village. First I saw my mental health therapist, the one this blog is named in honor of, my shrink. A few months ago I had a dream about a giant snake in a swamp, and recently I had another dream about a giant snake on land. The second snake tried to bite me, and I was terrified but ended up controlling it. When I told my therapist about these dreams, she said, “What do you think of snakes?” I said, “I think they’re strong and powerful.” Then she said, “Then that’s you. You’re the snake–you’re strong and powerful,” which made me want to cry. Weird how we don’t want to recognize our own best qualities, how we’re afraid of ourselves.

My therapist and I also talked about my future. I’ve been thinking lately I should get into an additional writing routine, force myself into a chair and bang my head against the table until a book falls out. My therapist, however, suggested that I don’t do anything until we talk again. “Reduce yourself,” she said. “Give yourself a break.” Then she added, “In the meantime, think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing.” So that’s what I did the rest of the day. First I ate a cream cheese bagel, then (after physical therapy) went shopping for clothes. And whereas I didn’t buy anything, I had a wonderful time looking. Well wait, I bought a new tape measure at the hardware store because my old tape measure broke recently. Anyway, the point is that I did NOT think about my future, even while I was eating a brownie tonight.

I’d like to emphasize I only ate the brownie because, well, doctor’s order’s, and I try to be a good patient.

At physical therapy, I got to jog (on a treadmill) for the first time since my knee injury and subsequent surgery. Well, okay, it was more like a fast walk (3.3 miles per hour), but it mimicked a jog. My physical therapist said this was the point, to simply get the motion. “It feels awkward,” I said. “That’s normal,” he said. Likewise, when I said that the hardest exercise I do is lowering myself down onto a step, he said, “That’s the last thing to come back. It just takes time.” Still, despite this fact, I see a lot of progress. Today I broke a sweat balancing on a Bosu ball, but the balancing was easier than two weeks ago; I didn’t have to use the bar in front of me to keep from falling over.

And did I mention I’m jogging!

While driving around today, I listened to a podcast about willpower. The speaker, Kate Galliett, said that willpower is depleted 1) by our feeling overwhelmed and 2) by our making a lot of decisions. That is, if you have to make a hundred choices at work during the day, in the evening you’re probably not going to have the mental reserves required for eating broccoli instead of cake, unless broccoli is already a habit for you. If it’s not, you’ll say, “Fuck it, I’m too tired” and reach for the red velvet. What I found most interesting, however, was that Kate said ANY decision you make depletes your willpower–including what statuses to like or not like on social media. Or what clothes you’re going to wear every day. This is why Steve Jobs had a uniform (or why you might want to set out your clothes the night before). Think about it–if you can only make so many decisions each day, why not save them for what’s important–your job, your health, your relationships.

Not necessarily in that order.

Honestly, I’m not sure why my therapist wanted me to “reduce myself” for a bit in terms of my writing routine and rather think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing. But my guess is that she knows I tend to wear myself out and thinks it would be wise to first sit down and get clear about what’s really important and what I want to accomplish. Because I do use my willpower a lot–to write this blog every day, to rehab my knee, to read a hundred books, to do half a dozen things I don’t always talk about here. And the podcast I listened to was right–willpower is a limited resource. Granted, it can replenish itself, but not if you keep pushing, pushing, pushing. At some point, you’ve got to chill out. You’ve got to give yourself a break.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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On Seeing More Light (Blog #694)

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Today has been delightful. That’s two delightful days this week. Actually, come to think of it, I’m enjoying life more lately. For one thing, my leg’s been improving. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. I can see more light, period, now. Spring is in four weeks, and before that, daylight savings. Plus, I feel better. After surgery I was definitely depressed, and I feel lighter now, more like myself. I have more energy. Plus, whether it’s my new diet (which my friend Bonnie recently referred to as Lazy Paleo because I make plenty of exceptions), some new supplements I started, or the fact that I’m exercising frequently, I have less gunk in my system. Normally I wake up with a snotty nose (just call me Marcus Mucus), but the last two days my sinuses have been clean as a whistle.

I’m glad we can talk about this.

This afternoon I had a lovely physical therapy appointment. It was lovely for two reasons. First, my therapist added new exercises, some balance things that really challenged me and caused me to break out in a sweat. This actually felt good, since I’ve been largely immobile for almost three months. Second, my therapist was kind and encouraging. “Good form. You’re really doing well, “he said. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Ugh, it really does make the biggest difference when someone’s–I don’t know–friendly.

At therapy while my leg was being iced, I started a book Bonnie gave me called Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs, a nonfiction story about the author’s quest to be perfectly healthy in every way. Oh my gosh, y’all, I’m only a few chapters in (I kept reading after therapy when I went to lunch), but it’s hilarious. Not only is the author an entertaining writer, but I can see much of myself in his behaviors. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I’ve tried so many diets, relaxation techniques, and exercises programs it’s not even funny. (Well, it’s a little bit funny.) And whereas I often approach lifestyle changes with an all-or-nothing attitude, I’m learning that moderation still provides results. For example, I’ve been doing Lazy Paleo for almost a month now and can already tell a difference. Not that I’ve lost a ton of weight (a few pounds on a good day), but my body feels better, more vibrant.

This is no small thing.

This evening I drove to Springfield, Missouri, where I am now. I came up for a dance tomorrow and am staying with my friends Anne and Andy. On the way here I listened to a podcast that talked about the benefits of cold exposure–keeping your thermostat set on 62 in the winter, going outside with fewer layers on, taking a cold shower (even for a few moments). This idea is that our bodies need to be challenged, and one way we can work out our cardiovascular systems is by exposing them to a wider range of temperatures. This actually makes sense to me, that we can exercise our blood vessels and capillaries like muscles. So although I still hate winter (I hate winter), I’m now considering hating it less, since the cold apparently has its benefits.

There I said it.

I’ve talked a lot recently about my skin allergies, about how I’ve had to buy special soaps and shampoos because my skin reacts to several common household ingredients. This all started when I had a huge flare-up last year when my parents changed their laundry soap. Anyway, when I got to Anne and Andy’s, Anne said, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t wash the sheets on your bed in cage-free, free-range detergent.” Oh my gosh, is that great or what? I couldn’t stop laughing, both at Anne’s cleverness and the fact that I’m now officially one of those people.

Also, I should say–thankfully–my skin’s not THAT picky.

Now it’s after midnight. Earlier Anne and Andy and I went out to eat, and I’ve been blogging and sipping hot tea since we got back. Well, cold tea because I apparently don’t sip fast enough. Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I won’t be able to dance much tomorrow night, but I’m excited about seeing my friends, hearing some good music, and simply being on a dance floor. My physical therapist said I’ll be cleared to do some light jogging at my next appointment (in two weeks), so the milestones (running, jumping, dancing) are in sight. Yes, I can see more light now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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A Reprieve (Blog #678)

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Well shit. After six weeks of rehab-ing my knee two to three times a day, which I was told to do, I was given a reprieve today. I’ll explain. This afternoon I had an appointment with my surgeon, who said my range of motion looked great. Then he said the swelling in my knee (oh, there’s swelling in my knee) was probably due to overuse. “Most people rehab a day, then take a day off,” he said. “I’m officially giving you permission to rest. It’ll take all of six months for your strength to come back, so don’t rush.”

Afterwards I met with my physical therapist, who confirmed, “Yeah, if you come here, you don’t need to do anything else for the rest of the day.” Ugh. That’s not what was said in the beginning. “Do your exercises two or three times a day.” So much for living in the golden age of communication. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to be able to chill out. These exercises have been taking up two to three hours every day, and now I get to back off to about one hour every other day. Plus, instead of going to physical therapy twice a week, now I’ll only be going once a week or once every other week.

Here’s to sleeping in and saving gas money.

Since leaving the doctor’s and physical therapist’s, I’ve been in a mild state of shock. As a former straight-A student, I’m so used to giving a hundred and ten percent all the time. Work, work work. Push, push, push. What’s more, unfortunately, I’m used to giving, giving, giving, and it never being enough. If this sounds like a recipe for exhaustion and constant frustration and disappointment, it is. But these last few years I’ve been learning (slowly) that you don’t have to go balls-to-the-wall every minute of every day in order to get good results, and today was another reminder of this.

A slow and steady effort will do.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, my first since injuring my knee over two months ago and having surgery six weeks ago today. Y’all, it was the perfect thing, this darling engaged couple getting ready for their first dance. This meant I didn’t have to spend an hour dancing with someone and could limit my movements to demonstrations. And since they weren’t advanced, I didn’t have to turn or spin, which I’m not allowed to do anyway. I can’t say how much fun I had. Not only did I enjoy teaching, but the lesson got me out of the house and took my mind off my problems. Well, one problem in particular. Ugh, this is so important, having something worthwhile to focus on.

Tonight, for the third night in a row, my dad and I went to the gym together. And since I was given a reprieve from leg exercises for a couple days, I worked on my upper body. I’ve been studying some muscle-balancing exercises online, so my plan is to try a new thing or two each time I work out. I figure I’ve set aside time every day to focus on my body, so I might as well keep it up. But you know, not go too fast. This is really a big lesson for me, that I don’t have to overachieve all the damn time, that a smaller amount of effort, applied consistently, will get the job done.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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Pancakes and a Secret Handshake (Blog #665)

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It’s ten at night, and I have a headache. A few hours ago I took a nap hoping it would go away, but it didn’t. Instead, it got worse. I hate that–and the fact that whenever I don’t feel well I scare the shit out of myself imagining what could be wrong. Once I had a boyfriend who gave me a diagnostic health book that always gave the worst case scenario as the answer to any given problem. Like, oh, your stomach’s upset? It’s cancer. Or, your foot hurts? It’s gangrene. And whereas I thought the gift was cute, I threw it away after we broke up. First, I didn’t need the reminder. Second, no hypochondriac with a headache should ever allow themselves daily access to such a book.

Or the internet.

This afternoon I saw my friend Bekah, who cuts my hair. (I went for a trim.) When we talked about my recent knee surgery, Bekah said that she’s had three–on the same knee–then added, “Welcome to the club of I Can’t Believe This Is My Fucking Life.” Is that great or what? I told her it would be my quote of the day. But seriously, I’m glad to know there’s a club. I’ve always wanted to be in one. With any luck, next I’ll find out we have regularly scheduled pancake breakfasts (in the afternoon, of course) or maybe even a secret handshake.

Pancakes and a secret handshake would be the best!

I don’t know what to blog about today. Getting my hair cut was my “big thing” for the day, other than going to two health food stores in search of non-ultra-pasteurized milk. And whereas the first one said they didn’t have it but could special order it, or I could be one of those people and get raw milk from a local farm (“Their number is on that bulletin board,” the lady said, “but you’ll have to bring my own container”), the second one did. Thank God, after my experience at the first store, I was really starting to worry that I’d have to turn my life upside down to get a half-gallon of non-ultra-pasteurized milk. Instead, I just had to turn my wallet upside down. It cost $6.39!

That’s nearly $13.00 a gallon.

This super expensive magic milk, which as I understand it is simply–milk, is for a fermenting project one of my friends is helping me with tomorrow. We’re going to make our own kefir. Well, we’re going to make my own kefir, since my friend already has theirs. That’s apparently the deal, in order to make your own, you first have to be given a starter kit from someone else who already has one (or buy it on the internet). Anyway, I’ll know more about the whole process tomorrow. Also, if you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, kefir is a fermented dairy product similar to yogurt except it’s runnier. That is, you can drink it. I’m interested in it because it’s supposed to be high in probiotics, and everyone who’s paranoid about their health is into probiotics. Granted, you can buy it at the grocery store (and I often do), but supposedly making your own is cheaper, even after you pay all that money for milk that obviously comes from cows with golden udders.

Now it’s eleven, and I’d like to end this so I can go to the gym and do physical therapy. Recently I started a stretching routine (that a friend told me about and is on public television) in addition to physical therapy, so I’m spending a good part of my day counting repetitions. Thankfully, as a dance instructor, I have no problem with this. At least until I get to eight. Anyway, I’m doing both the stretching routine and the kefir thing tomorrow because I’m hoping they’ll help me, the stretching with my headaches, the kefir with my stomach. And whereas I’ve been doing the stretching for two whole days (!) and my head still hurts, I’m telling myself that some things take time. (That’s a joke–everything takes time.) But really, so often I want to ditch good habits when I don’t see immediate results rather than stick with them and be patient.

Maybe you’ve felt this way before.

Personally, I’ve felt like giving up more times that I can count. I think, I’ve exhausted every option, and nothing is working. But then–eventually–I remember the universe is large and no, I haven’t exhausted every option. And because there’s something in me that refuses to give up, I take a deep breath and try again. Surely something will work. There’s that verse in the Bible about the person who had their prayer answered simply because they were so damn persistent, because they didn’t quit asking. The squeaky wheel gets God’s grease or whatever. Anyway, maybe you can’t believe this is your fucking life, but I think there’s hope for whatever it is you’re going through, so keep trying. And even if nothing works, I definitely know a club you can join.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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I’m Not in Charge Here (Blog #651)

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This afternoon I had my second physical therapy appointment to rehab my recently repaired knee (I tore my ACL, had surgery). Today they added new exercises–heel raises, balancing on one foot, one-leg presses, and this thing where I sit in a rolly chair, dig my heels into the carpet, and pull myself around the room. Talk about feeling conspicuous. That being said, pretty much everyone in the room today was gimped up in one way or another. One lady was doing leg exercises like I was, another was doing shoulder work, and another was working on her elbow. Hell, even one of the staff members had his leg in a boot and was walking with a cane. I thought, THESE are my people.

For forty minutes I stretched, lifted, and flexed my left leg. The hardest thing was practicing going DOWN stairs, since apparently you bend your knee twice as much going down stairs as you do when you go up them. Anyway, I broke a sweat. But then they wrapped my leg in an ice blanket, and I quickly cooled off. Especially since the machine sprung a leak and squirted water all over my leg and all down my sock. That felt good.

After physical therapy, I came home and took a nap. Seriously, I don’t have a lot of energy and can’t seem to get enough rest. Probably because my leg keeps waking me up at night. I keep telling myself this is normal, that the doctor took a drill bit long enough to tunnel through a stack of two-by-fours and ran it through my leg, so it should be achy, tired, and pissed off. Still, I have a hard time slowing down and giving my body what it’s asking for (rest). For one thing, I’m used to being active. For another, I’m supposed to be doing rehab exercises two or three times a day at home or the gym, and I can’t exactly do those while I’m sleeping.

To be clear, the rehab exercises aren’t so much difficult as they are time-consuming. Originally there were nine exercises, and now I think I’m up to twelve or fifteen, depending on whether I’m at home or at the gym. Again, that’s three times a day. As my mom says, getting better has become a full-time job. Still, it’s paying off. Today my physical therapist seemed impressed with my ability to balance on one leg and said I was actually “ahead of the curve.” So that’s something.

Lately–over the last year–I’ve been trying to lower my standards. What I mean is that I’m used to a certain level of energy and activity, and my body simply hasn’t been consistently capable of that for a while now. So I’m trying to listen to it. My therapist says something big happens whenever you can really give into the universe and say, “Fine, damn it. I’m not in charge here. I’m on your time schedule.” What that big thing is, I don’t know. Probably inner peace or some shit like that. But again, I’m trying, to be okay with how things are right here, right now, to let sleeping as much as possible and doing my rehab exercises be my life for a while.

Okay, I’m off to the gym.

And then to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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Me and My Physical Therapist (Blog #649)

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Thirteen days ago I had knee surgery to repair my ACL in my left knee, and this morning I saw my surgeon to follow up about it. First, his nurse removed my (17) staples. Then he showed me pictures from the surgery (two of which I’ll share momentarily) and said it went well. In terms of my progress, he seemed impressed, especially with the facts that I’m off crutches, out of a brace, and bending my knee more than 90 degrees. “If I were being picky, I’d say you need to straighten your leg more, but it’s not bad,” he said.

Ever the perfectionist, I now have a new goal.

The surgeon said I should see continual progress for the first two or three months. “That’ll be exciting and keep you motivated,” he said. “But then you’ll forget anything was ever wrong, and whereas I want you to forget at some point, I don’t want you to forget before six months and do something stupid like jump a ditch.” Then he explained that six months is how long it takes to get blood flowing to the newly constructed ACL, which is why I have to be ever-so-gentle with it until then. That means no swimming, jumping, or planting and turning (as in spinning, pivoting, or–um–dancing).

Here’s a picture of my old ACL. It looks sad, frayed, and lifeless because I completely tore it away from the bone. Personally, it reminds me of sushi.

Here’s a picture of my new ACL, which the surgeon constructed from my patellar tendon. Talk about pretty. (Don’t be jealous; I’m sure yours looks nice too.) Note that tendons are stronger than ligaments, which is why some surgeons (mine included) prefer to reconstruct the ACL (a ligament) using the patellar tendon (a tendon, duh) rather than a hamstring (another ligament).

After leaving the surgeon’s office and killing time at a coffee shop reading a book, sipping tea, and propping my foot up on a chair (in order to straighten my leg), I had my first official physical therapy appointment. And whereas I was nervous about whether or not I’d jive with the guy, all my fears were immediately laid to rest. He’s awesome. Not only has he been at this for twenty years, but he’s also worked with my surgeon for a long time, and they’re on the same page in terms of objectives and timelines. Plus, he spent a lot of time today really explaining what happened both when I injured myself and during surgery.

“Your ACL is nothing but a tie-down,” he said. “If you had a bicycle with two straps holding it on the back of a trailer, and you cut one strap, the bike would fall over. It’s the same with your knee cap.” Which explains why things felt loose immediately after my injury. My PT (physical therapist) said he’s known people who have lived decades without their ACL, but they end up literally rubbing their bones together, and that causes a lot of problems later in life. “The whole point of the surgery you had is to get you back to doing what you were doing before without additional issues down the line,” he said.

The physical therapy itself wasn’t too complicated. Granted, it was more than I’ve been doing at home, but it wasn’t painful or grit-your-teeth awful. A few stretches, some mini-squats, some leg lifts, some stair-climbing. Then my guy hooked me up to a STEM machine, a device that uses electrical impulses to make your muscles (my quad muscles) twitch and fire. At the same time, he wrapped my knee in another device that was basically a giant leg condom filled with cold water (pumped in by a machine through an attached hose) to reduce swelling. I didn’t take any pictures of this, but here’s a picture of my swollen and bruised leg from this morning. No wonder my ankle’s been hurting.

My PT also explained why my leg has felt achy–because the surgeon used a drill bit as long as my forearm to tunnel through my leg bones. “Oh, that explains it,” I said. Then my PT showed me an animated (not real) video of how the surgery actually went down. Y’all, it’s totally crazy. He took the middle third of my patellar (kneecap) tendon out, along with two pieces of bone attached to it (one at either end; supposedly the holes from which the bones were taken will fill in over time). Then he sewed up the outer two-thirds of my patellar tendon and used that big drill bit to tunnel through my leg on a diagonal. (The ACL and its tie-down buddy, the PCL, criss-cross through the knee–I think.) Then he fished the new ACL through the tunnel and attached the bone pieces to other bones with screws. “That thing ain’t going nowhere,” both my surgeon and my PT said.

Is that wild or what? And seriously, no wonder recovery is a long process. I’ve been cut up and put back together. Along the way, I’ve gained an inch in circumference around my kneecap (from swelling) and lost an inch in circumference around my thigh (from muscle atrophy). “How long will it take to get those muscles built back up?” you might ask. A year. A full year because muscles are made from slow-twitch fibers and fast-twitch fibers, and I can’t use my fast-twitch fibers until six months post-surgery (since they’re the ones used for jumping, sprinting, etc., and that stuff, as already explained, is off-limits). And whereas a week ago this slow recovery process disheartened me, today I’m okay with it, I’m assuming because I have more information than I did before, because I actually understand both what’s happened and what’s happening.

Never underestimate the power of information.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there’s a rehab exercise I need to be doing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There's a wisdom underneath everything that moves us and even the planets at its own infallible pace. We forget that we too are like the planets, part of a larger universe that is always proceeding one step at time, never in the wrong place, everything always right where it belongs.

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