Chris sent me a great picture from our recent kayak trip down the Upper Iowa the other weekend. I am standing in the yard at the cabin, coffee in hand, in front of my car which carries two boats, looking relaxed and feeling victorious. He also sent a picture he took of me the day my jaw got wired. I was grimacing to great effect, showing my newly reassembled mouth, looking absolutely hideous.I posted these on Facebook to great effect.
I also noticed something: I'm getting bored with reports on my own physical condition. If I'm getting tired of talking about myself, I can only imagine how others must feel. (I start PT on the 24th and have cautiously resumed a little light, friendly, co-ed basketball at work. I'm not having any pain this week that can't be managed by Tylenol, although we'll see what a longer b-ball skirmish will do today.) See!! Boring.
I think this is good news. What seems like an eternity was actually only four months. When I look at my grimacing visage, I remember how helpless I felt, how much I longed to be where I am now. The other weekend, I worked on our deck, applying the ceiling tin my Mom had left over when she did her kitchen ceiling 20 years ago. I hauled it all over the place and finally used some of it to make a deck surround. It hurt to do the work, but it was great to be doing something interesting and semi-useful. The pain went away soon enough. This week, I feel far better and I find myself not calculating so much what I will pay later for a given activity.
I have longed for this moment. Time has passed, narcotized, second upon second in a slow motion parade past my window. I have stared at myself in the mirror (what else to do?) trying to imagine how I will turn out (in an ironic revisit of adolescence?), praying to my Agnostic God for a future that is not too compromised by condition.
Now, it would be a good idea to remember just how really lucky I am. To take some care. Damn. Let's get on with it.
Aw, hell.
Couldn't resist.
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