I never gave much thought to sitting. I didn't even need a chair. If I got tired I hit the floor, or the couch, or the overstuffed tiger, and made myself at ease. I didn't much like backless benches, but not much else made me uncomfortable.
My body knew just how to get down there. The right parts bent at the right times and there I was, snug as a bug in a rug. There wasn't anything conscious about it. It just happened.
Kind of like getting shot. It just happened.
Well, not really the same except for the piece about it not being something I thought about. I walked. I stood. I sat. Those things happened and didn't require space in my brain. I felt safe and unworried on January 8th and I didn't need to spend a moment wondering if mayhem was in my future. There was no reason to devote an iota of brain space to the notion of bullets and my body occupying the same place at the same time.
I saw a chair and sat down. I held Christina's hand and I got shot. They both just happened.
And now they are both items occupying almost all of my brain space. Holding CTG's hand and getting shot... that's obviously going to be there for a long time in a variety of ways and that's okay. As he told me in February, Juan and I will make new memories to sit beside those old ones in my heart. It won't fill the hole, but it will help to ease the pain.
Now, if Juan could only manage to figure out a way to make my soaz understand that it must release its hold on itself and allow my hip to flex the way it needs to in order for my butt to reach a seat. Marcus the Master Manipulator pulls and pushes and prods and pokes and may well have lengthened my leg by 1/8" yesterday afternoon but he isn't having any more success than I am in getting through to the tension that is the sitting mechanism on my right side.
It's a very simple matter, really. Approach the venue, place the feet, bend the knees, keep the back straight, do a squat and try not to scream as the glute and the groin vie for first place in the "who can stab her harder" contest.
It's a sharp, hot, burning sensation that is not dangerous. I have been assured of that. I am not injuring my repaired acetabulum, the socket that holds my thigh (the head of my femur, to be precise) onto my body. Although it may feel as if the thing is floating there unconnected to the rest of me in any way, Dr. Boaz and Marcus have told me that they "would be quite surprised" if that were to happen.
Notice that they did not say that it couldn't happen or wouldn't happen. Just that it wasn't something that was occupying any brain space. I'm doing my best to emulate their lack of concern. Some days that is easier than others.
Why all this emphasis on sitting today? TBG and I sat in the Federal Courthouse in Tucson again today, watching the lawyer for the Washington Post and the Arizona Republic quote Joseph Heller in an attempt to wrest documents from the Pima County Sheriff's Department. If you're interested in the First Amendment issues I'm sure there are places on the interweb that will support that conversation. For us, it was just 45 minutes of sitting on a hard bench with a thin cushion. The AUSA from Phoenix was a young man who reminded me of Big Cuter and I watched him with a mother's pride, sitting there on the Group W bench..... oops, I slipped into Alice's Restaurant right there didn't I but honestly that's where my mind wandered as the attorneys and the judge made their legal souffle.
We sat through the shooter's competency hearing and watched him opt to sit in another room and watch the proceedings on television and watched the defense counsel and prosecutor stand each time they addressed the judge and we sat there, spectators at an event in which we were alternately at the epicenter or immaterial, depending on the circumstances.
Everyone wanted a piece of us, a comment, a photograph. The marshals kept them at bay and we stopped sitting and stood up and I took my achy breaky self down the hallways and elevators and I came home.
And sat down.
Everything hurts. My heart. My head. My hip. My glute.
Just from sitting.