Wednesday, July 6, 2011

You'll Be Fine

Fine.  It's an interesting concept, the notion of fine.  I am fine right now, ensconced on the bed with comfy pillows supporting me and the fan stirring the over-heated air above me.  I don't hurt too much and I have a post all ready to write for you and the dinner ingredients are in the 'fridge and I feel fine.

Of course, I didn't go to Pilates Mat class today because I can't get down on the ground without grunting.  I didn't take the shovel and scratch out the beginnings of an irrigation trench outside the pony wall early this morning because digging is still beyond my abilities.  I didn't run in to see how G'ma is doing with her new electric chair because getting into and out of the car was more than I was interested in doing after running an errand or two.  None of that is fine.


I'm not invited on hiking trips I couldn't manage anyway - I suppose it's fine that I wasn't asked along, I suppose they were trying to spare my feelings by not tantalizing me with something just out of reach, but it's not fine to feel excluded.  I walk past my hiking poles as I enter the garage and I sigh.  I'm fine if it means going to the grocery store; anything more strenuous is a mental struggle.  My definition of fine includes more than errands.  The fact that I am upright at all is wonderful, but it's not fine.

Just being alive isn't enough any more.  I am still grateful, thankful, surprised and amazed that I am here to see the sunrise - no way that feeling is ever going to dissipate.  But I am not obsessed with the fact of my survival anymore.  In that sense, then, I am certainly fine.  But accepting that I am alive seems to have given me permission to consider the quality of the body I am bringing back to this life and for some reason I want it to be perfect. Just the way I remember it was before I became perforated.

Was it really perfect before January 8th? Hardly.  But both my legs were the same length.  I could clamber up and down and over and through just about anything.  I was always ready to go another mile, to lift another set, to keep going.  I was fine.

I know that I'm on my way back there. I am more motivated to try harder as my pain lessens and my progress becomes more obvious. I can do a small squat standing on my damaged leg - a very small squat and only one of them at that but a squat nonetheless.  I can turn around while cooking dinner and open the oven door without thinking about the body mechanics and whether I am up to it.  I'm fine in the kitchen these days.

But the pantry is still suffering from the effects of 10 different women putting things away while they were Suzi-Sitting.  My desk top is messier than ever and my closet has three baskets of items which need to be carried elsewhere and dealt with appropriately. I have neither the energy nor the stamina nor the tolerance for the pain I'll feel when I tackle that project, or the desk, or the pantry.  Fine?  Sure.  Back to normal?  Not hardly.

But one day last week I realized that I was gliding across the living room, pain-free and shoulders perfectly parallel to the floor.  I'd gotten up from the couch and maneuvered around the coffee table and there I was, walking like a regular person, in my own house, not even 6 months after being shot... 3 times... and then, right then and there, I did feel fine.  Very fine, indeed.

11 comments:

  1. Glad to hear things are "fine".
    Rome wasn't built in a day.
    Sit down, have some wine...
    ...debbie

    ReplyDelete
  2. You bring the lasting aspects of your "perforation" to mind that no one else would ever think of. Thank you. And I think you are on your way to "fine" and back to normal is just a state of mind, isn't it? I'm sure you'll find a new normal soon. Give it time.

    ReplyDelete
  3. It's a little early in the day for wine, debbie..... perhaps I'll try a mimosa :)

    I'm surprised about the lasting aspects, kenju, and I appreciate the fact that you are, too. It's nice to have company as the world astounds me.
    a/b

    ReplyDelete
  4. I've been given a fresh perspective after reading this post. I admire your strength of character, your courage and your ability to not allow the "perforation" to change who you are. You are patiently standing your ground. It's inspiring!

    I'm embarrassed to say it's been more than a year since I have posted, but I'm working on it...

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  5. Fine is definitely a relative term. I think you have gotten a crash course in what happens with old age, for those lucky enough to get there. Fine changes what it means and in the case of old age, it can never go back. Being able to be fine though even when it changes without looking back to what was, that has to be one of the secrets to a flexible attitude toward life and being happy when it's changing.

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  6. Fine... I think of "fine" and my brain immediately goes to the latin "finis": boundary/ end. If you were "fine" you would be at the boundary of your potential, the end of this insane journey, and I don't think we've earned that yet :).

    I thoroughly believe that you are "fine" in the sense of "of superior quality or appearance," though. A fine mom, indeed.

    xoxo

    ReplyDelete
  7. AB, fine is fine for now, but I can tell that fine is not alright with you and it shouldn't be. Fine is like saying so-so to me. You need be great. You will get there. Just give yourself some time. I know the adage time heals all wounds is so cliche, but it is true.

    Sending hugs.

    ReplyDelete
  8. You know AShleigh, you bring up some very good points...YES, you are fine! however not 'fine' as you were before January.

    I think whenever we have trauma and challenges in our lives, that sense of 'fine' ebbs and flows and is fluid throughout various aspects of our lives. I think it is okay, as long as you acknowledge where you've been and how far you've come...then I wold agree, you are fine!

    However, 'fine' ceases to exist if you are using it as a cover-up from truths...
    blessings to you!

    ReplyDelete
  9. M'Dear, I predict that you will be Damn Fine given a few more months. Months, it is sucky to be using that term rather than a shorter period of time, but you will feel better after the monsoons. (I believe in the power of positive thinking.)

    Peace and blessings.

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  10. No, it's not fine. The grunting, the fatigue, the pain, the rebuilding what you had, the not being who you were. It's not fine. It just sucks. Sometimes it's hard to be grateful that you survived because it should not have happened, NONE of if should have happened to anyone. But it did. One day at a time, one squat at a time, one item from the basket at a time. You'll be back.

    ReplyDelete
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