The Prep and the Primer (Blog #814)

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This afternoon I helped my friend Kim start painting her kitchen. I say “start painting” because, like nearly every other damn thing in life, it’s going to be a process. (I hate that.) That being said, we made a lot of progress. Before today the entire kitchen–the walls, the baseboards, the molding–was apple green. Now only about half of it is. So even though there’s more to do, it’s clear you can get a lot done in a day.

So why not take a day and do something?

Kim said her least favorite part of painting was the prep work–scrubbing the walls clean, patching any holes. Alas, her husband, Grant, insists on “doing things right.” Personally, I agree with both of them–the prep work needs to be done, and it’s no fun doing it. Likewise, I don’t enjoy putting primer on walls, or, truth be told, the putting first coat of paint on walls. Because things still look sloppy, incomplete. No, for me, the fun part is the last coat of paint, when it all comes together. Then what REALLY thrills me is putting the room back IN ORDER, hanging pictures up and such.

Gay, I know.

The obvious point is that you can’t put pictures up without first doing the prep work, then doing the primer coat (if needed), then doing the first coat, and so on. Again, it’s a process, a process that if not “done right” is gonna be obvious. We’ve all seen rushed painting jobs before and thought, This person cuts corners.

Or is that just me who judges someone’s entire personality by how they paint a room?

Currently I’m house sitting for a friend and am in their living room. The last time I blogged here (in this particular room) was about six months ago. I remember because I’d recently injured my knee and–because my surgeon told me I didn’t need my crutches (because “you don’t need your ACL to walk”)–was re-teaching myself how to walk and negotiate stairs. Talk about things you take for granted. I remember having to lie on the ground to wiggle my pants on and off. Now, like before my accident, I can put my pants on standing up.

Don’t be jealous.

Everything worth having takes time.

This last week I was discussing my knee injury with a friend of mine who is a personal trainer and said that I have a ways to go. For example, it’s still challenging to jump using my injured leg, to use that leg to lower myself down (steps or into a chair), or to put weight on that knee. However, my friend said, “But look how far you’ve come.” Is that a wonderful encouragement or what? So often I get hung up on progress not yet made, on walls not yet painted, instead of focusing on That Which Has Been Accomplished. I want to get to The End, to the hanging pictures part, so the temptation is to half-ass, rush through, or get impatient with The Process. But if five years in therapy and two years of daily blogging have taught me anything, it’s that everything worth having takes time. Also, I’ve learned that the work that really pays off is the work that nobody sees. It’s the prep and the primer. That’s why they call it The Hard Work–because it’s tedious and boring and nobody is going to praise you for doing it (probably not even your mother). But damn if it doesn’t make all the difference.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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On Emotions and Pain (Blog #751)

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Currently I’m out-of-town, sitting outside at a restaurant, waiting for a dance to start at 7:30. It’s 6:00 now. I plan on driving home after the dance, and because that will be late, I’m blogging now, before the sun has gone down. I’d like to start doing this more often, blogging when I’m coherent and not exhausted and, therefore, irritable, upset, and distracted. We’ll see how it goes. I have a lot of practice blogging during the wee morning hours, and there’s certainly something to be said for writing a blog about your emotions when you’re, well, emotional.

I’ve been emotional all day. One minute I’ve been sad. Lonely. The next I’ve been laughing out loud, totally content to have the day to myself. Recently I adopted the motto “all parts are welcome,” so I guess I can’t complain when different parts (or thoughts or emotions) show up. That is, far be it from me to host a party and not attend to my guests. Not that it’s fun or comfortable to feel upset or grief, but these are the ingredients of our lives, and–in my experience–if you dampen one emotion, you dampen them all. Want to feel less joy? Shove down your sadness. It’s that simple.

I don’t like this fact any more than you do.

I spent this afternoon looking at books. I didn’t buy any (believe it or not), but I went to three stores. Before that I had brunch (pancakes and eggs) and read a book. Well, half of one–Explain Pain by David S. Butler and G. Lorimer Moseley. Honestly, it’s one of the most fascinating things I’ve read lately and explains a complex topic–pain–simply. I’m not to the “what to do about it” part yet, but the book proposes that whereas, yes, sometimes pain is due to nerve damage, structural or joint problems, or damaged tissue, this is just as often (if not more so) not the case. That is, there are plenty of instances in which there’s structural deterioration or injured tissue without pain. For example, when I tore my ACL, I didn’t feel a thing. Granted, I had some adrenaline flowing, but my knee didn’t hurt even after my adrenaline calmed down. Even though I’d severed an entire ligament.

The book says we don’t have pain centers or, um, pain buttons in our bodies. Also, just because you cut your finger, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll experience pain. Indeed, once my neighbor threw a hammer over our fence, and despite the fact that it hit my head, I didn’t start crying until I saw blood several seconds later. According to the book, this is because the meaning we ascribe things has a huge influence over what our bodies feel. Just as importantly, the meaning our brains ascribe things is what ultimately determines whether or not we feel pain. This is because–apparently–our bodies send signals to the brain when “something” is wrong. A cut finger, for example. Then the brain interprets that information and decides how to respond. To be clear, it has a lot of choices. It could cause you run away; it could cause you to cry. But if the brain thinks that the most appropriate choice is for you to feel pain, then that’s what you’ll feel.

In other words, to quote the book–no brain, no pain.

The book says that the basic rule of pain is that if your brain perceives a threat–if it thinks that you’re in danger, Will Robinson–you’ll feel pain. Said another way, if you feel pain, it’s because your brain thinks you’re in danger. This goes against a lot of historic wisdom, of course, but it makes sense to me. Again, because of what I experienced with my knee. Also because of people who experience pain or sensations in limbs they’ve had cut off or were never born with. Clearly in those situations the brain (and spinal cord and nervous system) are involved in the creation of physical sensation and/or pain.

I can’t wait to learn more.

This might be a stretch, but I think this “pain being related to feeling threatened” thing could be applied to our emotions. For example, this morning while getting ready at my hotel, I was dialoguing with myself about why I’ve historically felt the need to bend over backwards for certain people in my life even when my efforts were clearly fruitless. Suddenly I had a vision of an applicable memory from my childhood, and a voice in my head said, “Because if we don’t, they won’t love us.” Then I started crying. More and more, the release of tears is my signal that I’ve hit on something deep-down true. For example, when I read that pain is often felt because we feel threatened or “not safe,” I also cried.

Ugh. So much of my life I’ve felt “not safe.” Not that I feel ever-moment terrified, but I can never quite relax. It’s like my muscles are always tight, more tense than they need to be, ready to fight or flee. I can only breathe so deep. Granted, this has gotten a lot better. It IS GETTING a lot better. More and more, there’s a lot of relief in understanding that even when it’s emotional or in pain, my body is trying to help, trying to send me a message. Sweetheart, something is wrong. We need you to take another look at this. Something isn’t working for us. So if for no other reason than the fact that my strategies thus far haven’t been working for me either, I’m now making all the more gentle effort to turn my ear inward and simply listen, to finally hear and connect with my inner wisdom.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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Get It Over With (Blog #681)

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This afternoon I went to Starbucks to work on a writing project I’ve been dreading tackling for weeks. Truth be told, I always dread writing. I make it out to be this big thing in my head. I probably won’t know what to say. It’s going to be awful, worse than drinking a bottle of cough syrup. With respect to today’s writing project, this monologue has been building momentum for days, and earlier today I almost convinced myself to procrastinate this thing until next week. After all, I do have an ingrown fingernail on my right pinky, and since it smarts every time I hit the enter key, I figured I had a legitimate medical reason for staying home and watching Netflix.

Alas, I ended up telling myself, Marcus, you’re never in the mood to write. No writer is ever in the mood to write until they start writing, and dragged my happy little ass and not-so-happy ingrown fingernail to Starbucks. Still, despite the fact that I was there, I stalled–ordered a drink, checked my Facebook, took forever organizing my papers, went to pee. Finally, after staring at a blank page and thinking real hard for fifteen minutes, I wrote my first paragraph. Then my second, then my third. Then I was on a roll, and just like that, two hours flew by. Two hours, that was my self-imposed time limit. Just work for two hours, Marcus. See what you can get done in two hours.

When two hours was up, I’d finished over half of my project. What’s more, I’d actually had fun. Not only had I gotten out of the house (and run into a friend), but I’d also created something I was proud of. There was all this buildup about it not turning out well, but at some point during the process I thought, Hell, Marcus, YOU ARE A WRITER.

After packing up my things at Starbucks, I came home for a snack then headed back out to the gym. They close early on the weekends, so that was part of the reason I limited myself to two hours of writing. Plus, I figured I didn’t have to burn through the entire project in one sitting. It’ll be there tomorrow. Anyway, I’m actually starting to enjoy the gym. I have spent quite a bit of time there “in my younger days” and have started to remember what it’s like to push yourself and see results. Today while working on my shoulders, I rolled up my sleeves because they’re starting to get a hint of definition (my shoulders, not my sleeves). Oh my god, how exciting, I thought, I have muscles!

GRRR.

While at the gym, I noticed a teenager in a knee brace. I wonder if he’s had surgery, I thought. Sure enough, there was a red scar on the front of his leg. I don’t know, maybe having knee surgery is like that deal when you buy a new car then suddenly notice EVERYONE ELSE has the same car you do, since I’m beginning to spot people of all ages who’ve apparently been through the same thing I have. Hell, last night I found out that my celebrity crush, Zac Efron, recently tore his ACL and had surgery. (He’s currently on crutches.) But really, is that bizarre or what? He even injured his left knee, just like I did.

When I told my mom about this fascinating coincidence, she said, “Well if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” (Everyone’s a comedian.) “I know,” I said. “It’s meant to be.”

You can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings.

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m excited about finishing this blog and having the rest of the night to myself. Maybe I’ll read a book, maybe I’ll watch a movie. Either way, I’m really leaning into this idea of being able to make progress by spending an hour here, an hour there on something. For example, it’s been just over six weeks since my knee surgery, and I really am getting around better and growing stronger, and it’s all happened an hour at a time. Likewise, I made noticeable progress today with my writing project, and it was just a small slice of my day. Now I’ve got six hundred words that I didn’t have before. Also, I’m learning that you can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings. That is, if there’s something you’re dreading, guaranteed, you’re going to think and feel differently about it after having done it. So whether it’s a creative project, a trip to the gym or doctor’s office, or a hard conversation, just get it over with. You’ll be glad you did, I promise.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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When Your Body Asks for Help (Blog #667)

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Yesterday I blogged about my not feeling well and wanting to give up. This is my general inclination, to give up, whenever life becomes “too much.” Honestly, I was really hoping I’d get a good night’s rest and wake up fine today. I didn’t. I mean, I slept fine, but I woke up still sick. I really don’t know what’s going on. A sinus thing. It’s always a sinus thing. Whatever it is, I’m not amused. Hell, I’m rarely amused. It takes a lot to amuse me. I’m just–what’s the word?–unamuseable.

Well, now that’s not true, since I just amused myself.

As I said yesterday, my recent sinus junk mostly bothers me not only because my sinuses have been a huge historical problem for me, but also because I have a bunch of other stuff going on right now and am tired of shit going wrong. I’ve had headaches since I was a kid, my stomach’s been upset since last July, my elbow’s had psoriasis for months, another section of my skin’s had a fungal infection for weeks, and I just had knee surgery in December. My point being, even before this sinus crap showed up I was thinking, Enough already! I cry uncle.

Yesterday, the day I woke up congested, I noticed a red spot on my wrist. No itching, no scales, just a red spot. But still, as a self-professed hypochondriac, I freaked out. It’s the psoriasis, I thought. It’s spreading! So yesterday afternoon I upped my water intake and also bought a natural supplement (White Willow Bark) that’s supposed to be good not only for pain relief (from headaches), but also for skin disorders like psoriasis. Having been disappointed by supplements more times that I’ve been pleasantly surprised by them (and, to be clear, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by them a number of times), I started the supplement last night with cautious optimism.

My attitude: I’ll try almost anything once.

At the close of last night’s blog, I said it was time to start eating better. Recently I watched a video posted by a prominent figure in the alternative health and healing community, Charlie Goldsmith, about his father, who has Parkinson’s and showed significant improvement in his ability to sit down, stand up, and walk after just four days of changing his diet. And whereas I don’t know specifically what Charlie’s dad’s diet included or excluded, I’m assuming it included–um–vegetables and excluded the usual suspects–gluten, dairy, soy, sugar, and alcohol. Anyway, this video reminded me that diet is a huge contributing factor when it comes to one’s health, which is why I decided it was time to get serious about what I’m eating.

Therefore, before I went to bed last night, I ate a salad. Then today I had oats for breakfast. And whereas some elimination diets wouldn’t approve of oat-eating (because oats are a grain), I figured it was better than a piece of white bread slathered in peanut butter. (Progress, not perfection.) Then I pulled myself together and went to the grocery store and got everything I needed for at least a week’s worth of clean (mostly Paleo) meals. Y’all, I loaded my cart with fruits, nuts, and vegetables for eating, as well as Zicam, Airborne, and bone broth things for healing. I mean, it’s all for healing. Everything you put into your mouth has an effect.

I hate to admit that, but it’s true.

Granted, I don’t know what’s going to happen to my body. I could very well wake up tomorrow with even more sinus trouble or skin flare-ups. But even after half-ass starting this thing yesterday, that red spot on my wrist is almost completely gone, and–I swear–the psoriasis on my elbow looks better. And whether or not the water I drank yesterday, the salad I ate last night, or the supplement I started had anything to do with it, the improvement reminds me that my body is not only AWARE of what’s going on with it, but also willing to repair its problems when given the proper support. That’s my logic with all these issues that have cropped up lately, that my body is simply asking for help. And whereas I can’t promise that I’ll help it perfectly, I can promise that I’ll do better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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Reminding Myself of the Facts (Blog #658)

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I don’t know why I’m smiling in today’s photo. It’s not like I feel fabulous. Lately I’ve just been going through the motions. This morning I got up early to meet a friend for lunch, which was lovely, and the sun even showed up for about five minutes. Imagine that–sunshine for the first time in over a week. But then the clouds took over again. Since injuring my leg, this is how my mood has been. Punctuated moments of sunlight–a smile here, some laughter there–followed by the clouds rolling back in.

Wah. Wah.

After lunch today I went to physical therapy. And whereas I showed up late (I had the appointment time wrong in my head), they fit me in. I really do like these folks–even when I’m scheduled to work with someone specific, they all chip in to help. Plus, everyone–the therapists, the patients–are in one big room together. I swear, it’s the best medicine, seeing people of all ages rehab-ing their broken parts. Today I met a teenage girl who tore her ACL while dancing (like me) and had the same surgery I did at the end of November. Anyway, she’s about three or four weeks ahead of me in terms of progress and her exercise regimen, and it was exciting for me to see a preview of coming attractions. (Except the part when her therapist bent her leg back and she said, “That hurts–everywhere.”)

When I got home from physical therapy, I took a nap. Naps, I’m finding, are the best thing ever, since I’m really not sleeping well at night. Every hour or two, my leg wakes me up. Then at some point, even though I’m tired, I can’t go back to sleep. But a good nap helps. This evening I slept for an hour and a half and woke up practically drooling. It was like I’d just come back from visiting another planet. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.

Now it’s 10:30, and whenever I finish the blog, I’m going to my local gym to do more knee rehab. As my goal is to be there once a day for leg related stuff, I’m hoping that sooner or later I’ll pick up some biceps through osmosis. Wouldn’t that be great? Then maybe someone’s flat stomach could magically rub off on me. Or just rub on me, I’d settle for that. (That was a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, even when I’m in a gloomy mood, I enjoy going to the gym, especially late at night when hardly anyone else is there. Then I can listen to my music, do my thing, and not be bothered.

Whenever I get overwhelmed by my emotions, I have to remind myself that just because I think a thought, doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because I feel something, doesn’t make it gospel. Like, a few good friends have checked in on me today, so this evening I’ve been reminding myself that I’m not alone even when I feel like I am. Likewise, I’ve been telling myself there’s significant progress that will happen over the next month (as evidenced by the girl I met this afternoon), even though I feel like my current limitations are permanent. And whereas my reminding myself of “the facts” doesn’t immediately change my mood, it does keep me from spiraling out of control. It does keep things from getting worse.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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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)

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I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

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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)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."

About to Step into the Ring (Blog #635)

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Today I’ve felt ick and nauseated. For one thing, it’s Christmas Day and my immediate family doesn’t celebrate, and that’s not fun. It feels like all those weddings I used to work as a single, in-the-closet photographer. Like the whole world’s happy and together, but not me. Whatever, the holidays are complicated for a lot of people. So many memories, so many emotions. Plus, I’m having surgery on my left knee tomorrow to repair my ACL, and that’s got my stomach tied up in knots.

Ugh.

This afternoon I put the knee brace my surgeon’s office gave me in the back seat of my car, Tom Collins. They said I’d wake up in it after surgery. The brace, not my car. I also un-decorated my crutches, which for the last few weeks have been decked out in Christmas tinsel, ever since I was in that tacky holiday variety show at the local theater. Anyway, I put those in the back seat too, as I’ll be needing them again starting–soon. This is part of what’s got me upset. For a week and a half now I’ve been crutches-less and walking on my own. Granted, my walking has been slow and not always pain-free, but at least I’ve felt independent. But starting tomorrow it’s back to square one, hobbling around and asking people to bring me things. I guess it just feels like I’m going backwards.

I realize this isn’t the case. Tomorrow’s surgery is an important step (pun intended) in this whole process and absolutely necessary if I want my “world of movement” to look anything like it did before. But it’s a lot, emotionally. Sure, the surgeon does this every day, but I don’t. I’ll be going under. There will be scars. And whereas the surgeon said the scars wouldn’t be a big deal because I have hairy legs, it’s still a big deal to me to be both cut open and permanently marked.

Also, sometimes I shave my legs.

Now it’s nine at night, and I’ve got to be up at six in the morning. I can only have food and liquids for the next three hours. I still have to shower, pack a small bag, and make sure I have my shit together. Honestly, I don’t imagine I’ll get much sleep. For one thing, I’m not used to going to bed before midnight. More like two in the morning. For another thing, my mind is racing.

I wish I knew how to make it stop.

People do these things every day–have surgery, go through rehab, get through the pain. People walk again. People dance again. So part of me knows it’s possible. And whereas I know I’ll do as I’m told, push through, and probably overachieve (because it’s one of my things), I’m honestly not looking forward to it. You know how sometimes you’re ready for a fight, and sometimes you’re not? Well, I’m not. This isn’t a fight I was looking for or even wanted once it found me. And yet here I am about to step (sort of) into the ring. So I’m taking deep breaths and preparing to do my best.

Here we go.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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That’s Not Too Far Away (Blog #629)

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Things that happened today–

1. I did a knee thing

This afternoon I had my first physical therapy appointment for my injured knee. It was a short deal, maybe fifteen minutes, to go over exercises that I’ll do post-operation, on my own, until officially starting physical therapy two weeks after surgery (which is one week from today). Anyway, it went well, and it occurred to me later that I’m racking up quite the number of “my therapists.” Me and My Mental Health Therapist, Me and My Massage Therapist, Me and My Physical Therapist.

Clearly I need a lot of help.

2. I said goodnight to my nephews

This evening my sister, brother-in-law, and my nephews arrived for the holidays. Ugh. Talk about cuteness overload. They give the best hugs. Granted, when they wake me up at seven-thirty in the morning, I may not think they’re so great.

3. I said goodnight to the world

Since the boys clocked out, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, and I have been visiting. There’s nothing quite like family. Now it’s almost eleven, and everyone is worn out. My sister because she has two children, and me because my body has been through the ringer lately. At the moment, I don’t have a lot to offer. All I want to do is wind down and go to bed. I really didn’t sleep well last night. You know how some nights you toss and turn. Still, it’s been a good day. The physical therapist said that two months after surgery, if all goes as planned, I’ll be cleared for “light jogging” on flat surfaces, and that six months after surgery I’ll be “back to normal.” At that point, they said, I’ll be no more likely to tear my (new) ACL than I was before my accident. So two months–six months–that’s not too far away. That’s something to look forward to.

I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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A Day for Hoping (Blog #624)

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It’s 8:30 on a Friday night, and I’ve been doing laundry for the last three hours and eating peanut butter by the spoonful. I know–I live a sexy life. (Try not to be jealous.) During my second load of laundry (of three), a pair of athletic shorts I’ve had since Jesus was a small boy got “hung up” in the dryer. I guess the drawstring snagged on the lint catcher. When I pulled the shorts out, the string was wound up tighter than a spring. Alas, the string was beyond repair, since it was sewn into the shorts and there was no way I could re-thread it. So grabbing a pair of scissors, I snipped the string and removed it altogether.

All good things must come to an end.

This morning, at the direction of my primary care physician, I saw an orthopedic surgeon who specializes in knees and sports injuries. This ended up being the best thing, and I consider it “an act of the universe” because I only called to make the appointment yesterday. Having looked at my MRI, the surgeon explained that as a result of my accident two weeks ago, I’d 1) bruised a bone, which was no deal at all, 2) torn my lateral meniscus, which was a small deal, and 3) severed my ACL, which was a big deal. He went on to say that the meniscus acts as a shock absorber and is basically a backup system for your joints. “They help stave off arthritis,” he said, “and I tell people that if you make it to 40 with yours intact, you’ve gotten your money’s worth. You’re 38, so close enough.” Then he said that because your ACL runs THROUGH your kneecap and gets a limited supply of blood, it CAN’T repair or heal itself when badly damaged.

“Yours is dying as we speak,” he said.

So that felt good.

The surgeon proposed shaving off the damaged part of my meniscus (since sewing a meniscus back together doesn’t work) and reconstructing my ACL with part of my own patellar tendon (the tendon just below one’s kneecap). He said, “If we used a cadaver’s, you’d heal faster, but your own will function slightly better. Since you’re an active person and I want you as strong as possible, I’d suggest using your own.” And then–get this shit. For the last thirteen days I’ve been hopping around on one leg, using crutches, using a walker. But like some sort of FAITH HEALER, this guy today said, “Stop using your crutches. Stop using your brace. I want you WALKING before surgery.”

Remembering how my leg gave out while I was performing two weeks, I sat there in disbelief.

The surgeon went on to explain that “you don’t need your ACL to walk,” since it’s responsible for twisting and pivoting movements, but other muscles, ligaments, and tendons are responsible for everyday getting around. Then he talked me through straightening my leg out fully and bending it to at least ninety degrees. Y’all, I almost fainted the pain was so awful. But the surgeon said, “If you think a loose knee is bad, you should try a stiff one.” (I thought, I’d rather try a stiff drink.) Still, his point was that I’ve gotta get my leg moving through its normal range of motion both before and after surgery so that my knee doesn’t “lock down.” Plus, he said movement would help reduce swelling, which I have plenty of.

So we have a plan. Surgery is scheduled for December 26. (Merry Christmas, Marcus Coker.) If you’d like, send cards, flowers, chocolates, and handsome, eligible bachelors to me by way of my parents.

Believe it or not, after all this time of my being fearful of putting weight on my left leg, I walked out of the surgeon’s office and have been walking the rest of the day. Sure, it’s not overly graceful walking–I’m not ready for the runway–but this is huge progress. Hell, I’ve even been walking up and down stairs. And whereas I can sometimes feel my knee strain, the surgeon said, “Don’t worry. You won’t do any damage. It’s ALREADY TORN.”

So that was a nice reminder.

Here’s a picture of the brace I no longer have to wear. Notice the cat (Oscar) peeking over the kitchen island.

Considering the fact that I haven’t fallen down yet, I’m thrilled about being able to walk. Honestly, I’ve been more optimistic today than I have been in the last two weeks. Like, life doesn’t completely suck. What does suck, I’ll admit, are these stretching exercises. Straightening my leg isn’t so bad, but bending it hurts like hell. I get nauseated every time I go past a certain point. Still, I’m determined to slowly make progress, since we’re talking about my potential for future movement here. To that end, I’m also not letting myself “cheat” on the stairs, as in only using my good leg to push myself up. Rather, I’m doing things like I normally would.

Push with my right leg, push with my left leg (say a curse word).
Push with my right leg, push with my left leg (say a curse word).

Even with limited range of motion and trepidation in my steps, having both my legs back is a game changer. Part of me wishes I’d known to “take up thy bed and walk” sooner, but this way I have a greater appreciation for all the “simple” things I took for granted before. Things like being able to get up and get myself a glass of water, do my own laundry, or even take a shower without sitting down or having to tie the handheld sprayer to an overhead mirror with the strap of a fluffy scubby thingy. (See picture below.)

Today is a day for hoping.

The way I’m thinking about my severing my ACL is the way I’m thinking about my cutting the drawstring in my athletic shorts this evening. All good things must come to an end. (It was nice knowing you.) This moment is my new normal. And whereas part of me is fearful (I’ve been afraid to put weight on my leg for the last two weeks), another part is hopeful. Even confident. While driving home from the surgeon’s office, it was weird, it was like I could hear my leg talking to me. Not out loud of course, but our bodies are alive and our cells are conscious, so why couldn’t they talk to us? Anyway, I felt like mine was saying, “We can do this. We can support you.” This is huge, the idea that my body and I are working together here, that we’re stronger than I previously believed, and that our future looks bright.

Yes, today is a day for hoping.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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