Inspired by Tiredella – CLICK! http://sickandsickofit.wordpress.com/about/
good morning! Thank you for sharing your stories and for stopping by to read mine. There is a borrowed magic in these letters and words at the ends of days and in early mornings while my daughter sleeps that stops the clocks and the thoughts and pains and everyday things…at least until they begin again,.. and you have that gift. go there.
while I can’t know you in a story or two in a day of catching up – especially since I only found your writing yesterday – I once had the fortune of spending months without walking and the months after that learning how to walk and run and ski and climb again after a simple fall at a not so simple speed taught me there is time for words.
broken ankles, transverse processes, screws and plates and doctors and physios and opinions and, and, and…and the thing I remember most is how it all faded away when my mind was somewhere else.
that, and how a ridiculously good girl / friend (read: not girlfriend) of mine thought since I wasn’t going to be getting around on my own for awhile I should learn to juggle in my hospital bed…and so I did…over my head because I couldn’t sit up. The nurses loved the calls – not – when the bean bag balls flew out of crutch range and I buzzed in for them to help recover the errant projectiles…but I did order them pizza on yet another night my surgery was delayed.
life has a way of teaching us what is possible Ella. One doctor who was a great surgeon but not so great motivational speaker told me, “you will walk but maybe with a limp, and never run again…’ He obviously didn’t get to know me very well between the hours in the operating room and the weekly 15 minute follow up meetings. A year later I told him the screws hurt when I ran with my girl friend (now my wife – who came in third in her last marathon) and the plate in my leg pinched in my ski boot, oh ya, and how many advil am I allowed to take before I go so my spine doesn’t hurt so much after? Ha, ha…I can laugh now but I know it wasn’t my will or some great spirit in me, I just never understood there was anything I couldn’t do. You know that right? There is nothing you can’t do.
and in the times between, you know those other times, when the pain is still there when I close my eyes and I need to be alone so no-one else can see, I find the words and the happy sadness of some old Smiths songs about getting crushed with your love by a ten ton truck or meeting at the cemetery gates to keep me company while I fill the empty spaces with stories.
did I say thank you?