Thrashing Against and Surrendering to Reality: Everyday Magic, Day 1,041

Going out of my mind (or into it). Art by Hong Chun Zhang (hanging at local hospital)

Sitting still was never my forte. I was a kicking and twisting baby, a kid who couldn't stay in my seat, and an adult who rarely goes a minute with fidgeting. I'm almost always in motion, unless I'm asleep when, strangely enough, I'm capable of holding very still and dreaming I'm walking along the Jersey show with Bruce Springsteen, talking about what we're writing.

Maybe I just have few speeds, like an oscillating fan, namely on or off.

So it's a big lesson in humility to have broken my wrist. In mid-July, I was walking up the front porch stairs I knew as well as my right hand (but obviously not) when I tripped and fell upward, landing on that hand. As all of you dear readers know, one moment of slippage can make a very big difference in a life.

Suddenly, one of my four limbs (and my dominant hand) is mostly out of commission, and being a typing-like-the-wind, cooking-in-a-cast-iron-skillet, hauling-water, and journal-writing kind of gal, I've been struggling. Instead, I type slowly with lots of typos to fix (when not dictating emails or journal entries), can't write except to sign my name like a crayon-wielding toddler, and must leave the rest to others.

Of course, I've had some unflattering bouts of pity parties, mostly along the line of why did this have to happen? A colleague years ago told me we always have the choice to thrash against reality or surrender to it. As a champion thrasher, I'm suddenly enrolled in yet another intensive to learn to surrender.

Spoon and fork Ken adapted for me

The adaptations and no-fly list are vast. I can't open door knobs with my right hand. Putting on my bra means stepping into said bra (already clasped) and pulling it up, which is tricky because of the vexing ways of bra straps. I can lift things only with my left hand, and I can't even turn anything but very loose faucets. I've mastered pulling open a car door but closing it can be trick. And driving is out of the question.

Each day I encounter yet another thing I can no longer do as usual. Having an occupational therapist for husband as well as his sister who is also an occupational therapist with hand therapy experience, I don't get away with much. Anything I can do I have to do. so I can load and unload the dishwasher with one hand. I can put things into the washing machine but Glory be! I can't use clothespins to hang any damp shirts or socks.

When in Colorado last week for a little vacation, I felt much too vulnerable and wobbly to hike, which does take easy access to both arms for balancing, especially if you trip easily over the rocks or pull need your arms to pull yourself up.

When setting up for a retreat in the mountains with my friend Joy, I no longer was the person who carried in most of the stuff, then raced around our meeting room to jai; chairs out from storage and set up long tables. Instead I sat at a table dropping pens into gift bags. At a meeting the other day, I had to stop trying to type notes into a Google Doc (after I asked someone else to do that) and let my pal with two well-working hands do it (but old habits die hard).

To say this is humbling is an understatement. While I have never been super flexible or possessed the ability to run more than a block, I trusted in my strength and gripping ability. It's not like I bench-pressed canons, but I could carry 40-pound bottles of water, then unpack shopping bags at top speed. Now I have to ask people to cut my meat for me.

So much in life is temporary, and this is what I tell my right arm multiple times a day -- especially when getting a new bag of frozen peas to drape it over it, when it hurts, running the gamut from mild aches in my forearm to pulsing pain in my wrist. By the end of this month, I should be out of my cast, but then the healing needs more time and likely entails other supports, not to mention some potential occupation therapy. "When can I do downward dog again?" I asked my doctor, who shocked me by saying likely in about a year.

Can still pet the kitty

I add to this that I'm still recovering from early July eye surgery that occasionally plays out in burning eyes sensation in the middle of the night, plus the usual and surprising symptoms of being an aging body.

"I'm dealing with a parade of ailments," I told Ken the other day.

"Life is a parade of ailments," he responded, and he's right. especially as we get older. Some days (and long nights) it's one thing after another that can go wrong, landing us in aches, heartbreaks, and other less-than-sunshiny states.

At least we're all in good company. At most, everything is always changing, although I'm glancing at stairs with more suspicion than usual.

Always, it's a time to adapt to reality, even if we have to thrash against it on the way.