therestlessnest

where life's not empty, it's restless.

Archive for the tag “foot surgery”

The Long Game

recordhighs_1498436682731_9904006_ver1.0It was the hottest evening of the year. So far. I rested my post-surgical, boot-encased foot on my husband’s leg as we sat with a group of like-minded, anxious Seattle progressives and listened to the ACLU’s state communications director answer questions.

“What should we do?” was what we wanted Doug Honig to tell us. Meaning: about Trump? During his presidency? What should we do? How can we help?

Honig’s advice, which I’m paraphrasing and which he delivered with more nuance, was essentially this: Try to stop obsessing about Trump. This isn’t about Trump, this is about the Republican plan to remake our country. The Republicans have deep pockets and many loyal foot soldiers and they are in this for the long game. And so we need to be, too.web17-muslimbancapitol-1160x768

What does that mean? It means supporting local, state and national politicians and candidates who stand for compassion, not cruelty. It means raising our voices in defense of the Affordable Care Act, immigrants’ rights, our national parks and monuments, clean air, clean water, and everything else we care about that is threatened not just by Trump’s vicious, bullying twitter feed but by his clever cabinet appointees and his allies on Capitol Hill, who love love love that he is providing constant, highly distracting cover while they pursue their draconian agenda.

Stay in, people, for the long game.

imgres“There’s a part for you to play in the next great progressive comeback story,” Senator Al Franken writes in his new memoir, Al Franken: Giant of the Senate. “But only if you can keep from losing your mind or getting so discouraged that you quit before the comeback even begins.”

Politically, this summer is already about as un-pretty as my swollen foot on a 96-degree day in June. And as with my foot, there’s no going back.

“Do you ever just wish you hadn’t done it?” a friend asked me, as I crutched toward her. It was a remarkably intuitive remark, given that I have been wishing exactly that, frequently, as I face the reality that it’s going to be quite a while before I’m walking normally, or new-normally, after a surgery involving three incisions, one metal plate, two screws and six weeks of roller-carting. Sure I wish I hadn’t done it, because then I could be doing all the things I love to do in the summer: hop on a bike, hike up a mountain trail, jump in the lake. IMG_0079

I could be doing all those wonderful things this summer, that is. But what about ten years from now? Twenty years from now? The point is: I didn’t have this surgery for me, right now, age 60. I did it for me at 61, 65, 70, 80, God willing. This foot-rebuilding project is a crazy (and temporarily crazy-making) vote of confidence in my own future. I’m in this for the long game.

And if what we care about is not just getting rid of Trump but ensuring a better, more humane world for our children and grandchildren, then we have to stay in for the long game. We have to work our political muscles for more hopeful summers in the future.

IMG_2864As my booted foot and I bumble about, it cheers me to think of the march through downtown Seattle back in January. Hundreds of thousands of strong feet, filling the streets of Seattle, Washington DC, cities and towns all over the country.

I look forward to marching again. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can.

Friends in Seattle and South King County: I’ll be reading at the Renton Library at 7:00 pm on July 26th. 

 

 

Boot Camp

IMG_0717You should write about This,” my friends say to me, as they take it all in: the bulky blue splint with its five Velcro straps, the twee roller cart, the pajama bottoms I’m trying to pass off as trousers. (They’re brand-new and navy-blue: surely it’s not obvious!)

I’ve resisted Writing About This, until now, for many reasons, including: One, this is corrective foot surgery, not a disaster that befell me and would make for a really gripping story; Two, the prognosis is promising: This is not forever. And Three, I am getting all the help I need from my unbelievably patient husband. We are lucky enough to work from home, so these six weeks of being roller-cart-bound are not nearly as logistically daunting as they would be for most people.

I have absolutely nothing at all to complain about. Right?

Right. So I won’t. Instead, I’ll take a crack at the strangely surprising upside of it all:

I’m learning like crazy. It’s all stuff I’ve never had to learn before, like: how to be helpless and grateful (especially on those first few days); how to ask for help (still learning, but getting better at it); how to be patient with the mysterious, and slow, process of healing (ditto, with occasional colossal backslides); how to be humble (crawling or backwards-scooting really are sometimes the best ways to get from A to B, especially in a house with stairs). Re asking for help, my husband—who is now an expert on getting asked for help 50 times a day—has this advice: Be direct and to the point. Don’t couch everything in silly phrases like, “If you don’t mind,” or “If it’s not too much trouble” or “When you get a chance.” Also: “please” and “thank you” are always worth saying.

41ciJJ+6+mL._SX315_BO1,204,203,200_I’m reading like crazy. When you subtract real exercise, cooking, cleaning, shopping and driving from your day, you suddenly have a lot of reading time. You can read all of the Sunday papers, and even some of The New Yorker, and still have time for stacks of books. Here are a few of my May favorites: Elizabeth Strout’s new book of ingenuously linked stories, Abide with Me; Walker Percy’s stunning 1961 classic, The Moviegoer; Mirabai Starr’s memoir of grief and spiritual searching, Caravan of No Despair; Richard Ford’s memoir of his parents, Between Them; 51Oh93fUHEL._SY346_Finnish-American journalist Anu Partenen’s provocative look at life in Scandinavia versus America, The Nordic Theory of Everything; and Claire Dederer’s memoir of adolescent yearning, sex and marriage, Love and Trouble.

51tLaNEEZdLAbout Love and Trouble: Two different friends urged me to get to Dederer’s book as soon as I possibly could. I urge you to get to it too. It’s not an easy read. I also know people who say they won’t touch it. I wish they would, because it is an honest and unflinching reckoning with what it meant to grow up at a time when parents were often too busy with their own missions of self-discovery to pay attention to what their kids were up to. And Dederer’s writing is hypnotically engaging, especially in the chapter entitled “Dear Roman Polanski.” I won’t say more, except this: I forgot I even had a swollen, stitched-up, splint-encased foot while reading this book.

IMG_0720I’ve also had plenty of time to follow the super-hot new Sopranos-like soap opera, Our 45th President. I recommend Lester Holt, Brian Williams and Judy Woodruff when you need a break from having the news shouted at you. And if you haven’t subscribed to The Washington Post, do it now. (I’m not up on NPR’s coverage, since I’m not doing any cooking or driving.)

IMG_2697And, finally, I am deep into the Journals Project: which consists of re-reading and transcribing excerpts from my, um, nearly five decades of journals. This is a project that has been ongoing, off and on, for well over a year, but one which I now feel I may actually complete within the next month. Nothing like solitude and big chunks of time, time, time, for deep spelunking into my own past.

My motivation for doing this is to trace my spiritual life (or lack thereof) from age 13, when I began keeping an intermittent journal. It was a time in my life when I was fervent in my faith. I want to write about this. But first I have to remember it, and ponder it, and take it forward through the many decades between then and now. And having time to do that has been the second-greatest gift of this period of convalescence.

But there’s no question about what the first-greatest gift of this Blue-Splint Boot Camp has been: learning how to ask for, and accept, help. Many people have quipped that this is good preparation for old age. Yes it certainly is, and since my husband and I intend to tackle that project (old age) together too, aren’t we lucky to have this opportunity to rehearse? I only hope that when it’s my turn to be the butler/chauffeur/chef/caregiver, I can be even half as positive, uncomplaining and cheerful as he is.

HBBfinalcoverSeattle-area friends: I’ll be reading from Her Beautiful Brain on  June 17 at 1pm at the Kenmore Library. 

 

 

 

 

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