Humpty Dumpty

*  Advisory Note:  Images used in this post may be too startling for some. 

Humpty Dumpty was having a ball!

Then Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

So all the best doctors, and the kindest of men,

Are working hard, to put Humpty, together again.

I took myself off all medication, the moment we arrived at Paradise Island.

My body was too wrecked by the side effects- nausea, extreme gastritis.  It's hard enough trying to keep optimistic with the broken arm.  I don't need to waste focus on side effects.

Dr C was a bit concerned when he heard this.  I think he would prefer I keep the pain at bay.  Yesterday he succeeded in removing the cast and sent me immediately to physio.

All my life, I have been the dancer that wants to repeat everything again and again,and again.  Yesterday however, at only the 3rd set of "exercises", I shut my eyes and wished everything would come to an immediate end.

My therapist A, said so beautifully-  With pain, we want to respect it.  But we also don't want to fear it.

My body went into shock again.  Lying there with my limbs knocking against each other, I wondered was I in semi seizure from the pain, or was I simply shaking with fright?

Because I've been feeling damn it, scared.

Back on this island, I've put myself back in a daily modified floor practice.  I tell Jon even as the arm has to heal, it cannot heal separately from the rest of the body.   

But God, I am still scared.

Trace reasoned that it's the unknown.  Jon explained it's the athlete's nightmare, the fear of not being able to regain lost ability.

Finally, this morning.  Eureka.

It's my new arm.

I'm afraid of it.

I'm not bothered by the faint bruising, the scars, its sheer disfigurement.

No.

It frightens me because it  does not for now, respond to what my brain wills it do do.

I've been given tasks; for 1-2 minutes at each waking hour, I have to practise the simple act of bending the elbow, deeper, with my palm facing up, fingers splayed.

This is my 5th attempt.

My 6th.

(Awesome.  I managed to open my palm!)  I can't bring my arm any closer, or rotate the lower arm to face the palm up.  And then I am suppose to repeat the entire exercise in the opposite direction.  That is, to begin coaxing the arm to straighten.

I try out of sheer curiosity, to cheat with my legs propping my arm up, to guide it nearer to my face.

I cheat with  my legs and my good arm.

(Dr C had told Jon, that without the operation, I may never be able to touch my face again.)

That's as far as I got.

Dear Broken Bionic Arm. 

 

Quit scaring me.  

Somewhere within you lies the memory of folding, stretching, pushing, pulling.  

You and I have too much of a life to lead.